Hello again!
Wow did this chapter take it out of me! It was actually really hard to write, and I had to take a break halfway through due to writer's block. But I focused my creative juices in a different direction and when I came back to the story, it all came out.
This also happens to be the longest chapter I've written so far, so I hope you enjoy :D
BPOV
I couldn't stop fidgeting with my clothes.
Choosing an outfit had been an agonizing decision. I had no idea what the right thing to wear was. Eventually, I called Alice, hoping she could advise me on what would be appropriate. I didn't know how her family usually dressed, but she said they were pretty casual. I didn't know what Alice meant by 'casual' for people like the Cullens. If you told my dad casual, he would show up in a flannel shirt and worn jeans. I somehow couldn't imagine Carlisle in a flannel shirt as he carved up the turkey.
Alice tried to convince me to wear my new blue dress, but I kept telling her that I wouldn't be comfortable around her parents in something like that. That dress made me feel a certain way I couldn't describe, but I did know that it wasn't suited for having dinner with my new friend/techinical brother-in-law/hopeless crush's parent's house for Thanksgiving. Not that I told Alice that.
She'd huffed, but finally relented and we switched to a video call so she could look through my closet again. After going through all my hangers and draws, Alice settled on an ensemble that I would never have put together but actually looked surprisingly good when paired.
She chose a soft knitted sweater I'd been given by the lovely, old receptionist from the Forks Police Department, Miss Violet. Miss Violet had worked at the station for as long as I could remember and had seemed a hundred years old when I was a kid, but she was only now in her eighties. She made me the sweater as a gift when I was in the hospital after the accident. It was made with a fine, rich golden-mustard yellow wool, with an intricately knit design of leaves and berries made from raised stitches and bobbles. It was a cherished gift, but not one I wore often. Alice told me to wear it with a mid-length brown flare skirt I'd bought because it reminded me of something Claire Fraser from Outlander would wear. It had wooden buttons down the front and I usually wore it with my brown leather belt.
Alice deemed me perfect after adding a pair of brown leather ankle boots with a small heel and giving me instructions for how to do my hair once we'd hung up. I'd tried another hairstyle, just to see if it would look better, but eventually went with the half-up, half-down look Alice had directed. I added a locket, which had once belonged to Grandma Swan, but now contained a photo of Jake and a small printout of my son's last sonogram.
It wasn't my unhappiness with the outfit that had me pulling at my sleeves or retucking my sweater repeatedly.
I'd been unsettled since Emmett had laid out everything he'd discovered about the short and unfortunate life of Bree Tanner. The truth was a hard pill to swallow. My entire existence seemed to have been one tragedy after another.
I was grateful for my family. Emmett and Rose stayed with me for as long as they could, then dropped me at home on their way to the airport on Sunday morning.
Rose and I had talked in whispered voices for a while, curled towards each other on their bed. I'd been so exhausted from all the crying and eventually collapsed into a fitful sleep. She was still there when I woke up, and she and Emmett spent the morning talking through how I felt and helped me begin to process everything.
After their long drive from Forks, Dad, Sue, and Seth had come straight to my apartment to see me on Sunday evening. They only left when Dad was satisfied I was going straight to bed after I locked the door behind them. While he wasn't much for talking, my father's presence reassured me that I wasn't alone and that he would be there if I needed him. Before flying out, they checked in one last time and wished me a happy Thanksgiving for the next day. At least their hovering included donuts, Dad's idea of a luxury breakfast.
I struggled to grapple with what happened to my mother. I didn't know which was harder to try and come to terms with - how I came into this world, or how Bree left it?
Emmett wasn't able to share much more, but what he had been able to tell me about the community - the cult - she had lived with, painted a dark picture. It sounded like most of the children lived with some amount of abuse or neglect, but Bree was also… assaulted, and there was no telling how many times she'd had to endure that. Or how many others it happened to as well.
Then there were their archaic views of women and marriage.
People must have been hopeful when they joined, but it sounded like what they actually experienced was terror.
No wonder Bree was so afraid. Finally, I understood why she gave Maria and I away in the manner she did. In the end, her fears were justified. But I comforted myself that her actions were successful; the people that hurt her had never been able to find us.
My heart broke at the thought of how she died. Over the strongest cup of coffee my brother could make me, he explained in more detail how my mother's life was taken from her and how it helped the FBI shut down the cult. Even though parents from the community had been questioned by the police over the well-being or death of children before, it wasn't until Bree's body was discovered that authorities were able to make their move.
Bree's mother - I refused to think of her as my biological grandmother - had blatantly lied about how her daughter had passed away, saying that she'd had an epileptic fit and couldn't be helped. When asked for evidence that Bree had epilepsy, there was none. When presented with proof that Bree had been severely beaten, Erica and her husband's stories changed to say Bree had the seizure at the top of the stairs and had fallen down. Each time the police presented a new point, their story changed again, until the Feds were able to trap them.
The fact that the cult's demise was, in large part, due to my mother brought me some comfort. Rose was right; even though she never got to see it, she ultimately got her justice.
Then there was the gnawing grief from the realization that I would never get to meet my mother. I would never be able to hear her voice or feel her arms around me. We would never be able to share a holiday like today together. I still had no idea what she even looked like.
Just like Maria, a part of my family was gone before I ever knew who they were.
But they weren't the last of my blood relatives. There was still my aunt. Jenny.
Jenny Lloyd still lived in the town of Grand View, less than fifty miles from where the cult's compound had once been. She had been adopted by a family from a group of local churches, who had wanted to find homes for all of the children left without parents after the FBI raid. She had married her husband at twenty and had one son. I guess he would be my cousin. She'd lived at the same address since moving in after her wedding, staying there after her husband passed away.
I stared at the address Emmett had written down, stuck to my refrigerator with a magnet while I sat at the kitchen table to calm myself. In an effort to quell my fidgeting and give my hands something to do, which wouldn't result in me picking a hole through my sweater, I'd made a cup of coffee. It didn't help anything that the small slip of paper seemed to draw my eye like it was cast with some kind of curse.
Both my dad and brother had wanted to know if I would reach out to my aunt, though I had no answer for them yet. They were both proactive people and probably would have jumped on the opportunity to have their questions answered. I, on the other hand, was much more cautious. I needed time to think through all the pros and cons of every decision.
My fingers beat a senseless rhythm on the side of my mug as my mind roiled with insecurity and indecision. A knock on my door broke me from my anxious spiraling, sending my heart racing for a completely different reason. Edward was here.
"Hi," I said as I swung open the door, after reminding myself to walk calmly so it didn't sound like I was stumbling as I raced to open it. Like always, I was a little dazzled at the sight of him.
"Hey," Edward said happily, stepping in and closing the door behind him. He looked at me again as he followed me through my living room, and his brow creased. "Are you ok? You look like you've been chewing on your bottom lip."
I waved him off as flippantly as I could. "I'm fine. I'm just being a worry wart."
Though he looked relieved by my answer, the crease between his eyes didn't disappear. "Not about today, I hope."
I shrugged and looked away to avoid his piercing eyes. "Amongst other things."
"Bella," he said in admonishment. "You seriously have nothing to worry about, so please stop stressing about my family." Then he looked around the kitchen at everything I had out, ready to bring with me, and raised an eyebrow. "You've been baking."
I had. I'd made three pies, a pumpkin, a cherry, and a pecan, as well as a coffee and walnut monkey bread. There was also another batch of my peanut-butter choc-chip cookies for Edward because Emmett confessed that he ate all of the last batches after I went to bed, which meant Edward hadn't gotten the second one I'd promised him.
I shrugged in an attempt at nonchalance. "I needed a distraction."
Dad, Sue, and Seth left after breakfast yesterday and I'd pretty much spent all my time since then hands deep in butter, flour, and sugar. I only just got the cookies out of the oven before I jumped in the shower.
Edward studied me with an expression that looked almost sad. "You could have called me, you know," he said gently. "If you needed a distraction. I would have come over and hung out. Maybe then we wouldn't have ended up with a dessert per person," he teased.
I swatted his arm and rolled my eyes. "The cookies are for you, not for dessert. Emmett told me you didn't get any more on Saturday," I explained. "And the monkey bread is a thank-you gift for your parents, so technically there are only three desserts between five people."
"Excuse me, my mistake," Edward said jokingly before a speculative look crossed his face. "Those are the same cookies from Saturday?" he asked.
I nodded. "Yeah."
"And they're for me? No one else and I don't have to share?"
I smiled at him, a little unsure where this was going. "Sure," I laughed.
He smirked mischievously. "Then I can have as many as I want right now and you can't stop me." Edward rubbed his hands together like a cartoon villain.
That made me laugh for the first time since… well, probably since the last time Edward had picked me up. "I don't know why you would want to when we're about to have a huge dinner. But I guess you're technically right," I said through my chuckles.
With a devilish smile, Edward popped the lid of the container and dug in. While he only pulled out one of the cookies, he ate it indecently. I laughed again, this time at the goofy expression on his face as he swallowed his snack.
He winked at me and grinned, a small smudge of chocolate left on his tooth, making him look incredibly endearing and cute. Then Edward's eyes traveled down my body and a look of surprised humor crossed his face.
"We kind of match," he chucked, pointing between our outfits.
Under his gray pea coat, Edward was wearing dark brown pants with leather brogues and a rich-yellow, almost copper-colored sweater, over a white shirt. His clothes were a few shades darker than mine, but it definitely looked like we had coordinated our outfits.
"Alice didn't dress you, did she?" I asked sceptically.
"What? No," Edward said firmly, then he paused. "Well, she told me to change into this," he remembered, plucking at his sweater. "Because the blue one I had on 'clashed with my coloring', whatever that means. She said this one would make my eyes 'pop'." He added air quotes.
I shook my head at the little pixie. I had no idea what her antics were about and I pretty much dreaded finding out.
She was right about the golden color on Edward, though. Between his clothes and his hair, he was a symphony of fall tones. His eyes popped like polished emeralds against the warm palette. Not that Edward didn't always make my heart skip a beat, but he did look particularly handsome.
"Come on," I said, changing the subject. "It's nearly one o'clock. Help me get everything down to the car so we can go."
~oOo~
I was still marveling at the beauty of the Cullen's home when the front door opened and Alice dashed out, practically skipping down the path to the driveway and clapping her hands. She was wearing a 1970's style crochet mini dress with yellow, orange, and brown stripes, and massive bell sleeves that seemed to shimmy as she clapped. Her brown suede gogo boots at least gave her a solid foundation as she skipped over to the car.
Before I'd even reached for the handle, the door swung open, and Alice jumped in front of me. "Yay! You're here!" she cheered. "Happy Thanksgiving!"
"Hey, Alice," I said, taken aback and a little overwhelmed. I remained in my seat because Alice was still too close to the car to let me out.
"Geez, Al. Let her take a breath," Edward sighed as he got out of the car and turned to look at his sister over the roof. "You could at least let her get out."
Alice stilled before jumping a step back. "Sorry, Bella," she said with an apologetic smile.
"That's okay," I said with a timid smile and got out of the car.
"You look great," Alice giggled, winking at me. A self-satisfied glint in her smile confirmed to me my suspicions of her diabolical behavior.
"So do you," I replied in a genial tone. "And so does Edward. And you know, we kind of all look similar. Like it was planned or something. Weird," I added, a smug smile fighting to form on my lips.
Alice pouted at being called out and Edward chuckled at her from the other side of the car.
"Come on. Help us get everything inside," Edward changed the subject, pulling open the door to the back seat, where we had put the pies down on the seat to transport them.
"Everything?" Alice asked quizzically as she looked into the back of the car from our side. "Wow! Did you guys rob a bakery on your way here or something?"
"Bella made dessert for today," Edward explained, shooting me a wink and a lopsided grin. "She likes options."
I couldn't control the blush that bloomed across my cheeks, so I ducked my face behind my hair and got to work helping get everything out of the car. I handed Alice the containers with the monkey bread and cookies, while Edward took two of the pies, leaving me with the last one.
"What did you make?" Alice wondered, looking into the containers she was carrying on our way up the path to the front food.
"Pumpkin, pecan, and cherry pies," I pointed to each dish in my and Edward's hands. "And you've got a coffee, walnut Monkey bread I made for your parents, and some peanut butter, chocolate chip cookies."
"Which are mine!" Edward warned in a playful tone, though I could tell there was an underlying seriousness to it. He definitely wanted those cookies all to himself.
"Aw! Unfair!" Alice whined in response, her pout becoming more pronounced.
"I'm sure you can share with your sister," I admonished Edward with a sly grin. Alice walked through the door, but not before poking her tongue out at her brother in victory.
"Besides," I whispered to him before we followed Alice inside. "I can always make you more later if you want them again."
A triumphant smirk slid back onto Edward's face. "Oh, you know I will."
As Edward shut the door behind us, Esme swept down the hallway into the foyer, her arms open in welcome.
"You're all here!" she welcomed joyously. It was clear where Alice got her enthusiasm. "Bella, dear. It's so good to see you again." Esme smiled warmly and pulled me into a gentle hug.
"Thank you for having me today, Mrs Cullen," I replied shyly. A woman had never intimidated me more than Esme Cullen did. And that was saying something because I knew Rose. But Esme was practically perfect - gorgeous, rich, successful, a doting husband and loving children, a beautiful home - and, for some reason, I desperately wanted her to like me.
"Please, none of that. Please call me Esme," she pulled back, though she still held my arm as she rubbed it affectionately, and gently admonished me. "I insist."
I smiled back and nodded. "Alright, Esme."
Esme finally stepped back and smiled happily. "Good. And don't even try to pull a 'Mr Cullen' on Carlisle, do you hear me?" She waggled a finger at me playfully.
Before I could stop myself, instinct took over and I teased back. "Good thing I was going to go with Doctor Cullen, then."
Mortification set in when I noticed all three of the Cullens were looking at me with varying looks of disbelief. Then a hooting laugh came from the back of the house, and suddenly they were all laughing together.
After she had composed herself, Esme led us all into the house and back to the kitchen, listening intently to me explaining the different baked goods I had brought. Carlisle was seated at the smaller breakfast table with a glass of red wine, and he smiled warmly at me when we all came into the room.
"Hello, Bella. Happy Thanksgiving," Carlisle greeted, his English accent sounding even more charming than I remembered.
"Happy Thanksgiving, Carlisle. Thank you so much for having me," I smiled in return.
Esme was putting each of the pies on different stands she pulled out of a cupboard. When she turned back around and looked at Edward, Alice, and I, she frowned a little.
"Did the three of you coordinate outfits?" Esme asked, looking almost dejected. "I wish you'd told me, Alice. I would have worn something else if I knew there was a color scheme."
Instead of apologising, Alice bounced excitedly. "Would you like me to pick you out something?"
Esme's entire expression morphed to mirror her daughter's energy. "Oh! Yes please, Sweetheart."
Edward and Carlisle both laughed as Alice skipped from the room and then hurried up the stairs to the second floor. I chuckled along with them, fascinated by the close relationship between Alice and Esme. I'd only grown up with Dad and Emmett, so I'd not really had anyone to dress up or do girly things with. Well, besides Angela, but friendships were different than family. Seeing the two of them together made my heart ache a little. Not just from missing out on having that bond, growing up with a mother - God knows, Renee never showed me an ounce of maternal care - but because I would never have that with my sister or mother.
After a moment, Esme turned back to me. "Now, can I get you anything, Bella? Water? A soda? A glass of wine? I could even make you a cocktail if you like."
"A glass of wine would be lovely," I said. I needed something to help me relax and release the tension that was bottling up inside me. "Whatever you have open would be lovely."
"Could I have a glass as well please, Mom?" Edward tacked on politely.
"Of course," Esme said with a smile. She turned to get three wine glasses from an overhead cupboard and poured a glass for each of us before heading over to top off Carlisle's glass and kiss him on the head.
"Can I help you with anything in here?" I asked as Esme handed me my red wine. The kitchen smelt delicious with the aromas of roasting turkey and potatoes, with hints of bay, sage, and thyme, permeating the air. If the smell was anything to go by, the meal was going to taste phenomenal.
Esme shook her head after taking a small sip from her own glass. "That's very sweet, Dear. Thank you. But everything is almost done. The turkey will come out shortly so it can rest and I think we should be able to sit down to eat in around an hour," she explained. "Why don't you, Edward and Carlisle head into the loungeroom and make yourselves comfortable. I'll join you all soon."
The way the Cullens celebrated Thanksgiving was completely different to the way my family did it. Instead of setting up on the sofas to watch the games, Carlisle put on some soft jazz, quietly playing in the background so as not to obstruct conversation. He then proceeded to ask Edward about his latest project and enquire about the program he was going to be giving at my school. Carlisle then spent a little while picking my brain on the education system in America, and how I felt about the alternative education provided by Evergreen Academy.
It wasn't long before Esme came in and perched elegantly on the armrest of the sofa where her husband was sitting. She was only there a few minutes before Alice was calling her upstairs to change into the outfit that would coordinate with us. When they returned together, Esme was wearing a soft-looking, maroon cashmere pullover tucked into cinnamon-brown woollen slacks. The colors complimented her caramel hair and, just like Edward, made her green eyes sparkle.
"The four of you look like you've just stepped out of a Fall-themed photoshoot," Carlisle chuckled as his wife spun around to show off her ensemble. "It's very American."
"Oh, hush," Esme admonished him, playfully swatting his arm.
"I picked something out for you too, Dad. It's laid out upstairs and you should totally go put in on," Alice tried to coerce her father.
"I'm perfectly happy in the clothes I choose for myself, thank you, Daughter," he replied urbanely.
Alice's demeanor shifted, suddenly looking like a little child asking for an ice cream with her pout and wide eyes. "Aw," she started, but was interrupted by a dinging from the kitchen and Esme jumping up again.
"That's the turkey," she clarified, making her way back to the kitchen. "We'll sit down to eat in about half an hour. And Alice," she added, turning around before she left the living room. "Leave your father be."
~oOo~
The meal Esme had made was wonderful. Served with the turkey were the most amazing crispy roast potatoes, which Carlisle had apparently made. He boasted that he was always the one to make the potatoes on Thanksgiving and Christmas because English roast potatoes were the best in the world. I had to admit, they were pretty delicious. There was also a range of traditional side dishes Esme had prepared; green beans, glazed carrots, and candied yams. The stuffing was golden and buttery, with sage, thyme, and rosemary, and the gravy was rich and deeply flavored. Add to that Esme's homemade cranberry sauce, which made me swear I would never be able to have the stuff from the can ever again without being disappointed.
The conversation was light and differed drastically from the atmosphere around this table the last time I'd eaten with the Cullens. At no point did I feel alienated or excluded from their family dynamic. If anything, Carlisle and Esme spent more time engaged in asking me questions and getting to know me than they were in conversations with their own children.
Towards the end of the meal, Carlisle sat back in his seat and took a sip from his nearly empty glass of red wine. "I believe there is an American tradition on this holiday where we are meant to go around the table and say what we are most thankful for."
Esme rolled her eyes at him. "Please! Like you haven't spent Thanksgiving here for nearly forty years. You're more American now than British!"
Carlisle clapped his hand over his heart in faux dismay. "You wound me, my love. I think I need to hear how thankful you are for me to make up for it."
This, of course, made his wife laugh and she leaned over, pulling him toward her for a kiss. "I am incredibly thankful for you, my dear husband. I am also thankful for our beautiful children, especially that Edward has finally come home, where I care for him." Tears had sprung in Esme's eyes as she looked at her son. Then she turned her glistening eyes to me, making me feel like a deer in headlights. "I'm also very thankful for you, Bella. Not just because I am so happy to meet you, but you have no idea the difference you have made in my son; how much peace you've brought him. I am so grateful to you."
Her words made my throat tighten, choking any words that I may have tried to say. I felt the sting in my eye that told me I was on the verge of tears and blinked to try and prevent it. I didn't know what to say, settling on an appreciative smile as I tried to clear the lump that had formed in my windpipe.
"I'm also very thankful that you've returned home, Edward," Carlisle said to his son, following his wife's emotional declaration. "I was so worried about you while you were in Chicago, but you've been doing so well since you've been back. I finally have my son back. And I want to thank you, Bella. Without you, I don't think Edward would have been going to counselling and he may have still been adrift in the grey fog he was lost in."
So much for clearing the lump. After Carlisle's speech, the tightness had only grown. I was fighting a losing battle to keep the brimming moisture in my eyes from falling. I was overwhelmed by their sincerity. They barely knew me, yet they thought so highly of me.
I looked at Edward and saw he was similarly affected by his father's words. I wondered if Carlisle was a father like Charlie, and verbal expressions of his pride were few, yet meaningful. For some reason, I pictured Carlisle as the type of man who was very open with his affection to the people he loved.
"Well, I'm also thankful you came into our lives, Bella," Alice continued in her tinkling voice. "I didn't realise how much I'd missed having a close friend, but I'm so glad we get to know each other now."
I had to wipe away the tears gathered at the corner of my eyes after Alice had finished. I was thankful for her as well. At first, I'd been very apprehensive about building a relationship with Alice, but now I honestly couldn't imagine her and I not being friends.
I was next in line to say what I was thankful for, but the tightness in my throat hadn't abated, making talking practically impossible. Looking at Edward, I pleaded to him with my eyes, wanting him to step in and save me from the discomposure I was feeling.
He studied me for a moment, staring intently into my eyes, before smiling kindly. "Me going first probably won't help you much," he said quietly as if it was just for me. "I think you know I'm thankful for you, too," was all he added.
Staring back into his emerald eyes, I felt a shiver travel down my spine and settle in my gut. I knew it was silly, but I couldn't help but fantasize that he meant more than just being thankful I gave him a connection to his lost wife. I wanted him to be thankful for me and everything I brought to his life; everything I could give him and everything I wanted to give him. I wanted him to mean he was thankful for all of it.
Needing to break the eye contact that stoked the fire in the pit of my stomach, I looked around the table. I blushed when I noticed they had all been watching the exchange between me and Edward. Clearing my throat to try and finally shift the emotions blocked there, I attempted to gather my scattered mind and put my thoughts into words.
"I am thankful to you all for… for being so welcoming to me," I stumbled. "I'm grateful my sister had such loving people around her her whole life, and I'm glad I'll get the opportunity to know all of you. Edward," I turned to him, my blush returning full force. "You turned my life upside down when you came into it, but I'm so thankful you did. Because of you, I've gotten answers to questions I've had my whole life, and I'm finally starting to understand who I really am."
It was Edward's turn to look abashed. The tips of his ears turn pink as his eyes softened. For a moment, we sat staring at each other, unspoken words passing between us. The others could have started to line dance and we probably wouldn't have noticed. After a few seconds, though, I began to feel self-conscious and looked away.
Thankfully Alice was talking to her parents, so they didn't seem to notice whatever had passed between me and their son.
~oOo~
Luckily, the mood lightened when dessert was served, and the jovial conversation returned. Pride welled up inside me at the effusive compliments from each of the Cullens when they tried my desserts, though bashfulness stained my cheeks pink. I was glad Esme cut the pieces of pie on the smaller side because we all ended up having a slice of each flavor.
It was always incredibly gratifying, to have people enjoy something I'd cooked and be unable to hold back their satisfaction. Not that I made things for people for the recognition or praise. I did it to see the happiness on their faces as they smelt what was in the oven or took their first bite.
"I must say, Bella, they were all delicious," Carlisle sighed as he sat back in his chair after pushing his empty plate away. "But that pecan pie was so good, I'd go back for another slice if I wasn't more stuffed than the turkey was."
"Thank you," I said, my cheeks warming at his flattery.
Alice hummed. "I don't know," she challenged. "You can't really beat the classic pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving. Especially when it was that tasty!"
"Well, my favorite was the cherry," Edward declared, scooping the last bite on his plate onto his fork. "Fruity, tart, sweet. What more could you want out of a dessert? And it can be enjoyed all year round. It doesn't need a holiday to make it a classic." It was practically torture to watch him pull the fork from between his lips, his tongue then peaking out to catch all the juices from the tines. "Mmmm," he practically purred. "Hot damn, that pie's good."
My face started burning and I quickly looked away. Unfortunately, Alice seemed to have been watching me. When I saw her, my mouth popped open. I hadn't realised I'd been biting my lip.
Besides raising an eyebrow at me, she let what she'd seen drop.
"Edward," Esme chastised. "Have some decorum, please." Her face was full of humor though, so I could tell she was highly amused by her son's antics.
It wasn't long before Carlisle began to collect everyone's plates and moved them over to the bench next to the sink. Alice smiled at me as she took my plate with hers before following her father. Esme remained where she was, but when I moved to stand, reaching for one of the pies in the centre of the table, her hand shot out.
"No, Dear. Leave it," she basically commanded. "The rule in this house is that the people who cook the meal don't have to lift a finger to clean up after it. You stay where you are, and Edward can take that over to the kitchen." Esme gave her son a pointed look.
Edward pouted in return. "But, Ma! I've got a guest," he said, sounding closer to thirteen than thirty.
Esme merely raised an eyebrow at him. "She is a guest of the family, young man," she admonished. "You have spent Thanksgiving in this house your entire life, and we have done it the exact same way every year. You are not a child, and it's the least you can do to thank Bella and I for the lovely meal we made."
Edward's ears tinged pink and one of his hands raked through his hair. "Yes, Ma'am," he grunted and got to his feet, his eyes downcast.
I felt a little awkward, sitting still as I watched Edward and Alice clear the table while Carlisle began to fill the sink to do dishes. Esme, however, looked perfectly at ease.
She smiled at me with a peculiar expression. "Did Edward show you my greenhouse last time you were here, Bella?" Esme asked me conversationally.
"Oh," I said, surprised by the direction of the question. "Yes, he did."
"Did he take you inside?"
"Um… No. We just stayed outside." I remember thinking how unusual and beautiful the building that sat on the hill and looked out over the lake was.
"Would you like to go in and see?" Esme offered, a hopeful look in her eye. "One of my orchids has recently bloomed and I'd love to show you."
I could see Edward over Esme's shoulder, watching us surreptitiously as he tried a dish his father had passed him. I felt the weight of his gaze on me, fanning a flame I was vehemently trying to extinguish. Suddenly, I was desperate for an escape.
"That would be lovely, Esme," I replied. "Thank you."
I felt Edward's eyes on me the entire walk through the room and out the glass door to the back lawn. I'm sure if the greenhouse wasn't shielded from the main building by a large hedge, I would have continued to feel the touch of his gaze until I was firmly inside the glass building and out of sight.
The wave of warm air that hit me as I followed Esme into the greenhouse caught me off-guard. But when I finally got a good look at the large room, I stopped in my tracks. Seeing it from the outside, with the setting sun casting a luminous reflection off the cobbled-together windows, belied the rest of the greenhouse's charm. The flooring had a border in the same bricks as the waist-high walls, but the majority of it was made of diagonally set, large black and white checkerboard tiles. Between the white windows and high roof, the floors and the abundance of plants, the building ended up looking more like a conservatory than a home greenhouse.
There were several medium-sized trees in big pots on wheels lined up along the wall that faced down towards the lake, getting the majority of the light. One of them was a lemon tree, which still had a few ripe lemons ready to be picked, but I had no idea what the others could be. There were several raised garden beds with different produce, much of which I didn't know what it was, though I did see a fairly good crop of lettuce. In the center of the room, there was a row of small shrubs that all looked like they could be roses, all growing in individual pots.
Along the opposite wall was a large bench, running the length of the room. Underneath was a range of different pots and gardening tools. The bench was covered in smaller plants, dividing up the bench into stations, which I'm sure Esme used for particular things.
"Wow," I said, amazed. "This place is so cool."
Esme laughed in response. "Thank you, dear. This place has been a labour of love for many years." She started leading me down the aisle, between the flowers and the bench. "There are many plants that struggle in cooler climates, especially this time of year. Having this space has allowed me to indulge in projects like my orchids.
We had reached the other end of the greenhouse, where the bench continued along the perpendicular wall. In a few pots on the top of the bench, as well as on a floor stand by another set of doors, were a range of different orchids in various shades of pink, white, and yellow. The colors of the flowers were vivid, though some also had interesting patterns with brown or orange freckles. In the middle of the bench-top was a small plant with a spray of five-petal flowers of vibrant indigo, dotted with speckles of white.
"This," Esme gestured to it. "Is my Blue Vanda orchid. It's not a rare variety, but this one has been changing colors on me, which is unusual. Last time it flowered, it was a rich purple. Now it's come out in this beautiful deep blue."
While I knew next to nothing about orchids, I couldn't help but marvel at the unique flower. It reminded me of a forget-me-not, or perhaps an alien version of them from some overgrown jungle planet.
"It's lovely," I said admiringly.
Esme spent the next few minutes telling me about the different flowers she had been growing. She had the same enthusiasm in her voice when she talked about the home she had spent years renovating and decorating.
I envied the passion Esme and the rest of the Cullen family had for their work and hobbies. Not that I didn't enjoy my job, but it seemed like Edward and Alice had been told their whole lives to follow their dreams, while I had grown up being told to find something I liked doing but would give me stability. I loved teaching, but I did wonder what I could have done if I'd been told to reach for the stars.
Was that how Maria had grown up, too? Having grown up with Esme and Carlisle like second parents, I assumed so.
"Bella, I…" Esme's unsure voice broke a comfortable silence that had settled for a moment and grabbed my attention. I had no idea what Esme could feel so insecure over. "I know I thanked you already for everything you've done for my son, but I… there is nothing I can do that could actually show the depth of my gratitude."
"Esme," I started self-consciously, shaking my head to curtail any further commendations. "I didn't…"
But she stopped me before I refuted her opinion of me. "No, please. I have wanted to say something to you since you were here last, but I didn't know if it would be for the best." Esme's comment worried me a little, but I kept silent anyway. "You were a big influence on Edward continuing to go to counseling. I know he told you he would make other arrangements if you felt uncomfortable with him being there, but I'm glad you told him to stay because I doubt he would have found somewhere else to go. He was in such a dark place, and I think you were the jolt he needed to start putting himself back together." Esme's voice broke as she talked about her son's pain. "While you have made the most difference for him, meeting other people who share the same grief has been incredibly beneficial to him."
"Our counselor, Angela, is always talking about the importance of a strong and understanding support network," I nodded.
"Yes, it is," Esme agreed. "Edward's friendship with Frank has allowed him to open up to someone who understands a part of him that no one else does."
I couldn't help but laugh lightly, picturing the odd friendship between Edward and our seventy-two-year-old fellow group member. "They have certainly formed a bond."
"Yes. I imagine it has been comforting to Edward to know that if he has a thought or feeling he believes no one would understand, there is someone who might. Someone whose experience mirrors his and may be able to put themself in his shoes."
I nodded mutely, in agreement with Esme's assessment of Edward and Frank's relationship. I had always known there was more to the outings they went on than chocolate shakes and classical music. I'm glad I wasn't the only person to see how special the connection between the two of them was.
"He's told me a little about the other people in your group, too," she continued. "Nothing specific, just general things." Esme paused then, looking hesitant about what she was going to say. With a little sigh, she looked around and pointed to a bench against the wall on the other side of the double doors, hidden behind a potted tree. "Why don't we sit?" she suggested and I followed to sit beside her, feeling apprehensive.
"Edward said there was another woman in the group who had lost her son, though he was in his twenties when he died. I'm sure she has been a great support to you. But… I wanted to let you know that if you ever want to talk to a mother who knows what it's like to lose a young child, one that was taken before they had a chance to really live, well, I could be there for you."
I was taken aback by Esme's revelation. Edward had never mentioned losing a sibling.
"Our situations aren't entirely alike. Carlisle and I lost our first child, our son Anthony, to leukemia before he was five."
My heart broke for her and the tragedy of losing a child so young to such a vicious disease. "Esme," I whispered, my throat choked with emotion. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea. Edward has never said anything about it."
"Anthony died a few years before Edward was born," she explained. "It took us a little while before we were able to talk about having more children. When Anthony was diagnosed, he was only three. He was so little. Carlisle was still finishing his residency, working all hours at the hospital, and I often felt alone in the battle for our son's life.
"I was so angry at the world then. Angry that God would hurt such an innocent child. I was wracked with guilt, blaming myself, wondering what I did wrong to have caused it. And then, after a two-year struggle, watching my little boy fight bravely, day after day until he ultimately succumbed, I was filled with such a deafening sorrow that nothing could reach me through the fog."
I understood those feelings well. In the days after losing my son, I barely moved from my bed. Jake had been so worried. I was drowning, and no matter what anyone said, I couldn't seem to keep my head above water. They all told me, again and again, that it wasn't my fault, I'd done nothing, and there was nothing that could have been done. But that didn't stop the storm that swirled inside my own mind.
"It was Carlisle who saved me," Esme said with a shaky breath. "He was there, by my side during my darkest days. He was the only person who I felt truly understood my grief on any real level. He was my lifeline, and I just want you to know that should you ever need one, I would be happy to be yours."
I felt the tears as a few spilled over, leaving a cool trail down my cheeks. There was something about Esme, though, that put me at ease. I knew, despite any misgivings I'd had in the past, I could confide in her.
"I-I don't talk about him often. It's too hard," I confessed in a constricted voice, my eyes fixed on my lap. In truth, I was ashamed of how I shut all thoughts of him un in a box just so I could get through the day. Esme's hand came into my line of sight, taking hold of mine with such force, I knew she was willing me to tap into her strength. "In our meetings, I mainly talk about Jake. This probably sounds awful, but… his death is easier to deal with. It doesn't hurt as much as losing… as losing William." I rarely said my son's name out loud, and even then I could only whisper it.
Esme sat quietly for a moment, simply squeezing my hand to let me know she was simply thinking.
"I don't know what I would do, or how I would act if I lost Carlisle. If watching my son over the last year or so had shown me anything, it's that losing your partner is incredibly painful. But more than anything, it unmoors you from the future you were creating. A loss like that forces you to reassess who you are after they're gone.
"Losing a child, that loss cuts a slice from your soul. It changes you in fundamental ways. And sometimes it's so big, the only thing you can do is shut off that part of yourself and hide. I may seem like I've dealt with it, but I still break down on the anniversary of his death. I retreat, and for all intents and purposes, August the sixteenth doesn't exist."
"I know what you mean," I nodded heavily. "January thirtieth could be struck off the calendar and I would cheer."
Esme's hand tensed around mine. "What… what day did you say?"
"W-what?" I stuttered. "Um… January thirtieth." It came out like a question as I had no idea what Esme suddenly seemed so surprised by.
Esme looked stunned and one of her hands fluttered to cover her mouth. "Oh dear. What an awful coincidence," she said sadly.
"What do you mean?" I asked, my brow furrowed in confusion.
It was Esme's turn to look perplexed. "Has Edward told you about what happened to Maria? About how she was hurt during a shooting?"
That was nowhere near what I thought she was going to say. "Yes, he has."
"Did he tell you when it happened? What day?"
I shook my head jerkily. Comprehension started to sink in as my brain connected the dots in our conversation, making my throat too uncomfortably tight to answer.
"I am so sorry, Bella," she said, her voice heavy with emotion. "But it happened on the same day. Maria was shot on the thirtieth of January."
An awful coincidence, indeed. Of all the ways Maria and my lives mirrored each other, this is the one that cut me the most keenly.
Before I knew it, a sob had torn its way out of my chest and I was being pulled into Esme's arms. The revelation sent a shockwave through my body, like an arrow piercing my heart. Floodgates that I'd held sealed tight for so long burst and I was overwhelmed. Images of who my little boy could have been churned with a phantom ache, like an echo of my sister's pain.
It seemed like my life had been inextricably tied to my sister's, and hers to mine.
A part of me had begun to think that the blood clot I'd experienced during the emergency surgery after the accident was actually a genetic one, and the same thing that had killed Maria. The fact that I was being operated on at the time the clot caused a stroke ultimately saved my life.
But, as a chilling truth settled over me, I realised reality was entirely different.
On the day my sister was shot in her stomach, my son died in my womb. On the night I almost lost my life on the operating table, my sister died in her bed.
Even though my soul felt like it was in shatters on the floor, there was a part of me that had been healed. After my son's inexplicable death, I'd been plagued with questions about what had happened; what I could have done to prevent it. Because the doctors couldn't give me answers, I blamed myself. What else could have caused that?
Now, I had an answer. It may not have been a perfect answer, and it may not have made sense to other people, but I finally sensed some sort of… forgiveness.
But hand in hand with my absolution was my damnation. While I finally understood that losing William wasn't my fault, it looked like I have been the cause of my twin's death.
As my cry slowed, I became aware of voices. One was Esme, chanting "Shh, sweet girl. It's okay." as she stroked my hair. The other was a strangled sound, whispering "I'm sorry" over and over. It took me a minute to recognise the second voice as mine.
With a shuddering breath, I finally raised my head and met Esme's compassionate eyes. Brushing the tears from my wet cheeks, I tried to give her a smile but it came out weak and watery.
"I'm sorry, Esme," I said softly, needing to clear my throat after my crying jag. "That was a bit of a surprise and it shocked me." I took a shuddering breath and looked away from the exceptionally kind woman comforting me. "I've locked all my thoughts about William in a box just so I can get through each day; so I can breathe. Whenever I open that box, it's like my heart is breaking all over again."
Esme's hand found mine again and give them a squeeze. "I understand, dear. Have you talked to Edward about William at all?"
My breath caught at the sound of his name on someone else's lips. "No," I whispered, biting my lip. "I've told him some things, but I can't… it's hard to…" I really wanted to explain myself, to make Esme understand. "After the accident, it was easy to ignore the pain I was still in because I had all these new pains to deal with. Everything became too much and I had to compartmentalize, or I would have gone crazy. After a while, after I was healed physically, it was easier to leave the boxes closed so I could pretend I was healed emotionally, too."
"I think my son, of all people, would understand that," Esme said with a humorless laugh. "And I'm sure he would want to know that…"
An irrational fear suddenly screamed at me from the recesses of my mind, drowning out anything else Esme was saying - How would Edward ever forgive me? If I was right, then his beloved wife's death was because of me.
My second thought was that he couldn't find out. If he knew, he would eventually see the way everything was connected and he would hate me. He would reject me and discard our friendship. I don't know what I would do if I lost Edward, too.
"No. I can't tell him yet." My head shook vehemently at my frantic feelings, desperate to find a way to postpone what I'm sure was the inevitable. "Please don't say anything to him, Esme. Please. I'll tell him, I will. I just need some time to… process everything."
"Calm down, Bella. It's okay. Take a deep breath," she responded, rubbing her hand between my shoulder blades. "I won't say anything to Edward. But I think you should tell him. He cares about you, and he's always been highly perceptive about people; he'll figure something has upset you and it will worry him until he figures it out."
I knew she didn't mean it to sound like an ultimatum, but to me it did. She wouldn't want her son to tie himself in knots worrying about me, not when she knew I could prevent it. Still, I felt the pressure to be the brave one and be honest.
Just then, the entrance door on the other side of the greenhouse creaked open, sounds from the outside leaking in and breaking the bubble Esme and I had been ensconced in.
"Mom? Bella?" came Alice's voice, probably searching for us in the low light. Esme stood, revealing herself to her daughter, and rested her hand gently on my shoulder. "Oh, hey," Alice continued. "We finished with the kitchen and Dad set up the Scrabble if you guys are nearly finished up in here."
"Thank you, Sweetheart," Esme raised her voice slightly to carry across the room. "We will be down in a minute."
Alice's eyes traveled from her mother down to where I was still seated on the bench. Hopefully, I didn't look like I'd just been a crying mess. I got the feeling that Alice was one of those friends who would pester you with questions until you'd spilled your guts to her. But she just smiled at me, nodded at her mom, and turned to walk back to the house.
"Come, Dear. Let's go inside." Esme held out her hand for me. I took it and she guided me to my feet. "There is a washroom just inside the back door if you need a moment alone without having to walk past anyone."
I followed her down the dark path, stopping just before the glass and tugging on her. "Thank you, Esme," I croaked, my emotions swelled inside me again. "I-I don't know if I can… I mean, I don't really have…" I couldn't find the words to describe the feelings swirling within me. "Thank you for your kindness tonight," I finished lamely.
Esme reached up and tucked a strand of hair that had fallen in front of my face behind my ear. "It was my pleasure, Dear." I looked up at her and her eyes were full of so much warmth, it made the butterflies flop in my stomach. "I meant what I said. If you ever need someone to talk to about your little boy, you can have my ear and my shoulder, if you should need that too."
I took a few minutes in the restroom to wash my face and try to wrangle my thoughts into some sort of order. My cheeks were still slightly flushed and my eyes were a little glassy, but they weren't as red as I thought they'd be.
I tried to convince myself that nothing had really changed; that this was just another tally to add to the crazy correlations between identical twins. In the end, my son and Maria were both still gone, and there were currently so many other things to focus on. What was the point of dwelling in the past? I needed to tuck everything back in their boxes, where I could keep everything neat and tidy, and in the back of my mind.
Standing straight, I locked eyes with myself in the mirror and squared my shoulders. I steeled myself with a deep breath and left the bathroom.
A mug of peppermint tea was waiting at my spot at the table, where Edward had set up a tile rack and a collection of upside-down tiles. Esme gave me a kind smile as I sat down and I knew it was a loving gesture from a divinely maternal woman.
"So, what did you think?" Edward asked, breaking my internal daze.
"Hmmm?" I responded dumbly as I looked over at him.
He chuckled at me. "What did you think of the greenhouse? Did Mom show you her special plants?"
"Oh," I blushed, feeling somewhat stupid. "It was lovely. And yes, she showed me her beautiful flowers."
Edward was being normal, and it was exactly what I needed to anchor myself. I sipped from my hot tea and let myself sink into the structured familiarity of the board game. The Cullen's playful teasing and easy banter worked to lighten my mood, and slowly I felt like I was acting normal myself.
Deep down, however, the storm continued to rumble. It seemed like I had been adrift in the ocean for an eternity, and any time I thought there might be a break in the clouds, I'm proven wrong and the sea only churns more wildly. When would the turbulence finally end? When would I stop being struck against the rocks, leaving me feeling battered and bruised?
Or maybe the question was - how many more times can something chip away before I am completely worn down?
Sorry to end the chapter on a sad note! But you have to remember, this story is a mystery and mysteries are often full of twists and turns. Hopefully you feel like there was a good balance between the nice, sweet stuff and the drama and heartbreak.
I'd love to hear what you thought, so please leave a review!
Untill next time, Lovelies!!