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Word Prompt: Appeal

Dialogue Flex: "It's not as bad as it sounds."

Edward's conflicted. I can see it now. Between visits to his father and training with the Sounders, he feels like he's being pulled in opposite directions. I can understand how he feels, but I guess I'm just used to multi tasking at its most extreme. Being a mom - a single one, at that - as well as working full time stretches a girl to her limits.

Still, having a sick parent is scary, no matter how old (or how busy) we are. The night Carlisle returns home, Edward stays the night at his parent's. And a couple of nights after that, Charlie and I join him for dinner there.

Esme and Carlisle have met Charlie a couple of times, and they've always seemed rather enchanted with her. Carlisle, especially, who literally gets on her level and has all sorts of whimsical, crazy conversations. It's like listening to Dr. Seuss.

"Is everything okay, Charlie?" Esme asks during the meal. "Do you need more juice?"

"Oh, she's fine, Esme," I interject, covering Charlie's cup. Last thing she needs is more kiddie crack at this time of night. "Thank you."

"I like juice," Charlie says, wiping her mouth...with a napkin, praise God.

"Yeah but...you still have a little left." I spear a piece of broccoli onto her fork and coax it into her mouth. She polished off her roasted chicken and mashed potatoes, but the greens on her plate remain nearly untouched.

"Chuck."

Charlie looks at Edward, grinning broadly when he stands all of his broccoli up in his potatoes, creating a tiny forest.

Rolling my eyes, but not even pretending I don't love it, I glance at Esme, who's watching them with utter adoration. It's been like this all night. I get the (very strong) impression) she's in grandma-mode, and more than ready for Edward to make her happy-family fantasies come true.

Charlie starts copying Edward, pushing her broccoli into her potatoes.

I tap her. "Promise me you'll eat it as soon as you're done. Okay? Don't play with it all night."

"Okay, Mom."

To her credit, she does eat it as soon as she demolishes it. "Okay, now can I have more juice please? Please? Mom?"

"I think you've had enough."

She gives me puppy dog eyes to go with her appeal. "Please, Mom? A little bit. One more little bit."

"I can give her milk," Esme offers.

Shaking my head, I back down. "That's fine."

Esme stands, offering her hand to my daughter. "Why don't you come with me and choose a special cup?"

She's as bad as Sue. Sighing, I turn my attention to Edward and Carlisle, whose conversation appears to be growing slightly heated. To say I'm taken aback is an understatement. Typically, Carlisle's about as jovial as Edward is mellow.

"...and you won't. You won't throw it away," Carlisle almost snaps, frowning.

"I'm not throwing anything away. This is my life," Edward says, jaw tight. "Things change."

"That's a big change," Carlisle says.

Uncomfortable with listening to their discussion now that Esme and Charlie are in the kitchen, I collect my plate and Charlie's. Edward's eyes flash to mine, full of apology, but I just give him what I hope's a reassuring smile and leave. I don't know if this has been going on since Carlisle was in the hospital, but Edward's been...different lately. I hate saying he's not been himself, because we all have so many layers and facets, but the calm that usually underscores his personality is gone.

In the kitchen, Esme's giving Charlie a dainty little pink glass half full of milk. Mentally crossing my fingers she won't break it, I set the plates down beside the sink.

"Have they been fighting a lot about this?" I blurt out.

Esme sighs heavily, crossing to listen at the door. She shakes her head after a moment, smiling wryly. "Really, it's...not as bad as it sounds. They're a lot alike, so they agree on most things. But they're both also very stubborn. Edward's quieter than his father, but just as passionate, so when they butt heads on something..."

"It's important."

"Yes. It is. It's a big decision for Edward. He's always loved the game, and he's given a lot of his life to it. And we're proud of that. I don't want to see him throw that away out of some misguided sense of responsibility to Carlisle and I." She nods toward the door. "That conversation's been a long time coming."

I nod, mulling over her words. "I see where you're coming from. But…I get where Edward's at, too. Maybe things have been fast for him, for a long time, and he's realizing he wants to slow down." That's been the intention I've gotten, anyway, talking to him.

"Perhaps."

"What are your hopes?"

"For Edward? Just that he's happy doing what he loves. Whatever that might be."

While that's a very nice concept, it's vague...diplomatic. I want Esme to feel like she can be real with me, but I also understand that we need to grow to that point. Suddenly Edward's desire to spend more time with his parents takes on even more meaning for me. I want that for him, but I want it for me, too. Just like I want him and my dad to get closer.

"True," I say carefully, watching her. "But..."

"But you want to know what I really want?" She shrugs. "I want him home. But more than that, I want him to make the most of his career. Carlisle and I both feel strongly that he make his decisions based on what's best for him...and now you. Not what his parents want. Expectations like that can be unfair."

I nod, thinking of Charlie. He'd always supported my decisions, even when they'd taken me far from home.

Suddenly the kitchen door swings open. Edward strides in, Carlisle hot on his heels, startling us.

"You ready to go?" Edward asks, feeling for his keys.

"Right now?" I ask. I mean, obviously right now, but I really don't want to leave on this note.

"He just got back in the game," Carlisle mutters. "I don't think he should be making such emotional decisions."

"Is there any other kind, Dad?"

I touch Charlie's arm. "Hey, you about done?"

"You can't stay for dessert?" Esme asks, gesturing toward the chocolate cake n the counter. Charlie's eyes bug out, and I have to admit, so do mine.

Edward snorts when he sees our faces, and the tension in the room dissolves. "Now I see where Chuck gets her sweet tooth." He leans on the counter beside me, sliding his arm around my waist.

Carlisle winks at me, setting a stack of small plates next to the cake.

I lean in to Edward. "And now I see where you get that wink."

In bed, later, Edward come to me quietly. I can tell there's a lot on his mind, can read the divided attention in his face, hear it in his voice. We make love slowly, wordlessly, kissing and kissing.

Afterward, side by side, we hold hands and talk until we fall asleep. He tells me what I already know: that he's conflicted, that his heart wants too many things and he's got choices to make. He doesn't ask me what I think, not yet, and I don't tell him. He's probably as afraid to ask as I am to tell.

Although, there is one thing that's been on my mind. One thing I do know.

"I think," I begin, blinking in the darkness, "we should move the wedding up. From summer to spring."

"Or winter. January."

"It'll be cold."

"And rainy, but that could be any time."

"February."

"March," he says.

So, spring. I smile. "March."

"Deal."

winding down now, slowly.

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