February 8, 2013 – Word Prompt: Swap. Dialogue Flex: "You'll have to wait and see."
. . .
Another check of my list reveals that I left the produce section without grabbing an onion for the spaghetti sauce; I turn and crash into a wall. Stepping back, I realize the wall is actually Emmett Cullen, whose career as a college athlete evidently upgraded his physique from pickup to Mack truck.
"Swan!" he says brightly. "Long time, no see!" He pulls me into a hug and I let him squeeze me slightly tighter than is generally comfortable, my handheld grocery basket bumping against his hip before I place my free hand flat on his expansive chest and push gently.
"Hey, Em."
"I hear congratulations are in order," he says, dimples deep as ever.
I frown. "What?"
"Big-time author now, huh?"
"Oh. That. Yeah, well." I still haven't figured out how to be gracious when people acknowledge that I achieved the lone goal I had as a high school student.
"I hope the book's better than that," he teases, and I roll my eyes, relaxing into the familiarity of banter.
"Depends on who you ask."
"Edward says it was brilliant."
It's the first confirmation I have that he's read my words, and what that particular revelation does to me is far too complex to dissect in the dairy aisle of the grocery store, let alone in the presence of one of his family members.
"It was," I hear from behind me, and I turn to see Edward holding a bag of lettuce. "Hey," he says, dumping the romaine into the basket Emmett's pushing before burying his hands into his pockets.
"Hey," I reply.
"Oh," Emmett says. "We need, uh, lemons. I'll run back and get some. Bella, see you at the party." He vanishes before I can say goodbye, and Edward takes a step closer to me.
"Your book…it really was beautiful," he says, and I never knew that such kind, gentle words could cut so sharply.
"Don't."
"I'm sorry," he says reflexively. His eyes are sad, and I know without explanation that the apology's not for the comment. "Bella, I really am sorry."
The metal handles of my basket dig into my palms. "I wish that made things different."
"Me too." When I say nothing else, he shifts his weight. "Do you think…are you ever going to forgive me?"
"I don't know." I shrug. "Guess you'll have to wait and see."
The Edward I knew, grew up with, loved would have fought this, demanded a more immediate resolution. The Edward standing before me simply nods. "Okay. I'll wait."
It's the first time I realize that for all of the significance boy-Edward holds in my past, man-Edward is a stranger to me. The thought is at once liberating and heartbreaking, and I don't know what to do with it: how do you forgive someone who no longer exists? How do you hold a man accountable for a boy's carelessness?
"I think it's important to tell you…" He pauses, and I can see the outline of his hands clenching into bulging fists inside the denim pockets of his jeans. "I'm not going to try to win you back or anything. I don't want you to think…that. I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I just want you not to hate me. It kills me, knowing you're out there in the world somewhere hating me."
"I don't hate you. Honestly, Edward, I hardly ever even think about you." Look at that: six years and a few hundred miles have turned me into a liar. A pretty good one, if the hurt that flashes across his face is anything to go by. My own pang hits me in the chest, and I shove it away. I refuse to feel guilty for lashing out, all things considered.
By the time I'm back in Charlie's kitchen unpacking the groceries, I realize I still don't have an onion.
. . .
"Holy shit!" I tear my mouth from Edward's, pressing the back of my hand to my lips and cutting my eyes to the doorway, where Emmett stands with one hand on the doorknob, his mouth hanging open. "You're swapping spit with Swan!"
"Get bent, Emmett," Edward says, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "What are you even doing here?"
"I can't come home from college for some home cooking and to see my baby brother?" Smirk. "Who, from the looks of things, is well on his way to becoming a man."
If my cheeks weren't already flushed from Edward's kisses, Emmett's implication would do it. "Fuck off, Em," Edward says, ghosting a gentle thumb over my fiery cheek. "Leave my girlfriend and me in peace." Emmett's laughter follows him down the hallway as he drags his duffel bag behind him. "Sorry," Edward says softly, his eyes sheepish. "I didn't realize he was coming home."
"It's okay." I play with the hem of his shirt. "Do you think he'll tell your parents I was in your room?"
He shakes his head. "No, considering I never told them that I walked in on him having sex with his girlfriend in their bed while they were away for the weekend and he was supposed to be in charge of Jasper and me."
"What?" I feel scandalized. "When was that?"
He shrugs. "Spring break his senior year." I don't know if his nonchalance is because it happened so long ago or because the idea of his brother having sex – even in his parents' bed – doesn't shock him. I realize once more that Edward's social circle involves a lot more sex than mine ever has, and it only serves to make me more aware of the one-year age difference that some days seems more significant than it ever has before. "Can I kiss you some more?" he asks, his hands rubbing slow circles on the small of my back.
"Of course you can."
. . .
Thanks for reading. xo
Have you ever had to forgive a person for something s/he did a lifetime ago?
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