Same disclaimers apply: I own nothing. This is a non-beta'd work of derivative fiction, etc.
Enjoy the long chapter. Or... not.
Buzz Kill . . .
~(~)~
Edward curses when he sees his mother's car behind the bookstore.
He's still riding high off his morning with Bella. Her touch, her taste, the feel of her body pressed against his after so long. The very last thing he wants to think about is why his mother ventured down from the family home on treacherous roads when she knew he was supposed to open the store today.
He parks his car and checks his phone. No missed calls. No texts. He frowns and sends a message off to his brother and father.
Mom at bookstore. Should I be worried?
If they didn't warn him she was coming because they didn't know, he'll have backup before too long. If they didn't warn him for some other reason, he guesses he'll know that soon enough as well.
The air is bitterly cold when he opens the car door. It nips at his ears and nose, making the ten or so feet from his car to the store's back entrance feel like a mile. The door's unlocked, which he doesn't really know how to interpret. Does that mean she was expecting him? Or was she so mad, thinking for some reason that he wouldn't be here, that she left it unlocked by accident?
Better to just bite the bullet and get in there.
"Mom?"
Silence.
"Mom, it's Edward."
He looks through the storeroom, glances at the darkened office, and then heads for the front. As soon as he pushes open the door he can hear her muttering.
Mad it is, he thinks. He's not surprised.
He finds her near the register, fighting with a display sent with one of today's new-to-paperback releases. Her hair is immaculate and she's wearing a cheerful green sweater set with a nice pair of jeans and the boots his father got her for Christmas. Her jeweled pendant, a snowman gifted to her by his niece, sparkles in the light coming through the front window.
To anyone walking in the door, she is the picture of beauty and holiday cheer. To him, she is the harbinger of doom.
"Do you want some help there?"
"No, thank you."
"What are you doing here, Mom?"
She stops what's she doing, but then smiles and makes a face like he's just asked her why the sky is blue. "Opening the store, what else would I be doing?"
He watches her for a moment, then sighs. "I don't know . . . maybe flipping pancakes with Tony? Or slipping Colby and Caleb Tang instead of organic orange juice when Alice and Jasper aren't looking?"
She inserts the cardboard shelf into its base and bends over to pick up the marquee that fits on top. "I had breakfast with the kids over an hour ago. They're playing video games with your father and brother, and they'll likely be at it for hours. Just Dance Something-or-Another."
Despite his irritation with her, he smiles at the thought of Carlisle and Emmett facing off to the latest Katy Perry or Bruno Mars tune. "Sounds fun."
"Indeed."
"So why aren't you there?"
"Because somebody needed to be here, Edward."
"I'm here."
"You're late."
"It's eight. We don't open for another hour."
"Well, I had no way of knowing you'd even show up, now did I?"
Anger flares so easily when she gets like this. Years ago, one of his therapists, or maybe it was his sponsor, said she was like a small child who would prefer any kind of attention—even being yelled at or screamed at—over no attention at all. It's proved a good comparison and helps his keep calm.
"I called home last night," he says. "I told Emmett what happened, and I let him know I would be here this morning. He promised to give you the message. He's not usually one to go back on his word, but if he forgot, you could have easily picked up the phone and called me this morning. Preferably before you risked your life just to prove a point or nose around."
She scoffs, waving a hand. "I have no idea what you mean. I didn't risk—"
"Save it, mother. Are you telling me Emmett said nothing to you?"
"No, he did. That's why I'm here."
His mind stumbles over this. Her words don't make sense. Even more, her face and her tone of voice aren't helping him out. He knows she's playing him, he just can't fathom the exact source of her unspoken hostility. He sighs.
"Please don't do this. All that reverse psychology and acting the martyr stuff is lost on me. You have to tell me why you're pissed off with me. Remember?"
She stares at him, then bends down to take a stack of paperbacks out a nearby box. "I would think it would be obvious this time."
He takes off his coat and shakes his head. "Well, it's not. I can guess it has something to with me staying at the Swan's house last night, but I'm still not sure why you thought I wouldn't be here to open the store."
He sets his coat and keys on the counter and grabs the display at her side, which she's put together wrong. He allows some of his frustration and anger to show as he places the cardboard shelf a little carelessly off to the side of the register.
"That should go—"
"I know where it needs to go," he says as he straightens it. "We have hardback new releases to put on the feature table by the door, and there's another one of these displays for the new diet book coming out today. I'm putting that one next to the table because New Year's resolutions start in less than a week."
She sighs and moves to stand behind him while he fixes the display so they can begin placing the paperbacks in it. She wordlessly hands them to him when it's ready.
Taking a deep breath, he says a quick prayer to remain calm. He has no idea what she's going to say when he turns around. All he knows is that she will say something, and he's not sure he's in the mood to hear it. He's beyond irritated with her for ruining what was previously an amazing morning. Not to mention frustrated by her lack of faith in him.
"Excuse me," he says, turning to walk past her. "I need to get the rest of the books we have to put out."
She crosses her arms over her chest. "I'm not sure I want your help here today. You're clearly in a mood."
He comes to stilted halt, laughing. "I'm in a mood?"
"Yes, obviously running around with your ex-wife has had a negative effect on you already. I think I'd rather—"
"So that's what this is about." He turns to face her. "Finally, we get to the point. You're punishing me because you're upset I spent the night with Bella."
"I'm not punishing you, but I am furious that you would abandon your family on Christmas for that girl. I raised you better than that, so you'll have to forgive me if I felt I was worried that I couldn't trust you to honor the rest of your obligations this week."
"First of all, Christmas was two days ago and I spent every minute of it with you. Second, since when is spending time with family considered an obligation?"
"I meant the store."
"Clearly, but you're not making any sense. I wasn't planning on being away the whole day yesterday. It was only supposed to be an afternoon, and—"
She points a finger at him. "That is exactly my point! When you're with that jezebel, you're capable of forgetting anything and everything else."
He closes his eyes. Counts to ten. His fists are clenched so hard they ache, but he forces himself to release them.
Breathing out slowly, looking at the toes of her boots, he says, "I think you better leave. Go, spend time with your grandchildren."
"You will not dismiss me from my store."
"Then I'll go."
"Are you going to go back to her?"
At this, he looks up. Her hazel eyes are hostile, showing nothing of the warm, loving mother who stayed at his side in his darkest days, who nursed him back to health and helped him through rehab. Nothing of the woman who brought him home, where he belonged. No, the woman before him now is the same woman who made him want to run away to begin with.
He almost laughs. "Wow. You really hate her, don't you?"
She inhales, and he notices her chin rise ever so slightly. "I don't hate her. But I don't forgive her, and I never will."
His reaction is instantaneous. He tries to hide the way his breath wants to punch out of him, the way his eyes sting. Swallowing harder than he'd like, he shakes his head, disbelieving. "Then you haven't changed at all. You haven't learned anything."