Part Three
Three Years Later
May 2011
Twenty-One/Twenty-Three
"You look like a Republican housewife, Swan."
Despite three years away from her mother, Bella still wore discreet diamond studs on her earlobes. Bella giggled, a carefree, silly sound. Over her skinny jeans and two converse, she wore a light cardigan.
"And you look like Jane Fonda at Woodstock, Hale," Bella retorted in a deadpan.
Rosalie Hale was wearing a pair of faded Birkenstock sandals. Blue-eyed and blonde, Rosalie was the most beautiful girl Isabella knew. She was also fiercely political and had spent the summer of 2008 campaigning for the Democrats. She was also, to Bella's joy, her best friend.
Gingerly, Bella took her place on a tattered green couch, next to Rachel Klein. Rachel wore her hair in wild, soft curls. She locked the brakes on her wheelchair, a new model with a bright pink frame.
"Hey, Rach," Bella stage whispered, and Rachel wrapped both arms around Isabella.
"Hey, love."
"Alright, friends," Tia, one of Bella's favorite people, yelled. "Who is doing Hair?"
At the thought of what was happening, Bella turned light pink, and then studied her nails as if she had never beheld them. When Lylla began reciting the monologue, Bella pinkened and hid behind a curtain of dark, glossy hair.
"Christ, Bella, don't be such a prude," Rosalie grumbled.
Bella glared playfully at her best friend. "It's – I mean, Rose, it's about vaginas," Bella hissed the last word, with embarrassment.
"Were you confused about what we're doing here?"
"You know I think it's great," Bella said. "I've been liaising with the shelter, haven't I?"
Rosalie was leading an effort to stage the Vagina Monologues in benefit of V-Day, to raise money for the local women's shelter.
"You have one, Bell," Rachel added cheekily, and Bella was inclined to deny it vehemently.
Rose rolled her eyes. "Someone get the smelling salts for Swan."
In hindsight, Bella had been devastated, but not surprised. Her parents had come to visit her on Thanksgiving weekend 2008. The signs had all been there: Charlie's patience for Esme had run as thin as a string, Esme sniped at Charlie's every comment and flaw like an ornery viper. They arrived and departed from Isabella's college, in separate rental cars. The fine wrinkles around Charlie's eyes had multiplied, and when he spoke, he did it with a heaviness that evinced bone-deep exhaustion.
It would be the last time in half a decade that her parents would set foot in the same venue.
"Is the lobster roll seasoned with tarragon or with chives?" Esme had inquired of the waiter, taking out her reading glasses to look through the menu.
Charlie had rolled his eyes, muttering to himself under his breath. For her part, Isabella never batted an eye: interrogating waiters was standard operating procedure for Esme. Bella always justified it by the fact that Esme was a very generous tipper.
Esme had ignored Charlie's audible irritation, eyeing the waitress' sputtered response intently. "And the potato salad – is the mustard real Dijon?"
Sighing irritably, Charlie had slumped in the booth and glared at his wife. "Bella, pumpkin, we have some – "
"Wait until we're done eating," Esme sniped aggressively, turning up her nose. When she turned to Isabella, her eyes grew glossy with tears. She reached across the table to brush Bella's cheek with her fingers.
No sooner had the waiter cleared their plates than Charlie had cleared his throat, clearly eager.
"Bella," Charlie had begun, his eyes gentle despite the somberness etched into his skin. Esme had started crying, weeping openly.
"My darling, I want you to know, I'll – I'll always be your mother."
"And we'll always love you," Charlie harrumphed, uncomfortable with emotion. "Your stepmother – I mean, Esme will always be your Mom."
The words "We're getting a divorce" had been garbled to Bella's ears, as if the three of them had been having the conversation underground. In the end, Charlie and Esme's marriage had not survived the duration of Bella's freshman orientation at Norwhich. Without Isabella, the marriage collapsed like a house of cards.
The fragility of her links to Esme had been exposed, and it had felt like skin being stripped from muscle and bone. Her Esme - who had lovingly braided her hair, sewn her Halloween costume, soothed away her fevers, and wept tears of nostalgia at Isabella's first period – had as much a legal claim to Isabella as the owner of the restaurant. In the end, that was what had gutted Bella, tearing her open, in a new kind of pain – the most pain she would experience in a lifetime of angst and disappointment.
Charlie had claimed to want to be generous, but both Isabella and Esme had found – to varying degrees of disappointment – that claim was as false as a three-dollar bill. Isabella had been CC'ed on dozens of overtly aggressive emails, full of vitriol, that seemed to cover everything but Charlie's underwear. Isabella had been copied, along with an army of lawyers, on mind-numbingly petty disputes. Isabella was no idiot; she knew Esme truly and inexplicably cared about nonentities like Kugel glass-blown Christmas baubles, and Charlie was denying her out of spite.
"As Ms. Isabella Swan can confirm, my former husband has no interest whatsoever in the baccarat set."
"My ex-wife forgets I spent 1,800 dollars on those tumblers."
"I refuse to relinquish my handbags. Charles Eustace Swan will have them on his former secretary before the ink is dry on the settlement."
"Miss Masen forgets that I could pay off my daughter's college tuition by selling off her ludicrous handbag collection."
The most vitriolic emails and conversations involved how Isabella chose to spend her holidays. "Spend it with your father," Esme had snarled into the phone, stressing the last two words with overt disgust. As a result, Isabella had spent a painfully awkward Christmas with her Dad, at a campy hunting Lodge in Nevada, underneath stuffed venison. Accompanying them was Charlie's formerly estranged brother, Uncle Gary; his third wife Krystal, and Bella's cousin Jessa Joy.
To Bella's thinly veiled horror, Jessa Joy was subjected to both diets and beauty pageants. Though Bella would never admit it out loud, Krystal was the very definition of white trash.
The next holidays, in 2009, had been no less nightmarish. Isabella had been hoodwinked into joining a conference call with the lawyers, where she was interrogated like a common criminal. Her parents referred to each other without explicitly addressing each other, and Bella had been mildly nauseous. "Mr. Swan threatened Miss Masen with legal action if she asked my former stepdaughter –
"Bella, darling, I'm so sorry I dragged you into this – "
"We want to clarify that it is Miss Swan's choice to spend Christmas with the Masen family, lest this becomes another issue."
"Miss Masen is spewing neurotic falsehoods."
"Uh, eh, uh," Bella had sputtered dumbly. "Can my father really sue?"
"Absolutely not," another lawyer cut in. "Mr. Swan never threatened to sue."
"I'd rather spend Christmas in Timbuktu," Isabella screeched, before hanging up the phone.
The farmhouse lay empty in legal limbo as her parents descended into clichés. Esme had moved into an apartment in Seattle, and purchased Bruno, a neurotic honey-colored Pomeranian that provided a backdrop to every conversation she and Isabella had on the phone. Charlie had purchased a hunting rifle, and – if Esme was to be believed – "a bachelor pad in the City." At that revelation, Bella was forced to finally consider the proposition that her father had once been – and was still - a very handsome man.
Just weeks after the divorce had been announced, Isabella had received her first email.
Hey, Bee.
I struggled to find the words to write this out. I'm thinking of you. Hearing about your parents' divorce must have shaken the foundation of your world. Like you've always said to be, it's okay to feel everything – the anger, the sadness, the confusion. You built your life around a certain picture of your family. The love and support your parents gave you haven't vanished. It's just being reshaped.
Esme will always be your mother, and I'm thankful she met your Dad – even if he does want to castrate me. Otherwise, I would have never met you. If I know anything, it's that you'll get through this. You're still the strongest person I know. I know you might be worried about the future, but you're not alone. My Dad still thinks you're – and I quote – "his niece." Wherever I am in the world, you'll always have a home.
All my love,
Edward
Rose, a star hockey player, always announced her presence by knocking at Isabella's door with her lacrosse stick. In this case, the two would head for a quick dining hall bite.
As if afraid of getting caught, Bella slammed the screen of her laptop shut. She'd been typing a reply to Edward's last email. It sucks. I wish I had something encouraging to say – like Mr. Rogers or Elmo – but I know it'd end up sounding trite. It sounds grueling right now, but ...
"Writing love letters, I see," Rose teased.
"They're not love letters," Bella sniffed at Rosalie. Shifting in bed, she reached for her wheelchair by tugging at the frame. Bella trusted Rose with really embarrassing parts of her daily life - from putting on her orthotics to transfering into her wheelchair. Rosalie had even helped her with the dumbest fine motor things. Bella swiveled into her wheelchair, and Rose followed her out of her bedroom.
"Love e-mails," Rosalie crooned.
"You haven't met him, so it's not obvious that Edward's not in love with me."
"Swan, I've literally heard him call you love on speaker."
Bella made a frown, feeling like a cantankerous duck. "It's not like that at all," she lied, even though it made her heart flutter when he called her darling.
Rose arched a perfect eyebrow. "Baby, your low self-esteem spiel is getting so annoying," she grumbled. "You and I, we're the prettiest girls in the junior class."
"Ugh," Bella whined shrilly. "We really need to run, Rose. I'm holding a tutorial for Econometrics at 8:00."
"Does anyone actually show up?"
Bella turned pink. "Well, Jesse and Minh and Song. They're sophomores from Vietnam."
"You're so nice, learning all these Vietnamese kids' names," Rose muttered, as the two exited Bella's residence hall. Rose took five steps: Bella, in the chair, wheeled down the world's longest ramp. The heat of early summer enveloped them; the trees had turned bright green and cicadas sang eerily in the background.
"Rose, I swear to God, you're such a bitch sometimes."
Glibly, Rose flipped her golden ponytail. She switched topics so breezily that Bella was momentarily confused.
"Did Rosenbaum agree to supervise your nerdy thesis?" Rose asked.
"All thesis projects are nerdy, Rose."
"Bella, you're choosing to write a thesis for both your majors when you could just skate by on your GPA. You're writing a thesis for pleasure."
With no small measure of hesitation, Isabella picked up her phone.
"My darling, Carlisle had a lovely idea," Esme all but crooned into the phone.
Bella felt a light swell of irritation. Ever since the divorce, Esme spent the first forty minutes of their phone calls on self-absorbed drones about her trench warfare with Charles Eustace Swan or swooning about her budding love life. "Oh. Okey."
"I asked Carlisle if Richard can summer in Wharton Bay," Esme prattled. Behind her, Bruno barked shrilly as if in agreement. Wharton Bay was the Cullen estate in Maine. "I think the twins would love summering in Maine."
Bella's stomach dropped like a boulder. Richard and Esme had met nearly a year earlier. Like Esme, Richard was freshly divorced. He was a wealthy banker who had fathered two obnoxious pre-pubescent twins: Madison and Cressida. While Isabella did not particularly dislike Richard, she also had more compelling conversations with random telemarketers. Privately, she strongly believed that there was somebody out there better suited to her mother.
"It was Carlisle's idea?" Bella asked suspiciously, unconvinced.
"Well, he suggested it after I dropped a hint or two," Esme said breezily.
Bella bit back a groan. "It'll be lovely, sweetheart. You'll all get to spend time together. You, Edward, and Madison and Cressida," Esme continued perkily, at Bella's lack of a response.
"Mom, I really don't think Edward wants to spend time with the twins," Bella said modestly, summoning all the patience in the world. Edward was in the middle of a medical school, working particularly hard to earn the grades that would allow him to pursue a neurosurgery residency. "I don't think it'll be restful for Carlisle either."
Esme willfully ignored her. "Nonsense. Carlisle already agreed to let Richard hire a tennis instructor for the twins."
I rest my case.
"Now. How are you doing? How's Rose?"
Isabella had loved and thrived in college. As her home life collapsed, college had offered a cocoon. For the first time in her life, she had felt free to indulge completely in everything that had embarrassed her in adolescence. Everything that had made her quirky, passionate, and nerdy in High School had become a kind of asset in college, where people finally grew into the best versions of themselves.
She did not miss Edward like she had once upon a time. It was an ache that had become gentler with age, an ache that had stopped tearing her open. Because of it, Bella tried not to call Edward too often. Their calls were peppered throughout the year: she was lucky if she heard his voice more than three times a year.
They exchanged emails that were funny, candid, and poignant. She vaguely understood what his life was like in Boston: his rotations shifted every couple of months depending on the specialty. Sometimes, he was available in the middle of the afternoon. Lately, he was only available late at night.
When he returned her phone call that day, Bella was half-asleep.
"Hey," she breathed into her phone, rubbing the sleep off her eyes.
"Hi, angel," Edward said, so perkily and with such aching sweetness that Bella felt warm all over. "Did I wake you, love?"
Turning in bed, Bella tugged at the switch that lit her dorm room lamp. In the three years that she had been at Norwich college, she had been the sole occupant of a single room for disabled students.
"Thanks for calling me back," Bella said instead, deflecting the apology. "How's the pre-clerkship going?"
Edward sighed a long-winded, exhausted sigh. "It's going," he breathed concomitantly.
"I called you over something really silly. You should go to bed," Bella cooed, in her sweetest voice. "You sound really tired."
"I'm making coffee right now," Edward muttered. "I have an integrated pathophysiology final three days from now."
"Edward," Bella cringed.
"Tell me the silly thing," Edward prodded perkily, and Bella melted, wondering how much effort he was putting in for her. "I called you to take a little break."
"My mom – uh, Esme," Bella explained, still stumbling over how she addressed Esme, even after all this time. "Invited herself and – you know, Richard – to Wharton Bay, and you know, Phil and Lil."
Edward barked out a laugh. The sound was beautiful to Bella, and she echoed it herself with a peal of a giggle.
"They're really horrible children," Bella stage-whispered, in legitimate horror, making Edward laugh harder. "And my Mom wants to have a little get-together with everyone."
"Yeah, I – I'm heading up to Wharton Bay, anyway, for a couple of weeks. I have a summer break. Kind of. Between a summer research gig and the end of IHPIII. You're welcome to come," Edward added immediately, and Bella breathed a sigh of relief.
"My Mom said I was invited, but I just thought – it's enough of a pain in the ass, with Richard and his evil progeny, and – "
"You're always welcome," Edward repeated firmly but kindly.
"Can you confirm with your Dad, please? Just in case?"
"You know what he'll say," Edward said irritably.
A beat elapsed. "I don't want to impose, Edward," Bella said softly.
Edward sniffed.
"It'll be a nightmare on our end, too. Just as a heads-up. Both my grandparents are coming," Edward added.
Bella winced like someone had shoved a pebble down her throat.
"On the upside, though, um. I'm bringing Emmett."
"Poor Emmett," Bella snorted, making Edward laughed again. "How is he? Tell him I say hi."
"He's right here. Says hi, too." Bella could hear Emmett hissing some kind of unintelligible instruction. Edward grumbled something back.
"How are you, Bee?"
"Nothing new," Bella said dismissively. "I won't keep you up. Just that. Love you. Sorry to bother you."
"Wait. Bee, sweetheart. I need to tell you something else," Edward said, with forced nonchalance.
Bella mumbled her agreement into the phone.
"I'm bringing a friend – "
Even through the tinny speakers, Bella could hear Emmett's rumbling yelp of protest.
"I'm bringing a friend to spend the week in Wharton Bay," Edward stressed pointedly. "Jane Ashcroft Voltaire."
At a loss for words, but knowing in her gut what this heralded, Bella sputtered out pleasantries like an unstoppable moron. "Oh. Oh. Eh. Lovely. That's lovely."
"Yeah. Lovely," Edward agreed faintly.
"Go to bed," Bella whispered encouragingly, pushing back the pain and dread that swirled in her stomach. "Go to bed."
"Goodnight, darling."
"Good luck on your – on your IHP3."
"Thanks, angel. Goodnight."
A/N: I was so floored by the lovely reviews that I could. not. stop. writing.