Chapter 11

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"Back again, hm?" I tease. If Edward Cullen and I were to have a "thing," this would be it. Every Thursday, he comes into the diner and bravely orders our special of the day, meatloaf. What started as legitimate exasperation at his reoccurring presence in my week, has now become playful banter. I'm not sure how that happened.

We've relaxed quite a bit around each other; me taking the hostile attitude down a notch and him upping the teasing and losing the sad eyes. Well, mostly. If I'm honest, I let myself forget our past too often. Ours is a new friendship, brittle and delicate, and it's easy for me to get lost in the happy feelings that getting to know someone evokes. Too easy.

To complicate matters further, I actually quite like this new, older Edward Cullen. He's confident without his former arrogance. He's playful and witty. He's considerate and aware. He's exactly the type of friend I'd choose, and if our pasts were not a factor, I'd pick him for sure.

But our past is a factor. She comes in the form of a silly six-year-old with his hair and my smile and she's very much something I can't overlook. I wouldn't want to.

"It's the food," he says with a shrug. "I can't stay away."

I snort and playfully slap a menu on his table. "Right."

He opens the stained folder and looks the menu over with exaggerated interest. "How was school?" he asks, without looking at me.

Resting a knee casually in the booth bench opposite him, I blow my bangs from my eyes. "The usual," I sigh. "You?"

"I'm not in school," he grins playfully.

I narrow my eyes at his teasing. "Work then, big shot. How was work?"

"Alright," he slouches in his seat and shrugs a shoulder. "As good as working with a bunch of lawyers can be, I guess."

"Don't you want to be a lawyer?"

He rolls his head tiredly against the back of the booth. "Yeah. I think so."

"So...I don't get it," I shrug. "What's the problem?"

"My dad's not easy to work with. Or live with. Or..." he trails off in defeat. "Yeah."

I've actually never met Carlisle Cullen formally, just in passing when we were younger. He's nice. Too nice, really. The type of nice that seems practiced and forced, like he high-fives himself in the mirror at night.

"Are you living there?" I prod. "With him?"

Face flushing, he trips over his words. "Just temporarily," he says quickly. "Just until I can find a place."

Who am I to judge? I've only ever lived with my parents and Emmett. "I share a house with my brother," I remind him.

"That's different," he says quickly, the unspoken weight of the responsibilities that have kept me from independent living hanging thickly between us. "I swore I'd never go back after I moved out. I never wanted to end up like him. I used to promise myself I'd never treat my kids the way he-"

His eyes widen as he realizes what he's said. We've only ever discussed Ava directly. How she's doing, what she's doing. We've never referred to her as Edward's kid or child or daughter. Those words are too powerful and they mean too much to be used by someone who isn't even a part of her life.

I can tell he feels bad and I feel compelled to excuse him. Our new relationship allows for such leniences.

Smiling slightly to let him know I'm not upset, I forge ahead. "What makes you think you're like him?" I ask, redirecting us back to his father.

"Similarities," he says with a shrug. "He's an ass, I'm an ass. He's a lawyer, I'm a lawyer. Or I will be," he corrects. "Eventually."

I chew my lip and study him through narrowed eyes as I ponder what he's said. Finally, I blow my breath out with exaggerated slowness. "That's true," I say, with a nod. "You are an ass."

"Hey!" he shouts. But he's grinning.

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We don't talk aside from our weird little meetings over his dinner at the restaurant where I work. It'd be too much, I think. We're fragile, and upsetting the balance we've managed to achieve would surely be our demise.

My nights are my own; just me and my girl. There's little time or space for me to think about much beyond loving, nurturing, tending to Ava. I've wondered, on occasion, what he does when he's not bravely sampling the menu from a sticky booth seat or working with his dad. I no longer know his interests or who his friends are. I don't think he hangs out with Emmett, but I doubt I'd know it if he did. Emmett's not around much, except for the time he spends with Ava, and he's sleeping over at Rose's almost every night these days.

So when my phone pings with a new text notification a few nights later, in the middle of a dual homework session between Ava and me, I'm a bit shocked to see that it's from Edward.

Found an apartment today. Finally.

I praise Ava's coloring progress as I peck out a reply.

Success! Happy to hear it. When's the big day?

Leaving it simple feels right. I'm shocked he's taken steps to talk to me outside of our diner dates-scratch that-diner meetings, so I'm certainly not going to start nosing around in his business by asking him where the place is or whether or not he's living there alone.

Not for another few weeks. Think I could get a female opinion on some furniture and stuff?

"Look, Mama!" Ava waves her paper in front of my face proudly. "I made a pattern!" I grin at her hard work and hold my hand out for a high-five. "You sure did," I say as I slap her small, upturned palm. "See if you can do another one?"

She turns back to her work, tiny pink tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth.

I'm sure you probably could. I type. You're smart. You're going to be a lawyer!

His reply is instant. Smartass. And then, Think I could get YOUR female opinion on some furniture and stuff?

My homework apparently forgotten, I chew on the end of my pencil as I contemplate what he's asking me. How would this work? How could I possibly help him pick out furniture for his new place without being there? Seeing it. Riding in his car. Walking beside him in the store.

It's way too personal. Far too intimate. I'm glad he feels comfortable with me, I feel comfortable with him too, but this? This feels dangerous.

I don't know, Edward. I'm with Ava when I'm not working or at school...I doubt I'd have time.

While true, it's a lame excuse. In reality I'm just not sure how comfortable I am taking our...relationship...to the hanging-out-outside-of-the-diner level. Because, we can laugh and joke and re-introduce ourselves by way of lighthearted conversations and flirty teashing, but there's history here. Big history. And, despite the fact that I sometimes want to, I can't forget the old Edward and let the new one erase his past. Our past.

His response comes hours later, after I've bathed Ava and held her damp head against my chest while I read her to sleep.

Bring her with you. Please.

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I never responded to the last text message he sent, asking me to bring Ava along to help him pick out furniture for his new place. The absurdity! Yeah, sure. I'll bring your daughter, who you've never met, along with me to meet her dad for the first time as I pretend to play the role of a doting girlfriend helping you fix up your apartment. Not.

So I avoided it. I turned my phone off for the rest of the week and the ball of anxiety in my belly grew and grew as I inched closer to Meatloaf Thursday. Edward's favorite.

Sure enough, I've hardly finished tying the strings on my apron when I see his familiar form pass through the diner door and slide into his usual booth in the back. I watch him for a moment as I pretend to adjust my name tag. His gait no longer seems cocky to me. He exudes grace and confidence now. The way he folds his suit jacket had once seemed obnoxiously arrogant, but now I admire his responsibility and care. I no longer assume his tired eyes are the product of too many parties and too many nights doing...who knows what...or who...besides sleeping. I now know he works hard during the day and carries his stress on his face, in his eyes.

I palm my order pad and grip it tightly to steady my hands while I make my way to the back corner of the restaurant.

"Can't get enough of the meatloaf?" It was supposed to be an attempt at our usual, playful greeting, but I forget to smile and my soft voice shakes slightly on the last word.

Edward smiles politely, but his eyes look sad again. A look that, I now realize, I haven't seen on his face in a long time.

"You never answered my text," he says quietly, fingers absently rolling the peeling laminate on the corner of his menu.

I wasn't expecting him to be so direct and, at the weight of it, I crumple helplessly into the booth bench across from him.

"No," I whisper, "I didn't."

The smooth, lightly tanned skin on his forehead wrinkles slightly as he furrows his eyebrows and lifts his head to look at me. "Too much?" he asks, eyes flickering back and forth between mine.

I owe it to myself to be honest with him. "A little."

His face looks sad, but not surprised. "I figured," he says, nodding. He takes a deep breath and stares at me for a long time, his mouth opening and closing as though he wants to speak. Patiently, I wait. Just when the silence is bordering on uncomfortable, he exhales through his nose and then speaks quietly. "I really like being around you, Bella," he says.

"I like being around you too, Edward." And it's true. I really do. "But I can't be the young, carefree girl without responsibilities that you're probably looking for. That you're probably used to. I haven't been that girl since I was sixteen," I say.

"That's not who I expect you to be," he snaps. He's never really lost his patience, and his reaction startles me. He's always so light hearted and silly. I hate that I'm the cause of his exasperation and, likely, the cause of his tired eyes, but I can't jeopardize myself, my feelings, to protect his.

I place my hands calmly, palms down, on top of his as a sign of peace. "Okay, fair enough. Maybe that's not what you expect, but it's what you're projecting when you ask me to bring Ava along-to see you for the first time in her life-while we're looking at furniture for your new apartment."

His hands are warm and rough and shake slightly underneath mine. "I want to meet her, Bella," he says. "I want to meet her, and I want to be around you. Why is that such a big deal?"

My heart hurts for him in that moment. I can see, from his prospective, how easy it is to declare his willingness to open up his life to his daughter-and to me, the mother of his child-after all this time. He's finally reached a place where he's ready to welcome us and the enormous titles that we carry as a part of who he wants to be in the future and I'm not allowing him easy access. I can't allow him easy access.

"It's a big deal, Edward, because she's a little girl. She's pure and innocent and she deserves to hold on to that for as long as she can." I squeeze his fisted hand tightly to lighten the upcoming blow. "I won't let her know the pain of being forgotten. Unwanted. I have to protect her from that. I'm her mother."

He pulls his hands back from mine and drops them into his lap. I've hurt him with my words, and I hate myself for that. I know how it feels to be dealt a blow you don't understand and aren't prepared for.

"Besides," I say, attempting to lighten the mood. "Rose picked out our furniture, so I doubt my female opinion would do you much good, anyway."

Edward completely ignores me and leans across the table until we were nearly face to face. His eyes flash between mine and I can feel the heat radiating from his flushed face.

"Listen to me, Bella." he demands lowly, his words heavy with fierce determination. He waits until he has my full attention in the form of stillness and unbroken eye contact before he continues. "I'd never do that to her. Not again. I swear it."

But what about me?

Thanks for reading.