Place and Time
A/N: Portions of this story are daughter-biographical, but I've advised her she's fic-fodder, and she's okay with that. A year ago, we helped her move from Southern California to Seattle. She found the perfect apartment and then found the perfect job to get her two years' of experience in her chosen field. :)
Here's twenty five years of Bella and Rose's friendship in a nutshell…
Chapter 3: The Summer Sisters
After texting Mom, I look back at the small envelope addressed to Miss Rosalie Hale, thinking of the girl I knew.
Like Mom said, Rose is my oldest friend. For a long time, she was also my very best friend.
Not that I had many while growing up. I think I moved around too much for that. I also didn't inherit Mom's extrovert gene. She can chat up anyone and initiate friendships quickly and easily—if not always maintaining them for the long haul. I've always been more like Dad; a quieter, more self-contained observer than an eager interactor. But that's probably partly due to my nomadic childhood, too.
After my parents' divorce, Mom and I moved a lot, rarely staying in one place long enough for me to form any lasting attachments.
My friendship with Rose was the exception.
Rose and I go way back; all the way back to the womb. Well, I do, anyway. I was days away from making my debut, and Rose was exactly one year out, when our mothers met in the waiting room at Forks Medical Center.
Mrs. Hale had brought little Rosalie in for her one-year check-up, and Mom had come in for what turned out to be our last prenatal appointment. Due to a mix-up in scheduling, Doctor Gerandy was running behind, and though our mothers hadn't met before, they got to chatting in the waiting room. By the time Rose was called in to see the doctor, Renee Swan and Lillian Hale were on a first-name basis and had exchanged phone numbers and promises to get together soon.
The get-togethers began a few weeks after I was born. As young, stay-at-home moms with baby girls, they bonded quickly and easily. In time, Rose and I bonded too. Granted, it took me a while to move beyond myself and my basic needs as an infant to become a more engaging and interactive baby, but Rose waited patiently for me.
During those pre-school years, our moms got together and got us together regularly. As Rose and I grew, there were playdates at each other's homes and playtime and picnics at the park. We moved from infancy into toddlerhood and early childhood together, with one-year-older Rose leading the way and year-younger me working diligently to catch up.
Everything changed when Mom and Dad divorced.
Longing for the sunshine and warmth of the more temperate climate of her California youth, Mom began a migration ever-southwards, with me in tow.
Mom kept in touch with Lillian throughout our elementary school years, though, and the two of them helped Rose and me do the same. We traded hellos when our moms spoke by phone. We mailed each other drawings and homemade cards. We even exchanged small gifts for our September birthdays, Christmas, and Valentine's Day. And when the summers rolled around, there were always trips back to Forks. Summers at Dad's meant summers with Rose. And for those two months a year, Rose and I were inseparable.
Dad called us "the summer sisters."
I stayed at Rose's house on days when Dad worked, but on his days off, he kept us entertained. He'd take us for lunch or sundaes at the diner, or we'd watch movies at home, eating pizza or popcorn. There were hikes, beach trips, and a fishing trip or two, but with Rose and me screaming at each flip-flopping fish Dad reeled in, those fishing trips were rare. Dad even used to set up the pop-up tent in the living room, so Rose and I could "camp out" with all the comforts of home.
Heading into adolescence, the tent, Rose, and I eventually made it out to the backyard. By then, our summer playtime had evolved into hanging out—with sleepovers, talking, and giggling until dawn.
The summer after I finished junior high, Mom remarried.
I was happy for her, because Phil's a nice guy, and I could see how happy they were together. But I couldn't handle the prospect of living with my newlywed mom and her newlywed husband. A few days after they exchanged vows at the county courthouse, I traded Phoenix for Forks, moving to live with Dad and attend high school with Rose in the fall.
That same summer, the Hales joined some old friends for a weeklong vacation on Catalina Island, off the coast of Southern California. Rose was allowed to bring two friends, so she invited me and Alice Brandon—a petite girl Rose's age who had a huge personality. The three of us got along well, and that vacation remains one of my fondest memories from my youth. To the three of us girls, that tiny speck of land with its miniscule beaches was our Riviera, and for me, that coming-of-age summer was the highlight of all my summers.
Because of our age difference and differing interests, Rose and I had few classes together during high school. Rose was athletic and played soccer and softball for the Lady Spartans. My own extracurricular pursuits involved the school newspaper and yearbook. But we attended most school events together: games, dances, concerts, and theatrical productions—which usually involved Alice, behind-the-scenes. Even later, when there were boyfriends and part-time jobs, Rose and I remained close and got together often.
The summer after Rose graduated from high school was to be our last full summer together, though we didn't know it at the time. Rose would be heading off to the University of Washington that fall, and I would be starting my senior year at Forks High. That same fall, my stepdad started a new job, impacting my own post-high school plans.
Phil had been a college and minor league baseball player before injury cut his career short. After going back to school, he wound up teaching sports classes and coaching ball at a junior college in Phoenix. Then he scored the job at Arizona State University. With him on staff at ASU, attending college in Phoenix after I finished high school was a financial no-brainer. As his step-daughter, my tuition would be one-fourth the cost of the average student's. And with Mom and Phil living just a short commute from the ASU campus, I wouldn't have any living expenses either. I already had my own guest bedroom and bathroom at the opposite end of the house from theirs, and I'd visited often enough during high school to know I could keep to myself if I wanted.
During my final year at Forks High, seeing Rose on weekends or holiday breaks tapered off when she fell head over heels for a guy she'd met at school. She didn't come home as often, or stay as long. But I was happy for her, and when I finally met Royce King, he seemed nice. At first. But over time, there was something about him that I just didn't like.
After I moved back to Phoenix for college, Rose and I still kept in touch. I made time to visit her whenever I visited Dad during the holidays. Even after Mr. Hale moved up the corporate ladder and relocated his family to Seattle, Rose and I still talked on the phone or saw each other occasionally. Often with Royce hanging around or waiting in the wings, sort of dictating and overseeing everything Rose did.
During my freshman and sophomore years of college, I visited Rose in Seattle a few times. She was still involved with charismatic and controlling Royce, and I finally voiced my opinions about how he treated her. I'd held it in, but I couldn't anymore. And maybe I overstepped, but I was concerned.
Rose didn't want to hear it, however. She thought I was being ridiculous. And an awful, unsupportive friend. And she let me know, in no uncertain terms, that I was clearly jealous, and should worry about my own love life, not hers. When she asked me to leave, I was already headed for the door.
That was the last time I saw Rosalie Hale.
My onetime summer sister.
"Hey, Bells?" Dad calls from the living room, interrupting my thoughts. "You writing Rose a note or a novel?"
I'm surprised to find myself still seated at the kitchen table, still holding Rose's RSVP.
"I'm done. I just got a little side-tracked." I get up to join him in the living room.
"Forgot to ask earlier…" Dad begins when I appear. "We still on for this weekend?" He means our trip to Seattle to apartment hunt, I realize.
"Yeah. I thought I'd spend tomorrow and Friday checking apartment listings and starting on job applications. I'll see what's available, make a list of potential places, and call to try to set up some appointments."
"Better look for something central, since you don't know where you'll be working."
"Yeah, that's a good point."
"And make sure it has parking. It might cost extra, but it's worth the expense. If you wind up working odd hours, I don't want you driving around late at night, hunting for street parking, and walking alone for blocks to get home."
"I know. I don't want that either, Dad. I'll make sure they have parking."
He nods, seemingly satisfied.
I hold up the envelope in my hand. "Should I put this out in the mailbox, or could you drop it off at the post office on your way to work tomorrow?"
"I'll take it. Put it with my keys by the door."
"Awesome. Thanks." I set the envelope by his keys on the shelf beneath the coat rack.
"You want to watch TV for a bit?" he offers, sounding hopeful. I know he'd like to spend a little time together. I would too, and I could definitely use a distraction right now. But I also know there's a very narrow scope of what Dad is willing to watch on TV, and I just can't resist pulling his leg.
"Sure, I'll watch TV. How about The Bachelor? You want to watch that?"
His grimace is priceless. And answer enough.
"Dad, I'm kidding!" I laugh.
"Thank God," he huffs, shaking his head. "I can't stand to watch grown men and women embarrassing themselves on national TV. You watch that nonsense, Bells?"
"No, I feel the same about those shows. I don't even know if it's airing currently, anyway. How about if you pick out a movie for us to watch on cable?"
"I'll pick three, you get two vetoes. Fair enough?"
"Fair enough. While you find your picks, I'll make us some dessert. I need some ice cream. You want a root beer float?"
"Sure, thanks. That sounds good."
While I'm in the kitchen, scooping ice cream and pouring soda, Dad reads off the summaries of his three movie picks. They're totally predictable: a mob family crime drama, a backwoods murder mystery, or an international drug cartel extravaganza.
Returning with our frosty glasses, I hand him his and then settle into the corner of the couch, casting my vote for the backwoods murder mystery. It seems likely to offer the best distraction with the least explosions and lowest death toll.
A/N: There you go. I hope to hear from you. :)