56
- nostalgia -

Bella

I wake up early Christmas morning, my back aching from the too-soft mattress and my mind too active, replaying everything that happened with Allie.

After tossing and turning for a while, I finally get up around 5:45.

Quietly, I leave the bed and use the hallway bathroom instead of the one in the guest room because I don't want to wake Edward.

Once I'm done, I walk through the silent house, expecting to be the only one awake despite the warm light spilling out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

But I find Esme reading at the breakfast table in her robe.

"Merry Christmas," she says, looking up.

"Merry Christmas."

Crossing the kitchen, I grab a glass of water and fill it, unsure if I should sit with her or go to the living room.

"I was always up so early when I was pregnant," she muses, closing her book. "Are you hungry? Can I make you some coffee? Tea?"

I hesitate. "Coffee would be great. But I can make it."

She stands and gestures toward the chair next to her. "Sit."

When I meet her eyes and find kindness there, I do as she says and sit.

She moves around the kitchen, humming as she opens and closes cabinets. She's always been like this, doting and caring, and I can't help but recognize that Edward must get his love language from his mom.

While she makes coffee, I grab her book—Red, White, and Royal Blue.

Having seen the movie, I fight a smile.

"I'm in a book club and we wanted to read it before we watch the movie," Esme says, not even embarrassed. "I shouldn't be surprised it's so spicy. Half the women in my group only want to read smut."

I chuckle at hearing her say the word.

"Sounds like a fun group," I remark, admiring the cover before turning to watch her.

"It is. Something to pass the time, at least," she agrees, and the kitchen fills with the gurgling sounds and aroma of coffee. "Ever since the kids were little, I've done my reading in the early mornings. Although my time alone never lasted long. It's like they had a radar for knowing when I was up."

"And then here I am, interrupting you."

She tosses a look over her shoulder. "Don't be silly. I enjoy your company," she reassures me. "I still read in the early morning so Carlisle won't ask me about what I'm reading."

I laugh, understanding. "You mean he doesn't appreciate smut?"

"He would be horrified," Esme chuckles, and my smile fades when I think about what Allie divulged at the dinner table last night.

I'm sure hearing that horrified Edward's father as well.

"It's funny, I remember thinking when Edward and Allie were little that I just wanted to be able to sit down and read more than one paragraph of a book, and drink a cup of coffee while it was warm," Esme says wistfully, unaware of the anxiety taking residence in my chest. "Then the day finally came when the house was silent. And it just about broke my heart."

I suddenly feel like crying but I don't even know why.

Maybe it's the thought that everything is fleeting. Nothing lasts and life moves fast.

Or maybe it's because I feel overwhelmingly lucky to have Esme as a role model. Lucky to have her as an example of how to love.

Esme sets the coffee in front of me and my eyes blur even more when I see the mug I used to routinely drink from whenever I was here.

"You kept it," I say, a little choked up. "I mean, I guess you wouldn't have thrown it away. But… I don't know. I'm just feeling sentimental, I guess."

"I knew you'd be back," she admits, voice gentle as she sits down.

"How?" I whisper, dabbing my eyes with my sleeve to keep from crying. "Sometimes I wasn't even sure."

"Because the bond you and my son have doesn't just go away with something as measly as time or silly mistakes."

Her faith in us sends a wave of security over me.

"I'm…" I swallow, finding the courage to address the elephant in the room. "I want you to know that what Allie said about Edward and me—"

Esme holds up a hand. "You don't need to say a word, honey. Carlisle and I don't care what she said because it doesn't matter. What happened between you and our son is none of our business. We're not holding onto the past. You're here now and you're pregnant with our grandchild. That's what matters."

I nod, but I can't look at her. "I'm embarrassed. We both are."

"I understand. And I'm ashamed of how Allie acted. That is not how I raised my daughter, but I can't help but worry about what might be going on for her to react that way."

"Yeah, I don't know," I mumble. "But maybe I should know. Maybe that's part of the problem. I haven't been a great friend to her."

Esme tuts. "Don't feel bad. You're Edward's wife first. That relationship will always take precedence," she says with much more grace than I deserve. "Carlisle and I split for a short time. After Allie was born."

I'm shocked, but try to hide it. "I never knew."

"Not many do. I'm only telling you because what Carlisle and I went through was hard enough to navigate alone, so I can't imagine how it would've felt to have anyone judging our situation."

"Do Edward and Allie know?"

"No. You're free to share with Edward, but the why doesn't matter. To be honest, I don't even quite remember. What mattered is that we saw past the nonsense and focused on what meant the most—us and our family."

I hold her words close to my constantly healing heart. "We're trying, Esme. I promise you."

She squeezes my hand. "As for Allie, she's been told yet again to keep her thoughts and feelings out of it."

I spin the mug, the ceramic warm under my fingertips. "So, you talked to her after she left? I don't need to know details or anything but… did she say anything?"

Esme hesitates then says, "She eventually replied to my text last night but just said she and Jasper won't be coming here today."

I hate the small shred of relief I feel when I realize I won't have to face Allie. But staying doesn't feel right either, knowing she's missing Christmas with her family because of me.

"Edward and I can leave," I offer just as he walks in.

"Not happening," he says, standing in the doorway, looking sleep-rumpled and soft. Navy joggers sit low on his waist, and a white T-shirt stretches across his chest.

"You're up early," I accuse half-heartedly.

"So are you," he replies, his expression unreadable. "I woke up and you were gone, so…" I catch the slight vulnerability in his tone and wonder if Esme does, too. "We came all the way here, Bell. We're staying," he says, calm and coaxing.

Last night he said if I wanted to leave, we could. But now he stands his ground, likely knowing my offer is from misplaced guilt.

"Allie knows she's welcome here. It's her choice to be absent. I would hate for you both to leave when we hardly get to see you anyway," Esme says sincerely. "I just want us to be able to enjoy the day. It's Christmas after all."

I'm not about to argue with them. And deep down, I don't want to leave.

So we stay.

Even if it's slightly uncomfortable, there are small things that help ease the awkwardness of the day. Like Esme gifting me a maternity sweater her mother knit for her when she was pregnant with Edward. And making eggs benedict with Carlisle the way we always used to.

We stay in comfy clothes all day, eat too much food, and admire old baby photos of Edward. We've done this before—gathered around family albums and watched various home videos—but it hits differently now that Edward and I will have a family of our own. It makes me eager for the future.

When it's time for the Broncos to play the Rams, we lounge around the living room and watch the football game.

It's during halftime when Esme and Carlisle leave the room and we get a little time alone.

"You should nap," Edward murmurs, my head on a pillow in his lap as he plays with my hair.

"But if I don't watch the game, Emmett might lose," I yawn, my eyes already closed.

"Imagine having that much power," he teases. "Just rest."

I shift from one side to the other, facing the couch instead of the TV so I can see his expression when I ask, "When you woke up this morning, were you worried I was gone? Like, I left?"

His eyes flick toward the TV and I can see his internal debate, like he wants to spare me.

"Yes and no," he answers. "Did I think you were on a plane back to LA? No. Did I irrationally worry for a split second when I woke up alone? Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

He shakes his head and I watch his throat bob with a swallow. "Don't be. It's okay."

"I woke up and couldn't get comfortable again, then went to get some water. I didn't know your mom was awake."

"I could've gotten water for you," he says quietly, looking down at me.

I soften. "I wanted you to rest. You probably never get to sleep in."

"Who needs sleep?"

"Soon-to-be-dads."

He cracks a smile. "You need rest, too. More than I do."

"Yeah, well tell that to our baby girl who makes lying down incredibly uncomfortable," I laugh quietly, and he rubs a soothing palm over my bump. "I might need to buy a pregnancy pillow soon."

"What's that?"

"It's like a U-shaped pillow that will help lying down be more comfortable, I guess."

"Hm. Is it pretty big?"

"Kinda, yeah."

"You're telling me I just got to start sleeping in bed with you again, and you want to put something between us?" he asks, mock offended. "I'll be your pregnancy pillow."

"Doesn't work like that. Besides, you're not soft at all. All hard muscles," I say, poking his stomach.

He grunts, disbelieving. "Fine. Then I'll buy you the biggest and best pregnancy pillow on the market."

I laugh. "You spoil me."

He smiles down at me tenderly. "I just hate that you didn't sleep well."

"For the most part, I slept okay. Especially… after," I say, hinting toward our intimate moment in case his parents can hear us.

I'm surprised we went there at all, especially knowing Edward's worries. But it proves how selfless he is that he was able to put all of that aside to help me feel good.

"Mmm." His hum is low and deep, coating the back of his throat. "Glad I could help."

When his phone chimes with a text and he checks it I ask, "Is it your sister?"

I'm still expecting her to show up today and raise hell.

"No. Just Marcus agreeing to meet tomorrow at a brewery. I figure there's time since our flight home isn't until eight."

"That works. Is he still doing the podcast?"

"Yeah. With someone he calls a poor man's Edward," he laughs.

I smile a little. "Oh, I bet your ego loves that," I joke, but I hope hearing that makes him feel good.

"Nah. But he said it's going better now that they're in a groove. I'm glad, too. It's not like I want it to go to shit just because I left."

I hum. "Well, I'm glad you'll get to catch up with him."

"Me too," he agrees. "I want you to come with me. And then maybe we can go to our house afterward."

"I'd love to go to our house. But doesn't Marcus hate me?"

He frowns. "Bella, no."

"Was he there last year when you got served divorce papers at work?"

I catch the slight recognition in his gaze. "Yeah, he was. But still, he doesn't hate you. He was just sad for us."

"After the drama with Allie, you understand why I'm hesitant to be around friends and family, right?"

"I do, but he doesn't know anything about what went on with us. And he's not going to act like a complete ass the way Allie did," Edward reassures me. "I told him we're back together. He's happy for us, and he'd love to see you. He's bringing his girlfriend, too. She's also expecting, which is fucking crazy timing, but—"

"Katie?"

"Yeah."

I faintly remember her. They hadn't been dating long before Edward and I split, so I never had a chance to get to know her.

"Isn't it illegal for two preggos to go to a brewery?" I ask, joking.

"Not like you'll be drinking. And they have a food truck there. BBQ, I think. Aren't you craving a pulled pork sandwich?"

"Are you taunting a pregnant woman with delicious food she can't have right the fuck now? Because that's low," I tease.

"It's smart," he counters, then says more earnestly, "I just want my wife with me."

I bring a hand up to touch his scruffy jaw and he leans into my touch.

"Okay," I whisper. "I'll go."

"Thank you."

The game comes back on but I'm comfortable so I stay where I am, facing away from the TV.

Edward's fingers are there again, gently combing my hair and lulling me into relaxation. I'm more at ease than I've been in a very long time, my heart not only full from his touch but also the day.

Before I fully doze, I crack one eye open and peek up at him.

He's already looking at me, his gaze nowhere near the television.

Gratitude fills my heart because we're together on Christmas and we're closer to happiness than we've been in a long time.

That's what matters.

Us.

Not the outside noise.

XXX

The next day, Edward and I borrow his dad's car to meet up with Marcus and Katie.

When we arrive, the four of us exchange brief hugs and congratulations, then find a table inside.

While Katie and I sit and make small talk, Edward and Marcus leave to order beers, bringing back lunch.

"I've taught him well," Katie jokes. "Always keep the pregnant lady fed and full."

"Noted," Edward remarks, bringing a hand up to the back of my neck and giving it an affectionate squeeze.

While the guys catch up, Katie and I talk about all things babies and birth. But when Marcus asks Edward how LA is, I shift my attention to their conversation.

"It's LA, what's there to say," Edward says vaguely, swigging his beer. "I miss the podcast, though. And working with people who felt like family. You know how it was at the network."

"Yeah, just means you need to reach out more, you fucker," Marcus accuses with a smile. "Are you not happy at ESPN?"

"Different beast, I guess. I could do the podcast in my sleep. SportsCenter is keeping me on my toes and is demanding in a different way. Don't have a lot of creative say."

"Sounds to me like you actually have to try now and just don't like being told what to do," Marcus jokes goodnaturedly, and Edward smiles. "You were always destined for more, dude. Embrace it, give it time."

"I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," Edward snarks.

"Don't get used to it," Marcus laughs. "Seriously though. Start a podcast in your free time to satisfy your creative juices. You don't need a network or any of the fancy equipment or a studio. And you still have a following. You've done it once before, so do it again."

"I'm gonna be a dad soon. Free time won't be a thing," Edward insists.

"All the more reason to get your ass in gear and start a podcast now. Hit me up, we can bounce ideas off each other," Marcus offers. "I'll help however I can."

I watch Edward and catch the enlightened expression on his face like he needed this pep talk and suggestion from his friend.

"Guess we'll see," he tells him. "Thanks for the push."

"I think you should do it," I tell Edward when we're in the car, heading to our house. "Some kind of sports podcast. Not even like, for income. But just because you love it."

"Yeah, I guess the way I've been thinking is all or nothing. ESPN or podcast. I forgot I can do both. Especially if a podcast isn't my full-time gig or a daily thing," Edward says, glancing away from the road to look at me.

"I just want you to be happy," I say earnestly. "You deserve that."

He reaches over and places a palm on my thigh to give it a reassuring squeeze.

When we get to Queen Anne, our old neighborhood, I feel okay. Not overly emotional. Just alert. Ready.

It's when we pull onto our street, in front of our Craftsman-style bungalow, that an ache fills my chest.

Edward cuts the engine.

I feel like a guest. A visitor. That's the only way to put it. We hardly ever saw the front because we always drove down the alley and parked in the unattached garage behind the house. We always entered through the back door that led into the kitchen.

We sit in silence.

I was captivated the first time we saw it nearly eleven years ago.

I loved that it wasn't a new build. It was charming. It had character. History.

I loved the cute dormer windows.

The way the covered porch seemed to anchor the house.

I loved that it was two stories but still cozy. Not too big, not too small. Perfect for newlyweds with hopes to expand their family one day.

"Remember the first day we got the keys?" I ask Edward, my voice stained with nostalgia as I remember how excited and proud we were.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "We ate Chinese food on the hardwood floors and drank champagne straight from the bottle."

"Then we nearly had sex right there in the living room. But the hardwood floors were uncomfortable and there weren't any curtains yet, and we couldn't be those neighbors," I add, amused before it shifts to something sadder. "What do you think they'd say to us?"

"Who—the neighbors? Maybe thanks for the show?" he jokes, not catching on.

"No," I smile sadly. "The old us. The codependent kids who got married within nine months of meeting each other."

He frowns because maybe he doesn't remember it that way. "We weren't codependent. We were… in love."

"Is there a difference?"

"Yes. I loved you because I wanted to. Not because I needed you."

My eyes sting. "Well, sometimes it felt like I needed you for survival. I clung to you. And then I just… let go."

He reaches over to grab my hand and stares up at the house, thinking. Then he looks over at me, his face earnest and open.

"Don't do that again," he murmurs. "Okay?"

"Don't do what?"

"Let go." He squeezes my hand and presses a kiss on my cheek. "Wanna go in?"

I'm nervous, but I nod. We exit the car, and he leads the way, but when we get to the porch stairs he places a protective hand on my lower back.

Opening the door, he lets me in first.

As much as I wanted to be here, I hadn't considered it being empty. Seeing the space free of our belongings sends a sharp, melancholy pang to my chest.

"It's weird," I say aloud as he shuts the door. The sound echoes off the empty spaces of my heart. "Seeing it like this. Free of us."

"I know," he agrees, following behind me as we walk through the hallway to the kitchen.

"It smells different, too," I say, disappointment sinking in. "I'm not sure why I expected it to be the same."

He hums in agreement.

I open and close a cabinet, knowing I won't find the constantly disorganized spices that used to hide in there.

"We have stuff in storage?" I ask.

"Most of it, yeah. And some is with you, in LA. Took like, seven hours to fill the moving truck."

I think about him alone and packing up our house, our life.

I can't imagine how hard that must have been.

I don't want to imagine.

But Edward doesn't get the luxury to forget, so I say, "Will you tell me about it? That day?"

He exhales a breath like reliving it is the last thing he wants to do.

I'm about to tell him it's okay, I don't need to know, when he says, "I was on autopilot. Hungover, too. I couldn't let myself focus on what was happening or why or I'd break down and I didn't think the movers deserved to see that."

He says it with a wry smile, and I think he's trying to make me feel better.

But my stomach pangs with remorse anyway.

"I hate that you had to do that," I mumble. "But I also can't even imagine where we'd be if you didn't. If you hadn't come to LA."

"I know," he agrees, raking a hand through his hair. "I don't like to think about that."

A ray of warm light briefly brightens the kitchen like the sun knows we need all the good vibes right now.

We head upstairs.

As we roam the halls, I wait for a spark of hope, a memory of us that will move me to tears and make me feel the overwhelming urge to move back.

But it doesn't come.

I'm reminded of the end.

Fights that led nowhere.

Cold shoulders that led to loneliness.

Hateful, heated words tossed at each other in an attempt to place blame when we were both suffering in our own ways.

I'm reminded of the suffocating sadness I couldn't escape until I physically left.

I enter the room we always hoped would be a nursery and move toward the window, staring out at the backyard.

The trees are bare and the grass is dead and it's just different.

"Tell me what you're thinking," Edward says softly, standing beside me.

"I don't know," I admit. "It's just weird being here. It's like… the magic is gone. It's just a house. Walls and wood and worries. It's not the epitome of us anymore."

It's the only way to describe it and though the truth should make me sad, I'm oddly okay.

Edward hooks an arm around my neck anyway and pulls me closer, cradling me against his chest. I soak up his comfort.

"Are you only thinking of the bad shit, too?" he mumbles.

I look up at him and breathe out a resigned laugh. "Yes. This place is cursed with the ghosts of idiot's past."

He cracks a small smile. "That's unfortunate because I fucking love it, and I miss living here with you."

"Me too," I whisper. "But I don't know if it'd ever be the same."

He nods. "On the drive here, I was thinking."

"About what?"

"Like maybe part of my hating ESPN just had to do with how unhappy I've been with my life until now. I'm sure if I were still doing the podcast, I would've hated that, too. I hated everything. I didn't have you, so nothing mattered. And I know I shouldn't put all of that on you, like my happiness or whatever but… it is what it is," he admits, swallowing. "I do love Seattle. It's home. I would love to raise our family here."

A tiny pang of disappointment creeps in but if it's what he needs, I'll do it for him.

"I'm not opposed to staying in Seattle but maybe living in a different house," I offer. "To me, home is wherever we are together. And I'm not saying we have to live together yet, but…"

A frown shadows his handsome face. "I want us to live together again."

"Eventually," I clarify.

"No. Now."

His words warm me, but they also spark worry. "You don't have to say that, Edward."

"Baby, why wouldn't I? I want to."

"Yeah, I do, too. But I'm not trying to push—"

"Bella, you're not," he insists. "Maybe I haven't been fair to you, keeping you at arm's length the way I have. And I'm sorry."

I shush him, covering his mouth with my finger. "Don't. You're doing what you need. I don't want us to rush this."

He pulls my hand away. "Me either. But I don't want to miss any more of this time with you. You're pregnant with our baby, and I want to be there if you need me. I want to cater to your cravings. Give you massages when your back aches. I want to be your fucking pregnancy pillow," he says with a small smile that matches my own. "And after spending the last three nights sharing the same bed, I can't imagine sleeping without you again. Like… no. I can't fucking do that. I don't want to."

My aching heart clenches. "Even though I snore?" I ask pathetically.

He grins. "It's like a soft snuffle and so fucking cute."

"Yeah, right," I laugh, anticipation for the future bubbling over. "I want all of that, too. Especially because I don't know if this is the first and last time I'll be pregnant. I don't want us to waste this experience, but I understand if we still need time."

He shakes his head, determined. "I'm ready if you are."

My vision blurs. "Of course, I'm ready to be under the same roof as you. It's all I want," I murmur. "So, you'd move in with me? Or do you want to eventually move back here… to Seattle?"

He thinks about this. "You're currently leasing, right?"

"Right. I re-signed a six-month lease in October," I tell him, remembering how bleak it felt then.

Searching my face, he says, "Okay, well. We should sell this house and buy a new place together… in LA. I don't want to be a landlord again, and if my parents are serious about relocating closer to us, then it makes sense to sell. And as much as I love our first home, you're right—it wouldn't be the same here."

I'm hopeful but cautious. "You mean it?"

"Yeah. We should start over. Start fresh."

I offer a watery smile that he kisses.

"You make it sound easy when you say it like that," I whisper.

He squeezes my hip. "Maybe it could be."

It sounds silly and too simple because nothing between us has been easy.

Not recently.

Decisions hold tender weight that they never had to before because it's not just us that we have to consider but the baby, too.

Standing in the nursery that never was, we spend a few minutes weighing the pros and cons of staying in LA permanently.

In the end, creating new memories outweighs being surrounded by the sad ones.

"So… that's it? We decided, just like that?" I ask, knowing in my heart it feels right.

"Yeah," Edward agrees, his eyes sparking with infectious, loyal determination. "Just like that."