August 2011
Isabella was jittery.
It had taken her weeks of agonizing thinking to decide to go back to Washington. In making that decision, she had fallen for Edward a little deeper. "It's your call, baby. We can do whatever you want."
In the end, Edward had bought two round tickets to Seattle. Through that gesture, he had Bella saved from the strange indignity of asking for money to attend her father's questionable second nuptials. Bella had thanked Edward profusely several times to his great irritation.
Isabella had resolved to pay him back one day. Despite her gratitude, the flight tickets became a lead weight in her stomach. What made her different from Jane, or any of her many predecessors, if Edward was supporting her? Weeks before, they'd had stilted conversations about Jane. He claimed he had known all along that Jane was after the fortune. "I knew from the first," he muttered darkly. "She asked me if my family owned the apartment I rent in Boston."
"She wasn't just after the fortune," Bella felt compelled to say, not on Jane's behalf, but on his. "You're wonderful. You're intelligent, handsome, passionate, and funny, and very sweet, and you're good at everything – Why wouldn't she want to be with you regardless?"
"I'm wonderful with you," Edward had pointed out, then kissed her long and hard. He did it looking at her so lovingly she wondered why she ever doubted his feelings.
That she felt just as cheap was only part of the problem.
It was their last night in Wharton Bay, and Isabella was nervous because they would be flying.
"Edward, baby?" she said quietly, her voice bashful.
They were in his bedroom: Edward was studying and wearing his glasses. He was no longer hunched over textbooks so that his nose almost touched the pages, and his eyes weren't red-rimmed and watery after a long study session. Bella considered those spectacles a personal triumph and unbelievably sexy.
Edward swiveled around to face her, smiling with that content, crooked grin that made her feel insane with love.
"About our flights tomorrow," she began shyly. Clumsily, she bent one trembling leg over the other.
Edward's mood soured immediately. "Christ, Bella, for the millionth time – "
"It's not that," Bella interjected, her eyes flashing in warning.
"It's not, eh, about the tickets themselves," she said bashfully, looking down at her hands. "Just – um. We've never flown together, and I – It's hard to fly when you're – when you're like me."
One day, as she grew older and more confident in her skin, she would call herself disabled without batting an eye. That day had not yet dawned. Instead, in her early twenties, she was in a phase of referring to herself as crippled, in a misguided attempt at ironic and self-deprecating humor. That never worked in front of Edward: calling her crippled would always be the fastest way to push Edward into a dangerous fury.
Edward's face was inscrutable: he inched forward attentively, but his eyes were swirling with tenderness and pain.
"Hard how, sweetheart?"
He leaped onto the bed on a single bent knee, shifting closer.
Bella sighed so deeply that strands of hair fluttered about her face. She hugged her waist. "I mean, it's not terrible all the time, but… Just, you know. Going through security is a pain, sometimes, and boarding is hard, and … they damaged my wheelchair last time I flew by myself. Nothing too terrible," she lied, to soften the story.
It had been terrible. The airline had broken the spokes on the wheelchair, shattering them – rendering the wheelchair floppy and unstable. Embarrassingly, catching sight of her wheelchair, she had burst into tears. Breaking her wheelchair was exactly like breaking her legs and leaving her stranded.
Edward's jaw clenched, and his eyes iced. "What the fuck?"
Bella shrugged her shoulders dismissively, even though it had been a terrible winter. Without her wheelchair, she had braved campus with her crutches and braces. She'd fallen so much that she had injured her wrist.
"And, anyway, what I wanted to say is – I'd rather – You need to be ready, I guess – All of it is going to be a pain. I don't even know – I feel like maybe I should leave my chair here so that it doesn't break."
Edward winced, looking tortured. "Is that what – Is that usually what you do?"
"I don't want it to break again," she admitted bashfully,
"It'll be different this time," he swore hotly, kissing her forehead. "I'll make everything better for you, I promise."
Unsure, Bella grimaced.
"We have first-class tickets and – "
"We do?" Bella squeaked stupidly, in a high-pitched voice. Her mother liked to fly in first class – but Bella was used to being supported by her mother.
"Bee, you need to fucking relax about the price," Edward said irritably, though Bella could tell he was trying hard to keep his temper in check. "I'm not going to fly like a fucking sardine in coach for seven hours. We're covered by my trust fund."
"If you say so," Bella said uncertainly. "Thank you again – "
"Christ, baby."
She smacked a hand softly against his lips. "Thank you," she said pointedly, even playfully, "for taking care of me."
His expression softened so quickly that Bella was momentarily dazed. He kissed her nose, but she lowered her gaze with embarrassment.
It was still hard to reveal the many ways, big and small, in which she was disabled. "I – I'm not sure if I should take my chair," she continued bashfully, her voice squeaky with mortification. It felt gut-wrenchingly vulnerable to say these things out loud to Edward. "I – I never fly with the orthoses, but I think maybe this time – Just you know, so I can – so I don't have to – "
With his response, Isabella fell even harder for Edward Cullen. "Flying with the orthoses isn't a great idea, sweetheart," he said thoughtfully, his tone clinical but compassionate. "I don't know how snug the fit is, but circulation is affected on long flights, and if your ankles swell, it'll be really uncomfortable."
Feeling oddly thrilled to see him doctoring, she nodded. "Whatever you say, doctor," she quipped glowingly, and his neck turned red.
It was August, and Boston Logan was bustling with people. The airport was pulsating with energy and crowded to the hilt at the height of the summer season. Edward towered behind her – tall, handsome, and even regal. Isabella in the chair elicited stares. No matter how she grew or matured, the staring and the pointing would always prickle her skin. Her standard procedure was always to smile warmly at little kids and toddlers: she grinned brilliantly at a pair of little girls staring blatantly. It was one of her life's little missions to make little kids comfortable with people in wheelchairs.
By the time they reached their airline's ticket counter, Edward was already icy and in a terrible mood. When they approached the ticket counter, after going through the designated priority line, Isabella stole a glance at her boyfriend. Edward's expression was brimming with icy disdain.
Though Isabella approached the counter first, the man at the check-in counter addressed Edward directly. The ticketing agent's gaze flipped to Edward and down to Isabella.
"Can I see your confirmation number, sir?"
Cold and calculating, Edward lifted a folded piece of paper from the breast pocket of his polo shirt. "Mr. Cullen. It's a pleasure to have you flying with us again."
"Are you with her?" the agent asked, befuddled, looking at the registration number. The question was the first bullet to pierce the bubble she had lived in for weeks. Naturally, outside their bubble, her relationship with Edward was incomprehensible to casual bystanders.
"Yes." Edward's voice was an ice-cold, even statement: the disdain in his features indicated he thought the person asking was irredeemably stupid.
"Could I see your IDs? Miss… Swan, are you able to walk onto the plane?"
The question was so ham-handed that Bella's self-consciousness flared. She shook her head. "No, um," she said embarrassedly, still a decade away from the self-confidence to assert what she needed. Sorry, she wanted to squeak. "Um, no."
"Will you be needing special assistance to board?"
Edward's gaze conveyed frightening disdain. "Evidently," he said coldly, in a low dangerous voice.
"Right. Miss Swan, would you like t0 check your mobility equipment, eh – your, eh – onto the plane?"
Edward's protective grip on her shoulder tightened, and Bella's cheeks pinkened lightly. She shook her head. "No, thank you," she said, managing a curt and polite smile. "I'd like to check my wheelchair at the gate." That had been her enormous mistake on her first solo flight at age twenty. She had checked her wheelchair in at the counter.
"Will you be checking in any bags today?"
Once the bags were checked, they headed to security. Edward kept his hands on her shoulders, stroking circles on her shoulders and clavicles. Isabella could feel him stiffening with every glance, no matter how covert.
The security checkpoint resembled a beehive on high alert.
A line snaked forward. One woman, laden with a backpack the size of a small child, juggled a boarding pass, a screaming toddler, and a teetering tray overflowing with confiscated water bottles and tangled headphones. A businessman, sweat beading on his forehead, fumbled with his belt buckle, caught between the demands of the metal detector and his desperate desire to avoid wrinkled trousers.
It was always stressful. The closer they got to the scanners and conveyor belts, the more her anxiety grew. A potbellied security agent directed Isabella to the priority line, and her cheeks pinkened with self-consciousness. Isabella was the youngest wheelchair user on that line. Towering behind her, Edward stroked her arms. Isabella and Edward were behind an elderly but perfectly ambulatory couple – and Isabella felt excruciatingly self-conscious.
A sharp-eyed security agent caught sight of Isabella, and approached her. Then came the classic question – one that always embarrassed her, and one she wouldn't field easily until her thirties. "Are you able to stand and walk for the body scan, Miss?"
"No," she mumbled, squeaky and apologetically. "Sorry."
Bella turned scarlet again with mortification when the agent hollered – "Female pat down for the wheelchair! Female pat down for the wheelchair!" The wheelchair, the agent said, reducing Isabella the person to her best mobility aid.
"Does the entire airport need to find out?" Edward demanded of the agent coldly in a perfectly even voice, with such a sense of natural entitlement and authority. When the female agent materialized, wearing blue latex gloves, Edward commanded that it be private – yet another thing Isabella had felt too weak to articulate herself on her last airport visit.
Behind her, despite how achingly gentle his protective hands were on her shoulders, Edward was growing irritated. "People are so fucking incompetent," he fumed quietly, so low she strained to hear.
Once she was through, she waited for Edward by a Duty Free shop. Edward got through security with astonishing efficiency, looking surprisingly polished for a socked and
They reached the first-class lounge quickly, and it was all walls revealing the tarmac, plush carpeting, and leather lounges. Edward helped her transfer onto one of the plushiest leather loungers.
"I'm never putting you through that again," Edward said darkly and fervently.
Good-naturedly, Bella smiled genuinely but ironically. "You didn't put me through anything," she said lovingly but firmly. She lifted a hand to run her fingers through his hair, hoping to soothe his anger.
Edward's mood only darkened further in the first-class lounge. When they were finally alone, after he fetched them lemonade, Isabella went for a last-ditch effort to call her mom. She lifted a trembling hand to the touch screen, tapping on the screen. Dejectedly, shoulders drooping, she bit her lip. She opened up her text messaging app; with trembling fingers, she composed her message. I'm so sorry, mama. Please forgive me.
Silently, Edward watched from the seat next to hers, his expression inscrutable.
Bella lifted her gaze from her apology. "Are you sure your Dad's OK with us staying at his place? I don't have to impose," she repeated, voicing her recurring anxiety. Besides, the idea of sharing a bathroom with her Uncle Carlisle made her feel slightly embarrassed.
"We're staying at a hotel, darling," Edward revealed flatly, without the faintest trace of guilt over his week-long deception.
"Oh," she said dumbly, shocked. "We are? Isn't that too – "
Edward rolled his eyes so far back that she almost saw his eyes go completely white. "if you say expensive, so help me God – "
"Expensive. I already owe you money –"
Edward's irritation burst, and his words were snappish. "Christ, baby. It's not a big deal. You don't owe me anything. When we get married, it'll just be our money. Boom. Problem solved."
It was the first time – but not the last – that Edward would blurt out that phrase. When we get married. She froze, like a doe caught in the headlights, eyes saucer wide and lips parted.
Edward didn't realize what he had done until he caught sight of her expression. His neck turned a light shade of red, and he was wordless. As the meaning of the phrase clicked, her smile widened so brightly and stupidly that her cheeks hurt. Shyly and sheepishly, Edward smiled back.
At the gate, an agent asked Isabella – for the third and final time – if she could walk. Phrased so flatly, the question sat poorly with her. "Can you walk to your seat, ma'am?"
"What do you think?" Edward snarled, and his contempt was frightening.
"I – eh. I didn't – eh…"
"It's obvious you didn't think," Edward said evenly, his voice ice. "Now, would you let us through? Or do you have any other ridiculous questions you'd like to ask?"
Even Isabella was frightened – not because Edward's anger was explosive, but because it was not.
On the first Sunday in August, they woke in Seattle. Buried in a lush, white king-sized bed, Isabella's eyes opened. She blinked sleepily as Edward emerged from the marbled bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hips. Catching her eye, he grinned mutedly.
"Hey, you," she said sleepily. She stretched her arms.
Edward walked around the bed and kissed her cheek. "Hi, you."
It was past midnight when they arrived at the Fairmont Olympic. Both had showered and collapsed into bed, only hours before dawn broke.
It had been so late that Isabella's eyes were drooping. Though she had been at the George several times, at her mother's insistence, the charm of the lobby's vaulted ceilings and chandeliers still took her breath away. Her awe had been muted because her insecurities reared her head. She was no better than Jane, profiting off her boyfriend's fortune.
Isabella glanced at an old-fashioned clock on the nightstand. Its hands revealed it was almost ten. She had slept like the dead, unperturbed.
Sleepily, she rubbed her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said squeaked. "I slept in so late."
"Ssh. Don't apologize for resting," Edward said gently, nuzzling her nose with his. "You needed it."
He stood.
"Hurry the fuck up, though," he added, smirking dryly. "I went for a run around Elliot Bay and I'm fucking starving."
As quickly as she could, wanting to stretch her legs, Isabella dressed and put on her orthoses. She donned a white peplum top over a pair of skinny jeans; the orthoses went over her jeans and fit into a pair of sturdy tennis shoes. Threading her arms through her crutches, she took a couple of tentative steps – click, click, thump, drag – and brushed her teeth.
"You look gorgeous," Edward commented lightly, bending slightly to kiss her temple. Isabella found it so funny a comment that she laughed and snorted. Fresh-faced, sleepy, and crippled, she did not look gorgeous.
Before they left the room, she stopped him short, peeking at him through her eyelashes. "Baby, I think you should wear your glasses."
Edward rolled his eyes and fished out the case.
"Happy now?"
"Incandescently," she said sardonically, though her eyes were sparkling, taking a few tentative steps towards the door.
The hostess at the George, unusually quiet in mid-morning, gave them a table for two that overlooked Elliot Bay. In a comfortable silence, they sat face-to-face while drinking coffee. Her hands trembled with every sip of coffee. She observed him over the rim, wondering how anybody could look so adorably sexy. The glasses made him look older and cuter all at once. On top of a pair of cargo shorts, he wore a t-shirt from the Hayden Planetarium.
"What d'you want?" he asked, and her eyes scanned the menu for the cheapest option. Her eyes landed on a yogurt parfait option that Isabella thought was absurdly overpriced.
"The yogurt parfait," Bella lied brightly. "Thank you."
Edward looked at her with a nonplussed expression. "What do you actually want?"
"My Dad's paying," Edward cut in pointedly, a second after the menus were handed to them.
"For everything?"
"Well, no. For brunch."
"I can get my half." Her savings had dwindled over the summer, but there was still more than enough for her to cover a breakfast meal.
Edward looked at her exasperatedly. "Bee, baby," he said, opting to sound pleading. "Let me take care of you. Please let me take care of you."
Bashfully, Bella smiled and lowered her gaze. "The avocado toast?" Her statement sounded like a question. Edward smiled grudgingly with fond irritation as he shook his head.
"Was that so fucking difficult?" he muttered to himself as he placed the order.
Two tables from them, a gentleman sat alone for breakfast. In his hands, he held an unfolded printed newspaper. It was the kind of print item that would become borderline obsolete in less than half a decade.
Isabella's eyes landed on a blurry picture smacked across the middle of the front page – a face she would have recognized anywhere. Her scrumptious slice of sourdough bread and mashed avocado fell with a splatter.
Long used to her clumsiness, Edward didn't even bat an eye.
Even as her face blanched, she steeled herself. "Do you know how to fold a newspaper?" she asked.
Edward spoke through a mouthful of Irish sausage and egg. "Sorry, love? What? Why?"
"Sir?" Bella called loudly, in an uncouth display that would have horrified her mother. "Sir?"
The man looked up angrily from his newspaper. Then he took her appearance in; he saw the crutches leaning against the wall behind her, and the irritation in his eyes was replaced by pity. While annoyed, Isabella was not above using that to her advantage. She widened her doe-like, honey-brown eyes.
"Babe, what are you doing?" Edward asked curiously, turning to the gentleman in question.
"Sir, do you think I could borrow your newspaper for a second?"
"Bee?"
She made a show of pretending to try to stand, while Edward watched with complete befuddlement. The man rose immediately and handed the paper over. With her hands trembling, Bella took it.
SEATTLE MAYORAL HOPEFUL CHARLES SWAN ADMITS AFFAIR, FATHERING CHILD OUT OF WEDLOCK
Seattle mayoral candidate Charles Swan's campaign faces a major hurdle today after the politician admitted to an extramarital affair and fathering a child outside of his 16-year marriage.
In a hastily arranged press conference this morning, Swan, a former District Attorney known for his conservative image, acknowledged a "past indiscretion" with his long-time secretary, Susan Warbeck. More damning, Swan confirmed he is the biological father of Warbeck's three-year-old child, born during his marriage to Esme Masen. Swan confirmed Ms. Warbeck is expecting a second child.
"I take full responsibility for my actions," Swan said, his voice strained. "This is a personal matter, but I understand the seriousness of these revelations and their impact on the upcoming election."
The news comes as a major blow to Swan's carefully crafted image as a devoted family man. Swan has not yet finalized his divorce, a difficult coda to his 16-year marriage to Esme Masen. Masen, a stay-at-home mother who has cared for the couple's only child, a child with significant disabilities, is the daughter of Senator Edward Masen (R-NH). Masen filed for divorce in 2008. Neither Swan nor Masen have publicly commented on the reasons behind the divorce.
Swan's campaign has been built on promises of stability and a return to traditional values. His reputation as a tough prosecutor and champion of family law reform stood in stark contrast to his opponent, the more progressive city council member, Sarah Blake.
News of the affair and illegitimate child is sure to fuel accusations of hypocrisy and damage Swan's carefully cultivated persona. While Swan apologized for his actions, he stopped short of withdrawing from the race, stating his commitment to serving the city of Seattle.
"The voters deserve to know who I am," Swan concluded. "I will continue to campaign on my record and my vision for the future of this city."
However, the political landscape has undoubtedly shifted. Analysts predict a fierce battle ahead, with Blake likely capitalizing on the scandal to solidify her lead in the polls. The future of Charles Swan's political career hangs in the balance, with the weight of his personal failings threatening to derail his shot at the mayor's office.
Hands trembling, Isabella handed the paper to Edward. She felt as if a machine gun that had pierced her open, but she had no more tears left to cry. She felt like she had taken a dozen bullets in one sitting, and had been left bleeding on the floor of the George, emotionally mutilated and rootless.
Each sentence was like a little bullet. She would inspect them later – like an inspector looking at bullet casings after a crime scene. Despite that, her first thought went to her mother.
After her, Edward read the paper. Mask up, his face iced, but Bella could see his eyes were swirling. They rose to her face relentlessly, worriedly searching her face. Deflating like an old balloon, shoulders drooping, Bella hugged her waist and rested her head against the wall.
Uncharacteristically, Edward looked completely at a loss for words. With more finesse, he folded the paper. He handed it back to its stone-faced owner.
"When do you see your Dad again?" he asked quietly.
Isabella had RSVPed yes to a hastily mailed wedding invitation the week before. In those heady summer days of July 2011, her father had contacted her constantly – more than her entire junior year of college. In one of his emails, he had half-begged, half-instructed for Isabella to attend a barbeque with "Sue and the kids." Bella agreed.
"Tomorrow," Bella replied faintly. Her stomach churned with dread at the prospect. It wasn't the kind of dread that came from fear, but the kind of dread that came with a routine and invasive medical procedure.
"I should call my mom," she said hoarsely.
Unlike her former husband, Esme called Isabella several times a month. Because of it, her mother's absence in her life stung acutely. Isabella had tried, desperately, to break the ice fortress her mother had built between them. Since her mother left Wharton Bay, Isabella had called her mother every night to no avail, leaving text and voice messages that conveyed how sorry she was. Her mother's last words rang in her ears, haunting what was otherwise the happiest days of her life. You're being so ungrateful. All I have ever done is love you and care for you.
Her mother was right, and Isabella felt like a cancerous cockroach.
Edward's face was pure ice, but Bella could see traces of panic in his eyes. "No," he said flatly. "She doesn't deserve it."
Bella glowered, though her doe eyes were morose. "You're being horrible," she snapped. "All she's ever done is love me and care for me."
Edward's jaw clenched, and he sucked in his cheeks angrily. For a long, excruciating moment, he seemed like he was going to say something. Bella had the impression, guided by a very long relationship with Edward, that he was holding his tongue.
"I didn't know your father was running for mayor," Edward said quietly.
Weakly, Isabella snorted. "Fuck that," she said, so faintly that her voice had no bite. "He's always been a grubby, ambitious little troll."
Despite himself, Edward smiled.
Her words struck her as true, and she wondered how much her father had pursued Esme for political convenience. The thought alone caused her suffocating mortification, and she could barely look at Edward for the rest of breakfast. No wonder Victoria Cullen found her pitifully inadequate for her "little prince." Isabella was the illegitimate child of a grubby little D-list politician and a former junkie.
Immediately, her thoughts went not to Victoria's barbs, but to her own mother's. He'll marry you eventually, and you will be deeply unhappy because it's a terrible match. His world will eat you alive. I'm not a romantic. If my marriages have taught me anything, it is that couples need to come from the same ilk.
When the check finally came, she fought Edward viciously for the black leather check presenter. She tugged on it when it arrived, and her eyes grew pleading. Shocked, Edward relinquished it when one of her many involuntary tremors shook her arms. "Can I please pay for my half?" she said seriously, in a voice that was all but commanding.
"Bee, what the fuck, baby?"
She was so excruciatingly embarrassed at the many ways in which her father had taken advantage of Esme Masen that she felt dirty at the thought of taking another dollar.
"What's gotten into you?"
Dolefully, she peeked at him through her eyelashes. "Nothing," she lied, her voice faint.
Edward knew her too well. He knew she was lying through her teeth the second she spoke. "If you're going to insist on paying," he said acidly, his jaw set into a hard line, and his eyes cuttingly frigid. "Could I at least pay for my half?"
It was the first time he used the term my love sardonically, and it stung.
Struck by punishing fatigue, Bella collapsed onto the bed when they returned. Arms and legs rattling with a bad case of tremors, she removed her clunky orthoses and stripped off her jeans. It was always embarrassing to strip near Edward, not least because she was not graceful at it.
The silence between them rang heavily in her ears. Isabella changed into a pajama top. She felt so horrible all she wanted to do was sleep. She was sick of crying over her parents; there were no tears left to shed. Despite that, all the phrases in the article were tearing her down, like acid on wounds. Everything about that article was swirling in her head, but the phrase child with significant disabilities ached the most.
Exhaustedly, Bella tried to doze - but the caffeine swirling in her body kept her awake. Her reverie ended when Edward crawled onto the bed behind her. Gently, he stroked her leg and placed a cold hand on her stomach. "Bee?" he murmured gently against her temple. "Bee, I'm sorry. If you want to pay for shit, then that's completely your prerogative. And if you – I mean, look, I think your – I – Esme is not a well person. But…If you want to keep trying to talk to her, that's totally up to you."
Isabella couldn't give him up. It would be like asking her to tear off a limb, to get rid of sight, smell, and touch.
"I'm sorry, too," she whispered earnestly, turning clumsily to face him. "Thank you for that apology. You don't deserve me being a bitch." She tilted her head and kissed his nose.
Then she kissed his cheekbone. "Thank you for taking care of me."
Then he said something that stole her heart completely, destroying her resolve to pull away. "I love taking care of you," he admitted quietly, almost sheepishly, achingly vulnerable. She cuddled closer, resting her head on his chest and intertwining their fingers.
That day, Edward took Bella to pick a gifts at Toys R Us. Bella purchased a colorful mobile with bright, contrasting colors for the future baby. For three-year-old Seth, she bought a sizeable, bright red fire truck that made lots of noise. Edward stood awkwardly, hands in his pockets, lips stretched taut with discomfort. A little girl slammed into his ankles, and he yelped, taking three steps back gracelessly.
At night, the call came while they were watching Jeopardy together. Hair wet from a recent shower, Bella sat between Edward's thighs. They both called out answers, and Edward doled out M&Ms one at a time. She and Edward had fallen easily into their relationship: into crawling into the same bed every night every day. They were finally together, in a new and oddly homely way – and it made her feel safe, loved and cherished at a time when she needed it desperately.
Her phone buzzed once, and the name that flashed across the screen was unmistakable.
Mom.
Bella's innards squeezed with bright, sizzling hope. The trembling of her arm was so bad as she picked up that Edward grimaced with concern. With enormous physical difficulty and burning emotional longing, she accepted the call.
"Mom?" Bella said brightly, her voice saturated with eagerness.
"If you go to that wedding, I will never forgive you."
The line went dead, and Bella froze and went limp with shock.
Tuesday dawned unbearably hot and cloudless. Inside their bedroom, the air conditioning kept the room close. Isabella slept under the comforter, and Edward sprawled out on top of it.
Edward woke her with a cup of coffee – courtesy of the Keurig in their hotel room. He sat on the bed.
"What do I do?" Bella whispered.
"What do you want to do?"
"My mom thinks I shouldn't even set foot in that house."
"She was threatening you, sweetheart. She wasn't sharing an opinion," Edward pointed out gently, but his eyes flashed darkly.
"Wouldn't I be – I mean, she's – Isn't she right to be hurt? I'd be betraying her if I go."
Edward huffed. "Again. What do you want to do?"
"I want to meet my little brother, and I don't want to alienate my Dad."
Edward's jaw clenched. "Is it the money? He should still support you regardless. And if he acts like a … If he acts like a deadbeat and stops supporting you, I'll always take care of you."
Though Edward offered halfheartedly to accompany her, going to lunch at her father's was something she needed to do herself.
Falling back on a sense of style instilled since her earliest childhood, she picked an outfit for the day. Her mother's invisible hand guided her: her taste lingered in the crisp fabric of her button-down and the linen of her jeans. As she grew older, she would accept that she had adopted Esme Masen's sense of elegance.
After a sleepless night, the tremors were terrible. Styling her hair became a challenge, so she wore it in a ponytail. She battled with her earrings – two little pearl studs – and did the unthinkable. "Edward?" she asked quietly.
Her cheeks pinkened as she spoke because she was mortified. "Could you help me with these?" she asked, in a voice so low and hoarse she was surprised Edward heard her.
It became one of those things they would do together that became as intimate as sex. Edward fumbled at first, but he was a gentleman about it. He stood so close she could feel his breath on her ear, and his fingers were nimble and gentle on her earlobe.
Edward drove her to her father's new address in a rental car. She was quiet and antsy in her seat. He asked once if she needed him there for moral support. Twice, she replied that she did not. It was something that she needed to do all by herself. Besides, adding Edward into the mix would only make the situation more volatile.
The minute she caught sight of her father's abode, she started to regret her decision.
"Gah. Do you think this is it?"
"Yup."
Her father's new home loomed large at the end of a cul-de-sac. Its size overwhelmed the lot on which it stood. There was a tree stump on the front yard, replaced by a hideous floral arrangement. Towering columns flanked the grand entrance and their faux-marble finish gleamed in the sunlight. The house had two competing porticos and a protruding wraparound terrace.
Its mishmash of architectural styles clashed awkwardly, with gables, turrets, and dormer windows competing for attention. The facade was adorned with garish details—a faux-stone facade, oversized windows framed in gaudy trim, and a hodgepodge of mismatched materials. A sprawling driveway led to an oversized garage, its doors emblazoned with baroque decorative wrought ironwork.
Though its façade displayed wealth, Isabella saw it with her mother's critical eye. It was a McMansion.
When her parents were recently married, Esme had carefully renovated an old farmhouse in a single rustic style. Bella felt a pang of longing for the unassuming and cozy elegance of her childhood home.
"Oh, sweet lord," Bella said dryly, and she smacked a hand against her forehead.
Despite himself, Edward laughed dryly.
"You sure you don't need me?" he softly offered one last time.
"I'm sure," she said evenly, and she kissed his cheek.
"I'll be nearby in case you need me to pick you up," he repeated.
Edward pulled up against the curve. He retrieved her crutches from the back and handed them over. Sighing quietly, he carried the bags of toys to the grand entrance. Through his sunglasses, he watched her waddle uneasily through a pathway that led to the grass, past a hideous stone carving of a tiger.
Edward pulled away only after Susan Warbeck opened the door. It was a metallic-looking glass-paneled door that rose two stories. Out of place on a stone façade that screamed Tudor Revival, her mother would quip.
Sue opened the door, and Isabella felt shell-shocked.
"Bella!" she cried, and her lips twitched with the effort smiling entailed. "Welcome, honey."
Isabella Swan had many memories of Susan Warbeck, formerly Clearwater. When Isabella was six, her father made partner at a law firm. Susan Warbeck became his assistant. When Isabella was sixteen, her father ran his first campaign to be a Prosecuting Attorney – the equivalent of a District Attorney elsewhere. Susan Warbeck went with him, first into the campaign war room and then to work at his office. That the office was publicly funded disgusted Isabella. Years later, once Isabella joined an office after college, her disgust shifted more toward her father and less toward Sue Warbeck.
Sue Warbeck looked nothing like Isabella remembered.
Formerly dark-haired and dark-skinned, Sue had bleached her hair blonde. Underneath her string pearls, she wore a bright magenta, velvety tracksuit. Her fingers were claw-like, capped with long fake nails the color of tangerines. Esme despised long glued-on nails: Isabella had grown to identify them with gaudiness.
On their tenth wedding anniversary, Charlie had gifted Esme a multi-string akoya pearl necklace. Sue was wearing it around her neck.
Sue's belly protruded sweetly, and despite everything, Isabella was filled with warmth. That was her little sibling in there.
"Hi, Sue," Bella said shyly, offering Sue a tiny smile. In deference to her mother, she was emotionless – neither warm not cold. "Thank you for having me." She walked past Sue. In the cavernous foyer and living room, her walking was riotous. Click, click, drag, thump. Every screech of her foot against the floor and the clicking of her crutches echoed through the walls.
Above them, an antique chandelier clashed against the ultra-modern furniture of the living room. The wall opposite her was plastered with a massive fresco of a Tuscan vineyard. The living room below was all white leather.
"Sweetheart!" Charlie boomed with oleaginous joy, and Bella grimaced. Her father looked radiant. Charlie wore matching floral board shorts and matching plain white t-shirts. In Esme's absence, he had grown a bushy beard and a large paunch.
Inside Bella's head, fireworks were going off. Her father was a different and freer man in her mother's absence, and he looked radiant and happy.
"Hi," she said dryly. All evening, she would refuse to refer to him as Dad.
"I'm so happy you came, Princess. We have a bedroom for ya. Where are you staying?"
Expertly, Bella deflected the question. "I bought the babies a little something. Could you get the bags?"
Oblivious to Bella's mood, Charlie fetched the bags that Edward had gingerly laid next to the door. "That's very sweet, honey," Charlie said genuinely. "Very sweet."
"I was happy to do it," Bella said softly.
"Come right on in, sweetie. Lunch is almost ready," Sue said, and Bella followed suit. As she walked, she noticed a gigantic stuffed caribou standing next to a fireplace, and she yelped and winced. Its magnificent antlers sat beautifully atop glassy eyes, and Bella winced.
On the terrace sat a little boy with a mop of dark hair and Isabella's same honeyed brown eyes. The feeling that hit her, a sense of overwhelming protectiveness and enormous tenderness, would not hit her again until she had a baby of her own, many years later.
"Hi," she said sweetly, and her throat closed up with emotion. Ungracefully, she plopped down on wicker patio furniture.
Seth down shyly, focusing on his toy. Bella waited patiently, reminded of bird watching and staying still. Decades later, she would become a leading expert on Education policy, and her first jobs would be in Early Childhood policy. It would be a job she loved – almost as much as she would love writing children's books for her kids.
Beaming, Bella waved again. It sat poorly with her that a three-year-old was sitting underneath the pounding sun, without wearing sunscreen. Her heart fluttered when Seth waved back shyly. Enthusiastically, Bella waved like a moron. Seth lit up in response and waved back.
"Hi," she cooed. "Hi, Seth."
Seth waved back. Shyly and slowly, Bella lowered her body from the wicker patio furniture to the ground. The flagstone burned her butt, but Seth did not seem to mind the heat.
"How old are you?" she cooed enthusiastically, feigning enormous interest.
Seth lift up three tiny fingers.
"Wowza!" she said excitedly, gasping with delight. "How many is that?"
"Three," Seth said, warming up.
They talked about his building blocks, and Bella spent what felt like an eternity helping him pile them up and down. The highlight in an otherwise atrocious afternoon would be Seth's delighted reaction at his firetruck. Seth hauled a bucket of his other toy cars – dump trucks and tractors – and offered her a pick of her favorite.
When her father began to serve, looking delighted at all he had grilled, Bella offered to help wishing she could.
"You're pwety," Seth told her at one point, and Bella preened.
"Thank you, baby," she said lovingly. She mussed his hair. "You're pretty, too. Don't let anybody tell you are not."
Without paying much attention to Seth, Sue and Charlie served a summer barbeque. With her knees groaning, Bella got up, pushing down hard on the furniture. Bella was as impeccably polite as she could be. Muted and dry, she praised the quality of Sue's cooking and inquired half-heartedly about Sue's health.
It did not matter to her that Sue was pregnant out of wedlock. What bothered her was that Sue had children with a man still legally married to another woman. As she watched her father and Sue, Bella knew that her father's public contrition was as oily and disingenuous as a three-dollar bill.
That bothered her, and she was itching to leave, but she did not want to make a scene. At the end of the meal, her father dropped a question on her that would ruin their relationship for a few years. "Sweet pea," her Dad boomed beefily, and Bella's trembling intensified. Her fork dropped.
"I have a campaign event tomorrow," he said. "It would mean the world to me if you stood on the podium with me and Sue."
Bella could think of nothing less horrifying for millions of reasons.
With his next sentence, her father took a gun to his foot. "It would send the message that you're standing behind this family."
Bella's stomach dropped. "Behind this family how?"
"It's important that people know you support me," Charlie said, and the gaze he shot at his daughter was the most intense and demanding of his life.
Bella steeled herself. Trembling with palsy, she straightened her back. Her comment was firm. "I don't want to," she said flatly but firmly.
Her father's became thunderously dark, and she saw him as she had never seen him before.
"Is that final?"
"Yes."
"I see."
An awkward silence befell the table. Shifting uncomfortably, with her stomach turning on her belly, Bella took out her phone. She typed out a clumsy message: Px mw yp?
Edward's returning message came back quickly. Be there in 10.
"Thanks for having me, Sue," she said quietly to Sue, and her smile was small and dry. "Seth is beautiful."
Sue wore a sneer on her face. She twisted her face angrily, tilting her chin upwards without meeting Bella's face. Indignant and sad, Bella lowered her chin and stood. Her chair screeched as she moved. She fetched one crutch and then the other.
"I'll walk you to the door," Charlie Swan said through tightly pursed lips.
Click, click, thump, drag.
As she walked, she heard Seth toddle behind her. he said sweetly, and Bella turned and smiled.
"Can I say bye?" Bella asked her father. Charlie nodded, his expression growing affectionate, and Bella wobbled to a white leather couch. Clumsily, she plopped down, and her knees screamed in protest.
"Bye, Seth," she whispered sweetly.
Seth was covered with barbeque sauce from head to toe: there was a dry, sticky splatter on his face and his fingers. Bella's hands trembled. She was scared to lift him into her arms like she wanted to do. "Be a good boy for mommy and daddy."
"Buh-bye, Bewwa."
Bella felt her eyes sting. She kissed the top of his head, and the scent that enveloped her was downy and fruity. "Bye, sweetheart."
Charlie watched with the sweetest expression she had ever seen on her father's face. It vanished the minute Seth toddled away. His eyes grew beady as he walked her to the door.
"How have you been?" he asked awkwardly, unable to look her in the eye.
"I'm doing great," she said, and it was honest. She was. She was in a relationship with the man she loved. She was thriving in school.
"And you refuse to come to this thing tomorrow?" Charlie grunted darkly, glowering.
"I don't want to do it," she repeated. "And… Dad, I don't think I'll be able to make your wedding."
"I stayed with that woman for you, and you can't do this one thing for me?"
Bella thought she was out of tears, but her eyes burned, and she made a noise like she had been punched. Her father's accusation was so eerily like her mother's.
Wanting to avoid conflict at all costs, she considered lying. She chose bravery instead. "I don't want to do it," she reiterated plainly, and it was the truth.
Charlie's face stiffened, and the tension between them thickened unbearably.
"Where are you staying?"
"The Fairmont Olympic," Bella said quietly.
Charlie's eyebrows shot up, and he harrumphed. "Am I paying for that? That's real steep, kid. You're welcome to stay here."
"No," Bella said quietly, and it was the one time in her life she felt relief at mooching off the Cullens. "I'm staying at the Fairmont with Edward."
"We're finally together," she felt compelled to add, and her face softened with love.
"Together?" Charlie demanded with a bark. "What in God's name is that supposed to mean?"
"We're a couple."
"Baby," Charlie said, and his gruffy voice sweetened and softened, like it would before she turned eighteen. "That boy is real trouble. You're a beauty, and he's always had a weird fixation with you, but - he's probably – I don't know, Bella. I don't know. He'll really hurt you in the long run, baby. Mark my words."
It was the second time she heard something to that effect, and it gutted her. Her eyes watered.
She heard her phone buzzing, and that was her cue to leave. "Bye, Dad."
"Bye, sweetheart," her father said dryly.
Edward smiled softly when he saw her. He was waiting by the rumbling car, ankles folded. "Hi, love. You OK?" he asked, tucking hair behind her ear. He bent to kiss her forehead. "How did it go?"
Bella didn't know what to say. She dropped her crutches by his sides and collapsed against his body, trusting he would catch her. Edward did. He lifted her up, wrapping his arms around her and cuddling her closer. He kissed her hair.
"Let's go home," she said, and she fisted her hands on his t-shirt.
"Mmh? No wedding?"
She shook her head. "Let's go home."