Author Note: Thank you for the great response to this story so far! Most of you voted for Thursday, so here it is! Happy Thanksgiving!
Thanks again to moosals for pre-reading. Stephenie Meyer owns all characters.
Chapter 22 – Return to Now
I'm awakened by a sharp blow to my abdomen. My eyes fly open to find Masen kneeling on my stomach and staring at me.
"Ma?"
Reaching out, I lift him slightly and sit up, waiting until he looks me in the eye. "My name is Bella. Can you say Bella?"
"Ben!"
"No, try again. Bell-la," I enunciate.
"Bewwwwwa."
"Close enough, buddy," I sigh, shaking my head. And then I wrinkle my nose. "What smells? Is that you? Gross!"
I quickly scramble out of bed, holding Masen like a football under one arm. Laying him down on the floor of my bathroom, I undress him then pull off one very stinky diaper. Once I've got him cleaned up with a fresh diaper on, I wash my hands, then peer through the bathroom doorway at my alarm clock: 8:03am. Ugh, way too early to get up on a Saturday, but I guess I have no choice.
Of course, this now begs the question, how do I shower with Masen awake? I have no idea how single parents go about their lives. Clearly the playpen can't contain him. I could close the bathroom door, but the cabinets under my sink aren't baby-proofed. I suppose he could shower with me?
I remove the fresh diaper then bring him into the tub with me, planting him at the far end away from the shower spray while I wash up quickly. He sits on his bare butt, staring with big eyes at the falling water.
"Wah!" he yells, smiling.
"Yes, water! And you can't splash me with it now," I add under my breath.
Once I've finished and dried off, I get Masen and myself dressed for today. I carry him downstairs to the kitchen, then try to figure out what to make for breakfast. Spotting a box of Bisquick in my pantry, I decide to make pancakes; I never have time for anything like that on weekdays. After setting Masen in his high chair to keep him contained, I mix up the batter, then begin spooning it onto a hot griddle. For Masen, I make three mini "silver dollar" pancakes.
I know Masen is going to eat with his fingers, but I still spread a thin layer of butter on his pancakes, before cutting each of them into four pieces. Leaving the plate and his sippy cut full of milk in front of him, I begin fixing my own, adding butter then a generous serving of real maple syrup.
Masen suddenly grunts, pointing toward the bottle. "You want some maple syrup?" I ask. That just doesn't seem like a smart idea. When he reaches for it again, I sigh, standing so that I can pull his shirt over his head. I'm going to have one sticky toddler after this.
I drizzle just a small amount over his plate, unable to keep from smiling at the big grin on his face when he shoves the first piece in his mouth. "We won't tell your daddy I let you have maple syrup, OK?"
Once we've both finished eating, I grab the wet wipes from Masen's diaper bag and thoroughly clean his face, fingers, and chest where he dripped syrup, mentally congratulating myself on thinking to remove his shirt. I redress him, then lift him down from his high chair.
Masen takes off toward the living room like a shot as soon as I've set him down. I follow him in there, smiling when I see he's grabbed the laptop I got him for Christmas. I encourage Masen to sit on the couch with me, then try to show him the laptop's lessons until he gets bored with it.
Next, I try turning on the TV to cartoons, and Masen plants himself in front of the TV. Good, that should give me a chance to throw a load of laundry in the washer. While keeping an eye on him, I attempt to do a little bit of housework.
After I've moved the load of towels to the dryer, I decide to take Masen to the Thriftway with me, despite the cold and drizzle. I need to get the ingredients for dinner with Edward tomorrow. Since this is such a tough week for him, I'm planning to make lasagna — still his favorite after weeks of going through my saved recipes.
I have to sweet talk Masen into letting me put his jacket on, then he insists on walking out to my truck himself. Once I've got him buckled into his car seat, I hop in and buckle my own seat belt. Just as I'm starting the truck, my phone dings with a text.
I'm on the plane. Should be on time arrival around 4:30 in Seattle. Hope to be there by 8:30.
Drive safely! I text back. Masen and I are going grocery shopping.
After backing out of my driveway, I drive us the short route to the Thriftway. Holding Masen's hand, I lead him into the store, then set him in the shopping cart's kiddie seat and buckle him in. Funny, I don't remember those things having seat belts when I was a kid!
As we go around the store, Masen smiles and waves at everyone who waves at him. He really is a little flirt, though it doesn't seem like that trait was inherited from his father.
Finally I have everything I need, so I move toward the check-outs. I spot Leah at one of the registers and decide to get in her line. Now that we're going to be stepsisters, I really should make more of an effort to get to know her. I've invited her to come out with us on Thursday nights a handful of times, but early evenings are a busy time at grocery stores and she always seems to be scheduled to work.
"Is that Edward Cullen's son?" someone asks as I'm playing patty-cake with Masen to pass the time.
"Yes," I reply, turning toward the nosy person.
"What are you doing with him?" the woman asks, almost accusingly. She appears to be a few years older than me, with long auburn hair. I don't recognize her from school.
"We're friends. I'm watching Masen while Edward is out of town for a couple of days."
"Hmmm," she frowns, then walks away, leaving me shaking my head.
About 10 seconds later, the conveyor belt moves forward enough that I'm able to start setting my groceries on it.
"Hey, Bella," Leah calls when she's done with her customer. "And Masen."
"Wee!" he yells.
"How's it going?" I smile, once I recover from my initial shock. I guess not all women are "Ma" to him.
"Ugh," she frowns. "It's busy today thanks to the crappy weather; no one can do anything outside." As I walk closer, she leans in, whispering conspiratorially, "I told you the vultures wouldn't like you being close to Edward."
I laugh. "She was a little rude, huh?"
"I didn't catch your answer for why you've got Masen," Leah says as she begins ringing up my groceries.
"Oh, um, Edward had to go back to Chicago for the sentencing of his wife's killer," I reply quietly. "He got 50 years."
"Wow!" she exclaims, her eyes widening. "I hope her family can find peace now."
"Me too," I smile sadly, swiping my debit card. "Edward should be home tonight."
Waving to Leah once I've got my receipt, I wheel the cart out to my truck, hurriedly loading the groceries into the passenger seat so Masen and I don't get too wet. I buckle him in, then return the cart to the corral in the next space over and get back in the truck.
At home, I set Masen in his high chair with a sippy cup of juice while I get everything put away. When we're both done, I flop onto the couch and Masen crawls into my lap for cuddles while I rub his back, holding him close. Every female in town loves him, but I'm the one who gets to cuddle him.
I'm the one he calls Ma, even if that's not the best thing for him to be doing. I mean, yeah, I'd love it if one day I could be his mom for real, but a lot of things would need to happen first before I could get that privilege.
After Masen falls asleep, I slowly shift him onto the couch, covering him with an afghan, then carefully stand up. I empty the dryer then get another load of laundry going in the washer.
Masen seems to have the right idea, so I lie down on the other end of the couch, closing my eyes until I hear the signal that the wash cycle has ended. After throwing that load in the dryer, I fold the towels and put them away upstairs.
Masen wakes up from his nap around 3:30, and as I watch him rub his belly, I realize we never had lunch after our big pancake breakfast. Since I'm pretty hungry too, I decide to order a pizza. Of course, no one in Forks delivers, so I have to get Masen dressed in his coat and buckled in his car seat for the quick trip, then get him out again since I can't leave him in the car, even for a few minutes. I can see how life with a toddler would be a lot easier with two parents.
Once I've got the pizza and small salad back home, I pull a slice out of the box for Masen. I hope he's OK with the Italian sausage, since he ate it on our pizza in Seattle. I also put one forkful of my salad on his plate, just to see if he'll try that. He does, but he kind of wrinkles his nose.
When we're both finished eating, I box up the leftovers, wondering if Edward plans to just grab dinner on the road or if he'll want them. I decide to text him to let him know it's there.
Thanks, that sounds good. Just getting in my car now.
"Daddy will be home in a few hours, Masen." I sit on the floor and play with him until it's time for his evening bath, then get him dressed in his pajamas. I put him down to sleep on my couch while I start packing up all of his things that Edward brought over. I manage to carry the playpen downstairs by myself, but we don't need to take that over tonight.
When Edward texts me that he's home, I let him know that Masen is asleep, so I'll need help carrying everything back to his place. He knocks on my door just a couple of minutes later.
"Hey," he greets me with a small smile, stepping over the threshold. I'm pleased to see that he looks better than he did the last time he returned from Chicago, but I still don't think he shaved today.
"Welcome back. Do you want to eat here or at your place?"
"Home, I think," he says quietly. Nodding, I put the leftovers and my open wine bottle from last night in a plastic bag and slip my arm through the handle, then move into the living room to pick up Masen. Edward can carry the high chair and Masen's bag.
I follow him next door, then he takes Masen from me to put him upstairs in his crib while I turn on the oven to reheat the pizza.
I hear Edward's footsteps as he comes into the kitchen. He heads straight for the fridge to pull out a bottle of beer, then gets a wine glass out of the cabinet, which he sets in front of me. "I assume the wine you brought was for you."
"It was," I nod. "If your oven is like mine, your pizza should be ready in about five minutes."
He nods, sitting heavily in a chair and taking a long sip of his beer.
"Was it as awful as you anticipated?" I ask hesitantly.
"Yeah," he sighs. "I'll tell you about it after dinner."
I nod. "How was your flight?"
"Fine," he shrugs. "I got an exit row so I had more room for my legs."
Once the pizza is ready, Edward practically inhales the first two slices. "Hungry?" I laugh.
He smiles sheepishly. "I didn't eat breakfast and only got a small bite at the airport in Chicago before my flight."
"Why didn't you eat breakfast?" He gives me a look that says "later," and I nod in understanding.
Edward finishes the rest of my pizza, then gets up for another beer, motioning for me to join him in the living room. He sits on the couch, then scrubs his hands over his face.
"I didn't eat breakfast," he begins quietly, "because I was afraid I'd be sick. I went to Bree's grave this morning. I just… wanted to talk to her about some things. And I told her all about how Masen's doing. I know she can't hear me, but it made me feel better at least.
"My parents asked me about flying back in July for the anniversary, but I don't think I can do that," he continues. "So I went to the cemetery on this visit instead. I'm not sure if I'll ever go back to Chicago."
"It's really that awful, huh?" I ask, rubbing his back gently.
"The whole city just feels stifling to me now. As soon as I got off the plane into the airport, I felt it. There were just too many people around."
"Did you have nightmares?"
He nods, finally lifting his head to look at me. "They're always the same: walking into my bedroom to find Bree's body in a pool of blood. I'm sure it didn't help that I had to write all of that down for my statement."
"How-how did it go? Reading your statement in court, I mean."
"You mean how many times did I break down?" he asks wryly. "I got through it. I had to keep going, no matter what. It was the one last thing I could do for Bree, you know? To make sure that her killer pays for his senseless crime."
"You did good, Edward."
He swallows thickly. "I owed it to her."
"Nothing that happened was your fault," I remind him. "Y-you know… please don't take this the wrong way, but… you might be suffering from some type of PTSD," I suggest, remembering what Sue had said. She works as a guidance counselor at the school in LaPush, so I trust her opinion. "You might benefit from talking to someone… professionally, I mean."
"A therapist?" He wrinkles his nose just like his son.
"It's not a sign of weakness to need a little help dealing with life's curveballs. Just think about it, OK?"
Nodding, Edward finishes his beer, then stands. "Want me to bring your bottle?"
"Sure, why not."
Returning in less than a minute, he tops off my glass for me then retakes his seat on the couch. We sit in a comfortable silence for several minutes while I sip my wine and Edward drains his beer. His bottle is empty and he's standing again in what feels like no time at all.
I don't say anything until he comes back with another fresh beer. "Are you trying to get drunk? That doesn't always work out for you," I tease.
"I just need to not think for a while," he answers quietly. "And I… I trust you. To not let me do anything stupid, I mean."
I assume he means anything stupid like… doing me.
Closing his eyes, he leans back until his head is resting on top of the couch. I stare at his lips, and god, I really want to kiss them. But I know I can't. Setting my glass on the end table, I scoot closer and reach my hand up to lightly massage his neck as he continues to drink from his bottle.
"That feels good," he whispers.
A few minutes later, Edward sits up straight, opening his eyes, and my hand falls away. He tears at his hair, and I know something is troubling him. "I should… go up to bed."
"All right," I reply softly, given him a small smile. "Dinner tomorrow? I bought everything for lasagna when Masen and I went to the store today."
"That sounds great," he nods. "Thanks. And thanks for helping me with Masen; you're a lifesaver."
"It was my pleasure. I love that little boy," I smile.
A/N: So Bella got a little taste of single parenting there. Not having kids myself, I really don't know how parents do it when they're at that age where you need to keep an eye on them!
Bella has suggested therapy to Edward, as many of you have as well, but will he listen to her?
Next update on Monday!