Hiiii. I know updates are less often now but hopefully longer chapters help? Thanks for still being here, if you are! Mwah.

35
- clean getaway -

My renewed passport arrives in the mail one week after my birthday.

I'd been stressing it wouldn't arrive in time for the destination wedding I'm shooting in Cabo next week, but thankfully everything worked out.

I empty the envelope on my kitchen counter, finding both my old and new passports.

The new one is stiff and blank—a literal clean slate… minus the fact that it still says Bella Cullen.

I couldn't bother with changing my name yet, especially since I had to expedite this passport to arrive on time. And maybe a small part of me wants to forever remain Bella Cullen. I'm just not sure how Edward would feel if I kept his last name without keeping him.

Flipping through the worn pages of my old passport, I glance at the dated stamps from all of the places Edward and I traveled to over the last ten years.

Greece was our first trip together.

Spain was the last, a few years ago.

We booked Barcelona as a reminder to ourselves that being baby-free was a good thing. We could plan last-minute trips without guilt and added responsibilities.

We could have fun and be spontaneous.

Spain was stilted, though. There was a shift between us. I doubt he'd ever admit it, but I could feel it shaping every part of me.

Knowing that this new passport won't have any correlation with Edward somehow feels more final than any stack of divorce papers.

Where will I be in ten more years?

Where will he be?

My phone chimes with a text, snapping me out of my maudlin mood, and I move into my bedroom to place both passports in my nightstand drawer for safekeeping.

Sitting on my bed, I look at my phone.

Edward: Can we talk?

Other than the birthday card he left for me a week ago, this is the first communication we've had in nearly six weeks.

In some ways, it feels too soon to talk.

In so many others, it feels like our silence has lasted a lifetime.

I mean, I want to talk. I want to know how he's doing. How he's feeling. But I'm nervous, I guess. Unsure what it will be like the first time we speak. Uncertain about how my heart and head will feel.

Does he hate me? Think I'm selfish?

Does he still understand why our divorce has to happen?

Is he still living out of the hotel, or has he found a more permanent place?

The thought of him eventually buying a house in LA and putting down roots without my input makes me sadder than I realized it would.

Maybe I can't do this. But I know if I don't talk to him, I'll be haunted by not knowing why he finally reached out.

Bella: Hi. We can talk. When are you free?

Edward: Now. Call or text?

His words feel clipped and abrupt, but maybe it's just how I'm reading it and not how he intended.

Bella: We can talk on the phone.

Maybe it's pathetic, but I just want to hear his voice.

A minute later, my phone rings and a picture of him flashes on the screen, this sweet memory attached to his number.

It's a photo of him in our old bed. He's shirtless and lying against white sheets. I was straddling him and wearing his shirt when I snapped the photo of his lazy, sated, sexy smile. His glazed focus wasn't on the phone in my hand, but just past it, on me.

He looked happy.

His eyes screamed mine.

I answer the call, just to make the picture go away.

"Hey," I say too softly, my voice affected by the bittersweet memory of us. I clear my throat and try again. "Hi."

"Did you talk to your lawyer about the house?" he immediately asks.

No hey, no hi.

No soft voice.

Just getting right down to business.

What can I expect though? I don't deserve the soft side of him anymore. And maybe that would make this more complicated than it needs to be.

"Yeah, I did," I say, making my voice firm like his.

"I haven't heard anything yet, so I wasn't sure if there was a hold-up."

My heart fills with unrelenting spite.

He can't wait to get rid of me and move on, I think.

I take a long, deep breath.

In yesterday's therapy session, I learned about intrusive thoughts, which is what I just had. They appear out of nowhere and aren't necessarily true. Jane said it's my depression lying to me; working against me. When I mentioned maybe starting Zoloft, she agreed it would be beneficial if that's something I felt I needed.

Unfortunately, I missed my doctor's appointment last week and had to reschedule, so the soonest I can get a prescription is the day after I get back from Mexico next week.

Even without meds, though, I already feel like Jane has given me some tools to work with on my own.

Like just now with that intrusive thought, I remind myself that Edward didn't speak those exact words to me. He didn't say, "Bella, I can't wait to get rid of you and move on." He's merely asking why the divorce process that I started is being delayed.

Maybe this hardness is his way of protecting his heart the way I couldn't for him. Two hearts have been broken here. It's not just me who's hurting.

"You still there?" he asks.

"Yeah. It took me a couple of days to call my lawyer back but I agreed we can let the tenants stay until December like they requested, and then sell," I finally say, my heart squeezing at the idea of selling the house we used to love. The house we made into a home and thought we'd grow old in; raise babies in.

"Great. Thanks." His voice doesn't hold an amicable tone. It's stiff and frustrated, and blatantly dickish.

I stand and move toward my bedroom window, peering outside. In Seattle, the trees would already be deep reds and golden oranges. Here, time is at a standstill. There aren't visual reminders that life changes.

But it does.

I don't let myself think of how different things will be soon, or do the math on how many days are left until our divorce is final.

"Why'd you only have the tenants sign a month-to-month lease anyway, and not a year?" I ask because that feels safer to say than anything else I'm thinking.

"Does it matter?"

"Guess not, no," I tell him, keeping things civil.

There's a brief pause. "Did you get the birthday card I left?" he asks.

"Is that why you're acting like a dick? Because I didn't thank you for the card?" The second I blurt it, I feel guilty. "I'm sorry. I know you're hurting, but so am I. This is hard enough as it is…"

"I don't need a thank-you for the card, Bella. I did that because I wanted to. Because I—" He pauses. "If I'm acting like a dick it's because… because I don't know how to act around you at all. You're not my wife. You're not my ex. We're casually talking about selling our house, giving up our fucking life and I still feel so many fucking… things…" he trails off, his words finally a little softer around the edges. "I fucking hate this. I can't talk to you like this. I'm sorry if it's making me come off as a heartless asshole. I just don't know how to act, okay?"

Tears fill my eyes. "I get it," I mumble, my throat tightening.

He sighs heavily. "Did you have a good birthday?"

"Well, not exactly. That was the day I got the call that you signed the papers, so…" I sniffle a self-deprecating laugh, wiping my eyes.

He hesitates. "Really? That's when you found out?"

"Yeah."

He breathes into the line, sounding sincere when he says, "Fuck. I'm sorry, Bella. I sent them back before your birthday. If I would've known—"

"It's fine. It's okay," I reassure him because we can't take anything back now. "I didn't tell you that to make you feel guilty. You were finishing what I started. I should've expected it."

"Yeah, but…" He pauses, not expanding.

"It's okay," I finish for him. "And I did get your card. I loved it. I'm not sure I deserved it, but… thank you for remembering my birthday. That meant a lot."

"Don't say that."

"What?"

"That you don't deserve it."

"Well?"

The line is quiet.

"You weren't home when I dropped off the card, and I waited around for a little," he admits, a vulnerable edge in his voice now. "Did you have plans or something?" Before I have a chance to reply he says, "Nevermind. Don't answer that."

A nervous ache creeps into my stomach. Maybe he thinks I was out with Peter, and even though part of me does want to clarify that I wasn't, I also don't want to know what he's been doing. I'm also not sure I want him to know I was hanging out with Rosalie.

"Okay," I whisper.

"Okay, so… yeah." He clears his throat. "We'll have to figure out getting the rest of our shit from the storage unit in Seattle."

"I thought you already sent everything that was mine?"

"Not everything. We'll have to pick a weekend to deal with all of that. Or I can just do it all if you don't care."

The thought of him unpacking our storage unit alone seems so fucking depressing. Then again, he filled it himself, too, which was a whole other level of heartbreaking.

"I do care. I can help," I promise. "I don't mind."

The silence stretches on, our goodbye stalled.

"Bella?" His pained, gravelly voice is like a punch to my heart.

"Yeah?"

"I'm only going to ask you this once."

Still lingering by the window, I press my forehead against the glass as I murmur, "Okay. What? Ask me what?"

"Are we making a mistake?"

I swallow the lump in my throat and sit back down on the bed before mumbling, "It's so hard to know."

"Yeah. I guess."

"It hurts right now. So fucking much," I say carefully, truthfully. "There's no right answer."

"Okay. Yeah. But if you thought it was a mistake, you'd say so. Wouldn't you? So, that means you're happy with this decision," he accuses.

"Happy?" I echo. "Nothing about this decision is easy for me, Edward. Why would you think that?"

"I don't know."

More silence.

I don't know what else to say, but the reassurance of I miss you is on the tip of my tongue. I don't get to release those truthful words before he speaks.

"Guess I should let you go," he says, clipped.

The double meaning hangs in the air before he hangs up.

Clenching my eyes closed, I try to keep the tears from falling.

And then I scroll to his contact information and promptly remove the photo attached to his number, so the next time he calls maybe it'll hurt a little less.

XXX

"How to survive hot yoga," I read aloud, looking at my phone and glancing over the article Rosalie sent me. "Maybe don't do it at all?" I jokingly ask.

Rosalie laughs, sitting across from me at the cafe. I'm joining her for my first hot yoga class today, and even though I'm looking forward to it, I'm mostly just excited to hang out with her.

I have to admit, I was surprised when she texted me yesterday to confirm our plans. I wasn't sure if our heart-to-heart on my birthday was a one-time thing. But it seems like Rosalie craves a friend just as much as I do, and in a weird way, it feels like I've known her for longer than I have.

"The article is helpful! You'll thank me after," Rosalie insists. "I wish I'd read it before the first hot yoga class I took. I went in blind, and had just gone out for burgers and beers with Emmett beforehand, and… God, it was an awful experience."

I cringe, laughing. "Why did you think working out in a room that's a hundred degrees with a full stomach of carbs and alcohol was a good idea?"

"It was early on in our relationship," she laughs. "I wasn't thinking. I was enamored. I was trying to be the cool girl. Trying to show him I could drink beer and eat red meat and go to yoga. I'm much happier being myself now."

"Okay, but you're still a cool girl," I insist.

She rolls her eyes but accepts the compliment as she sips her tea. "So… hey."

I don't know her that well, but her tone shift makes me feel on guard.

"Yeah?"

She starts to backtrack. "Maybe I shouldn't say anything."

"You can't do that to me now," I insist because it's going to drive me crazy not knowing what she was going to say. "Tell me."

She holds my gaze and says, "He stopped wearing his wedding ring."

I doubt she means Emmett, and there's only one man whose ring finger would be of any interest to me.

"When?" I ask.

"Yesterday."

"Well, that's… fine. It's expected," I say, swallowing back regret and remorse, glancing at my own finger that's been ringless for quite some time.

"Someone asked about you the other day, and I swear Edward looked like he was going to punch the wall."

I glance at her, feeling lower than low. "Really?"

"All he said was that he refuses to talk about his personal life. It was really tense and awkward. But yeah… I doubt anyone will be asking about you again."

"He called me," I admit. "We talked."

She looks surprised, then slightly hopeful. "When?"

"Yesterday morning. He hadn't heard if our lawyers communicated, I guess, and—" The emotion in my voice catches me off guard when I remember just how stilted it was between us. "It was weird. Awful, really. Maybe that's why he decided to finally take off his ring?"

"Maybe," she says softly.

"We talked about selling our house after December and… it hurts. Like, of course, it does, but…" I shrug. "All of these little ties to him are coming undone."

Rosalie offers a sad, sympathetic smile. "Poetic."

"Pathetic," I sigh.

When I think about how long we spent searching for the perfect place… how many years we spent renovating it. Any free weekends we had together were spent turning our house into a home. Tearing out carpet. Replacing floors. Painting rooms… plans for a nursery. Building a back deck where we entertained friends.

That house was a labor of love, and in a matter of months, it'll no longer be ours.

Something's been nagging at me ever since I talked to Edward, though.

"Do I even have a right to feel so fucking sad?" I ask Rosalie.

She gives me a crazed look. "Why wouldn't you be allowed to feel sad over your divorce?"

I take a long drink of water. "Because the last time I saw him, he seemed accepting of it. And now he doesn't? I don't know."

"He signed the papers. That seems like he's accepting it to me. And it's natural to have regrets and to be unsure."

"Yesterday on the phone he asked me if we were making a mistake and I couldn't tell him no," I admit guiltily.

"Regardless of why it's happening or who is pushing for it, it's still devastating. You're allowed to feel however you need," Rosalie reminds me. "Can I ask you something, though, without upsetting you?"

"You can try, but I make no promises. Especially since my emotions are all over the place lately," I say with a faint laugh.

She accepts the challenge and asks, "Do you think Edward knew the real you?"

On instinct, I feel defensive.

Of course, he knew me, I want to say.

Everything about us was real—our life, our love, our connection.

Even if all of that is true, I let myself sit with her question and really think about it.

Edward knew some aspects of my childhood, but not everything. He knew the facts—that my father cheated on my mother, and had a second family—but Edward didn't know how it all made me feel.

I never expressed how unloved and confused I felt growing up.

I never told him how unstable my life always felt.

Was my dad going to eventually leave us for good? Choose his girlfriend and my half-sister over Renee and me?

I didn't dive deep into those emotions because that's scary and ugly and too vulnerable.

I didn't want Edward to think I was anything less than perfect for him.

Sure, I shared some insecurities but I hid most of my trauma and fears. I didn't confide in him in the way I should've because I was scared he wouldn't understand or that he might view me differently.

It's no wonder our marriage didn't work.

"You're giving my therapist a run for her money," I tell Rosalie with a resigned sigh.

"Why's that?"

"Because I just realized my husband only knew the version of me I wanted him to know."

XXX

A week later, I'm finally on my way to Mexico.

I land on time and wait for my luggage before heading outside, gliding two suitcases into the heat. I turn on my phone and patiently wait until the shuttle pulls up to take me to the resort. The van is empty which I'm grateful for because being stuck in a vehicle full of potential honeymooners sounds fucking awful.

I'm watching the driver load my things into the back of the shuttle, making sure he's gentle with my camera gear, when a man rushes over, carrying a leather duffle bag.

"Fuck yes!" he exclaims, out of breath, but smiling like he just won something.

I give him an odd look that doesn't faze him.

"I made it," is all he says to me, looking proud of his accomplishment before carelessly tossing his bag into the back with my stuff.

I smile awkwardly and get into the van, opting for the middle row, while the guy climbs to the back.

It's quiet for a few minutes until my phone chimes and I see that Rosalie texted me a picture of water and sand.

Bella: Where are you?

Rosalie: Miami Beach! I came with Emmett for one of his away games.

Bella: Fun! I'm glad you got to get away.

Rosalie: Me too! It's not as hot as yoga class but close enough. Hope your flight was okay!

Bella: Landed, on my way to the resort now. Don't pass out from the heat!

Rosalie: lol no, only you do that.

I smile at her teasing because our hot yoga class last week was a failure. Halfway through, I got lightheaded and a little nauseous and had to step out for air. It was really embarrassing, but everyone was really nice about it, and the girl behind the counter gave me a pack of peanut butter crackers to munch on until I felt better.

I'm about to reply when the guy behind me speaks.

"So, which resort are you going to?"

I angle my body to look at him. "The same one you're going to?" He looks confused and I say, "This shuttle is only for the Dreams resort."

"Fuck, seriously?" he asks, suddenly alarmed. "I'm supposed to be going to the Nightmares resort…"

I stare blankly, but then he flashes a smile and I offer a pity laugh.

"Funny," I lie.

"Okay, okay. Bad joke," he says. "I'm Levi, from Chicago."

"Bella, from LA," I offer, then panic for a short second about offering up personal information to a stranger. But there's nothing I can do about that now. I only gave my name and city, not my social security number and home address.

"LA is a city of transplants," he accuses playfully. "Where are you originally from?"

"Seattle."

"Ah. Now that is a great city."

"Yeah," I agree, nostalgia for the past clouding my present. "It is."

Levi glances out the window and I take a moment to discreetly look at him.

Dark, short wavy hair. Stubble on his cheeks and jaw. Broad, bulky shoulders.

He's cute. Definitely more sexy than handsome.

Even so, it's not in a make-my-heartbeat-pick-up kind of way or even an obvious one where he's striking and I just have to know him.

Not like it was with Edward.

But I'd be blind not to notice this guy is attractive.

"Are you eat, pray, loving it?" he asks, catching me staring.

For some reason, I don't feel embarrassed to be caught ogling him, and blurt, "Eat, pray, what?"

"Like the movie?" he clarifies. "You here on a solo vacation to find yourself?"

I laugh a little uncomfortably. "Umm. No? Even if I was, that's a bit personal, don't you think?" I accuse. "I'm here for work. And I'm going to be with lots of people the entire time," I add, for safety reasons. "Are you eat, pray, loving it?"

He looks amused. "Nope. Not trying to find myself on this trip. But I'll have you know I will also be around lots of people."

I doubt he's saying that to add to his safety like I did.

"Are you mocking me?" I accuse.

"No. I'm flirting with you," he says truthfully.

An unexpected sense of flattery assaults me, and I'm warmed by his candor.

But I'm also confused.

"Why?"

"Uh…" He laughs a little. "I'm a man."

"Right."

"You're a woman."

"Okay…"

"A beautiful woman," he adds simply.

I'm a little stunned by how straightforward he is, and I don't know what to say.

My instinct is to deny what he's saying; brush it off.

But I decide to say nothing. I'll just accept this; sit with it. Appreciate the compliment for what it is.

"Anyway. I kind of wish I was here for a solo trip, but I have a bachelor party in my future," he tells me.

I'm thankful the conversation shifted back to something safe, and I say, "I hope it's not your bachelor party."

"And why's that? Wishful thinking that I'm single?"

I fight a smile at his cockiness. "No. Because if you're getting married, you shouldn't be blatantly flirting with me."

He looks offended, but it's more playful than serious. "Who said I'm flirting with you?"

"You did, like, seconds ago."

He smirks. "It's my brother's bachelor party. The group got here two days ago, and I'm the jerk showing up late because of work," he explains. "You won't catch me ever having a bachelor party of my own."

"No?"

"Marriage isn't for me."

I regard him. If I had to guess, he must be almost forty. But he has this natural charm to him. An easygoing, "never gonna settle down" vibe.

"Commitment-phobe?" I nosily ask, but he seems so open I don't feel like I'm probing.

"Oh, yeah," he chuckles, confirming my assessment of him. "I'm a walking red flag when it comes to relationships."

I roll my eyes but think of my own issues I'm working through. In some regard, I have red flags of my own, too.

"It must be nice being so self-aware," I snicker.

"Yeah," he agrees, not looking away from my face. "It kinda is."

My pulse picks up from his intense stare. It catches me off guard and makes me nervous, forcing me to look away for a beat. I haven't felt this attraction—this anxious flirtation—in a very long time. I'm not sure why it's present now, but maybe it's this confined space with an attractive man and the fact that I'm thousands of miles away from my life.

"So, what do you do for work?" Levi asks.

"I'm a photographer," I say, playing with my necklace. I notice the way his eyes dart to my left hand as my fingers glide along the chain like he's checking for a ring. It's not-so-subtle on his part and makes my stomach twist in a not-so-subtle, pleased way.

I think of Edward.

It's only natural that my mind goes there. A small pang of guilt creeps in because I'm enjoying attention from this man. But I'm not doing anything wrong, and nothing is going to actually happen.

But if it did…

No.

I can't entertain that. I'm not ready, even though Edward finally removed his ring and signed the papers.

This small interaction with Levi is an ego boost.

That's all it is. That's all I'll let it be.

I find that I want to keep the conversation going with him, so I add, "I'm here to shoot a wedding."

"Resort weddings are kind of tacky," he says, pulling a face.

"I don't think you're allowed to pass judgment on things like that if you're anti-marriage."

He laughs. "Fair enough. How long are you here for?"

"Just until Monday. You?"

"Thursday."

Silence fills the van.

"So, what does a group of guys do in Cabo for seven days during a bachelor party?" I ask, but maybe this is normal. Edward and I didn't have a real bachelor or bachelorette party, so I don't know.

Levi laughs. "You sound like you're judging us now."

"No," I lie. "Okay, a little. What happened to a simple trip to the strip club?" He grins, looking surprised that I said that. "I'm just saying a week-long trip to another country is extravagant," I clarify.

"I would never go to a strip club. I'm a gentleman."

"Uh-huh. A gentleman who is self-aware enough to call himself a walking red flag."

"Hey, I'm just honest. And I think the plan for this week is just to use and abuse the all-inclusive food and alcohol. And ride ATVs in the desert," he says easily. "And I forgot to mention it's a joint bachelor and bachelorette party, so everyone has a significant other with them. Meaning a strip club is out of the question with the ladies here."

"Gentleman, my ass," I snort, feeling myself loosen up a bit. "So, I'm assuming you don't have a girlfriend already waiting for you at the resort, then?"

"What makes you assume that?"

"Commitment-phobe, remember?"

A smug smirk appears on his face again. Like he knows I'm fishing. And maybe I am, but it wasn't purposeful on my part. Or maybe it was and this whole flirting thing is new to me again.

"You're right. No girlfriend," he confirms. "What about you?"

I hesitate.

I could tell him I'm in the middle of a divorce.

That my damaged heart still belongs to someone else and always will.

But part of me just wants to leave all of that behind for this trip.

I'll face my reality once I'm home.

"Nope. No girlfriend," I teasingly echo, and when Levi laughs, I finally join in, giving in to his charm.