February 28, 2013 – Word Prompt: Company. Audio-Visual Challenge – Musical Mastery: "Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)" by The Beatles
. . .
"Got company, Bells," Charlie says from near the kitchen window, as I loop the strap of my purse onto my shoulder. "I'll say goodbye in here, if you want." His dark eyes are concerned, knowing, and I nod my reassurance.
"Okay." I hug him and say goodbye before stepping out onto the porch and making my way down the steps and toward where Edward is leaning against the driver's side door of my packed car. As I approach, he straightens and holds a cylinder-shaped cluster of purple tissue paper toward me, tied at each end with white ribbon so that its shape resembles a Tootsie Roll.
"What's this?" I ask as I accept the parcel.
"It's where we started," he says, and I pull the tissue paper off to find a can of Ghirardelli powdered hot chocolate mix. "Bella, I'll always love you in a hundred different ways, but this was the first way, and even if we can't save any of the others, I have to hope we can at least save this one."
I'm staring at the canister, but I can't see the lettering through the haze of tears making my vision blur. I nod at my hands and blink furiously, trying to clear my eyes, but I can tell from his expression that when I look up, evidence of my reaction is still there. "Thank you," I say, clutching the can in a white-knuckled grip.
"You're welcome," he says, and I hesitate for a moment before I step forward and timidly wrap my arms around his shoulders. He freezes for a split second before his arms band around my waist so tightly that it's a struggle to breathe. His arms are steel but the rest of him melts like butter into our hug, and I close my eyes as his scent hits me: so familiar, but not the same. The same soap. A different shampoo. Old and new combining to create something changed but recognizable. I force myself to pull back, and I don't miss his momentary hesitation to let me go, the brief moment between when I let go and when he does that is evidence of how things can change.
"It was good to see you," I say, and I'm surprised at how easy the words are to say, how true they taste as they leave my lips.
"Really?" He's as surprised as I am, and a small smile pulls at my mouth.
"Really," I say with a small nod.
"I'm glad," he says, and the truth of his words is evident in the relief that softens his face.
"I need to get going," I say, cocking my head toward my car.
He nods, stepping back. "Drive safely." He swallows and looks almost sad. "Take care of yourself."
I nod. "You too," I say, relieved to realize that I mean it. I want good things for Edward, and maybe someday I'll be okay with the likelihood that they won't include me.
As I drive away, turning the volume knob up as the familiar guitar chords of a Beatles song bleed from the speakers, the boy, the house, the street, the town growing ever smaller in the rearview mirror, I feel one tiny piece of me begin to stitch itself back together. When I pull onto the highway and head south and "this bird has flown" echoes in my ears, I realize that I really believe Edward might be right: maybe we can save that one part of us, of what we had. And maybe someday, when my heart is done stitching the rest of itself back together, it will be enough.
. . .
A/N: That's the end of the BPOV; tomorrow, EPOV begins. As I mentioned, the present will pick up where Bella leaves off, while the past will be retold from Edward's perspective. Thanks so much for reading, and for all of your lovely words. xo