May 2014
Twenty-Four/Twenty-Six
That night, her childhood bed creaked under the weight of two adults. She curled closer so they were thigh-to-thigh, placing her cheek to his chest.
She handed him a paperback. My Brilliant Friend.
"Would you read to me?" Her eyes were fluttering closed. Her voice was nasal and squeaky, soft with dejection. Despite that, he could feel her anxiety palpitating.
Edward's heart squeezed.
Tenderly, he stroked her cheek. "I'm not as good as you are," he said apologetically.
"Doesn't matter."
Edward flipped the book open and began to read. His rhythm was clunky. For all her difficulties enunciating, Bella knew the rhythm of fiction: she knew when to change her tone and when to pause to convey punctuation with breaths.
"The neighborhood had changed, the shops had changed, the people had changed," Edward began. "The only thing that remained the same was the way Lila and I looked at each other. We were still the same girls, with the same intensity, the same rivalry, the same unspoken bond." She burrowed closer, nestling hand into the crook of his elbow.
Some days, late at night, Edward would half-crawl into their home. The light emanating from their bedroom would be warm gold. Bella would be sitting up in bed, reading. Her hair would be pulled up into a messy ponytail. There would be a mug on her nightstand. Her wheelchair would be angled and locked by the bed.
Bella would get a crinkly smile on her face, out of relief. She would read the lines on her face, and her happy relief would morph into worry. "Baby?"
Wordlessly, still in scrubs, Edward would fall into their king-size bed and rest his head on her stomach.
Just as it had been for his father, Edward had felt the calling to be a doctor early in life. Still, clinical practice was grueling and gruesome. Sometimes, the adrenaline rush of clinical practice – coupled with stress and sleep depravation – could be so intense that his whole body would reel. Edward spent those years of his life running on coffee – awake without feeling rested.
Gently, she would stroke the hair off his forehead, threading her fingers through his gray-streaked hair. The feel of her, the scent of her, would comfort him. His mind would start to empty as if in meditation, turning into a comforting blank.
"What's the book about?" he would ask.
Edward knew her so intimately and completely could decipher her expression by hearing her breaths. Edward would hear her smile. "This one is about a boy who survives an explosion in a museum and is… I guess, entrusted, with a painting. This one is about the rule of Thomas Cromwell. This one is about a slave-owning farmer in the 17th century."
Then would come the peak of vulnerability – the admission that the sound of her voice would lull him to sleep. Edward would burrow into her, threading their fingers. "Would you read to me?"
In the morning, Edward ran to the local Whole Foods. He bought buttermilk pancake mix and a copy of the Times, knowing that Isabella liked working on the Sunday crossword puzzle with pen and paper. He kissed her temple and fell to his knees to hug her tight – arms around her waist, spanning the base of her ribcage. "You OK?" he asked softly against her hair.
"Mmh," she hummed softly, sighing against his shoulder. "Do you care what kind of wedding we have?"
"What you said sounded fucking great," Edward said, with earnest enthusiasm.
She looked at him both lovingly and uncertainly. "But – do you think my mom is right? Won't we offend people if we have a small wedding and only invite a handful of people?"
Edward felt it again – a prickle of pressure that spread uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. "I don't know, babe. Honestly, I don't know."
"Do you think I should go?" she asked softly. "To that thing my mother said?"
Edward blinked. "What? Sorry, sweetheart?"
"To the shareholders' meeting. To the family reunion," she clarified bashfully. "Isn't that what husbands and wives do?"
"I don't know what husbands and wives do," he answered gently.
To Edward, Isabella already felt like his partner in everything – in the mundane and the sublime. Bella was the person who fetched him Imodium from QVS whenever his stomach couldn't tolerate dairy-and-spice heavy cuisines. The person who had, over time, learned every intricate detail of his body – who knew exactly how to scratch, squeeze, and lick to get him off the fastest.
"I know what we do," he said, leaning in to nuzzle her nose. "I know what you're always welcome."
She squeezed his hand gratefully.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck. It's here. It's here. It's here."
Impulsively, Edward slammed the lid to his laptop shut. An e-mail had popped into his inbox with one all-important fact. Edward's Match – a single offer made through the National Resident Matching Program – had arrived. Edward's next step in his medical education was securing a general surgery internship. There was a single offer, and Edward desperately hoped it would come from Mass General Hospital.
"Oh, God," Bella squeaked. "Oh. It's OK. It's OK."
Bella had blanched as well. Edward stood and started to pace.
"I can't," Edward said agitatedly, shifting from foot to foot. His skin itched with the urge to go running. "I fucking can't."
Taking a deep breath, Bella composed herself. "Yes, you can. Yes, you can."
Hesitantly, Bella smiled encouragingly. Bella's smile still felt like sunshine touching his skin, and Edward couldn't help but smile back.
Quietly, still fidgeting with anxious energy, Edward lifted his laptop off his desk. He set it between them and crossed his legs. Soothingly, Bella stroked his back and then kissed his shoulder cap. "It'll be OK, sweetheart," she murmured. "I promise. I'm sure."
Edward pushed his laptop towards her, but she shook her head. She rested her forehead against his shoulder cap. "You do it."
"Fuck." His eyes and nose burned, his stomach curled, and his heart squeezed. "Fuck."
Edward shoved the laptop aside and kicked his legs forward forcefully. "Fuck," he repeated.
He tried to blink his tears back, to maintain his composure, but the dam was already breaking. The disappointment, the frustration, the sense of inadequacy – they all came crashing down at once. He buried his face in his hands, letting the tears flow freely. His mind raced, replaying every detail of his application, searching for a mistake, a flaw. He'd been so sure, so confident, and now he felt like a fool.
Bella's hand froze and her breath hitched. He couldn't look at her, but he could feel her. Ungracefully, she plopped down. Quietly, Bella continued rubbing circles around his chest with a dainty open palm. It was exactly what he needed.
What felt like an hour elapsed.
"Baystate," he croaked through his tears. "In Springfield."
Next to him, Bella sagged with relief - and clapped her hand against her mouth. She made a strange, squeaking sound that sounded almost laugh-like.
Edward sniffed his offense. "What the fuck, Bee?"
"I… You were so upset I thought you'd been rejected from the NRMP system or something. I'm so relieved," she confessed.
"This is actually really great," she continued. As the news dawned, her smile brightened. "Congratulati—"
Edward cut her off sharply. "Darling, this is shit. Shit," Edward explained, growing exasperated at her. "Bayside doesn't even crack the top 50 … It's mid-tier."
He could feel her stiffening, and he chanced a glance. She looked completely bewildered. Her brow was wrinkled with intense concentration, and she eyed him quizzically – her entire expression begged for an answer.
"We're going to have to move to Springfield," he continued, and his anger grew, directionless and destructive. "Not even the University of Washington took me, and that would've been better for us."
"Right," she said, and that facet of their situation hit her. She finally looked at him askance. "Moving."
It wouldn't take Edward long to realize they'd made a mistake not discussing the implications of his internship placement. "I – I… Right," she repeated. "Right. I – You're right. We need to think about that."
Bella rested her cheek against his chest and squeezed his middle. "I'm very, very proud of you," she said, and Edward could hear in her tone that it was genuine. "I would've been proud of you no matter what. It's been such a long road, and you've persisted, and you're becoming a doctor."
Edward's lips thinned. He stroked her hair, and they remained in that position for a long time. The rhythm of her breathing soothed him into feeling morose, not angry. Very gently, Edward lifted her off him and kissed her temple. Later, he tucked her under a blanket.
Edward slept deeply, waking only to the sound of rattling. Wood, plates, cutlery. Edward stirred and blinked, noticing Bella was clumsily wheeling towards him. There was a tray on her lap, perched precariously on each armrest. It made him smile.
"What are you doing?" he asked groggily. The tray was inching towards him precariously, and he worried for its survival.
"Bringing you breakfast in bed." Though her tone was dry, she blushed lightly.
It cheered him up as effectively as he was a five-year-old. He sat up eagerly and took the tray from her. Bella had loaded three plates – Irish sausages with herb-roasted potatoes and scrambled eggs; a bagel with cream cheese and smoked salmon; a bear claw from his favorite bakery. "You're perfect," he told her earnestly, and he would believe it until the day he died.
As he lifted the tray, Edward noticed she was wearing a diaphanous lacy camisole that showcased the perfect curve of her tits. Cockily, he smirked. "All my favorites," he repeated, arching an eyebrow.
She squeezed her boobs lightly, rolling her eyes. "All your favorites," she echoed. "Though I didn't bring you coffee 'cause I didn't want that to spill."
Grinning, she wheeled around the bed and crawled onto the mattress. Edward wrapped an arm around her, kissing her temple. Bella snuggled into his embrace and took one-half of the toasted bagel. "If you're trying to cheer me up, it's working."
"Nope. This is a celebration breakfast," Bella countered, and her tone was light and playful.
Edward's mood soured, and he speared one Irish sausage as if that would lessen his sense of grief. As he chewed, he felt Bella studying his profile. He could feel her gaze on his skin, then her hand on his cheek. "It'll take time to come to grips with not getting what you wanted," she said softly. "But, Edward, you've come so far, and securing an internship is a great achievement."
"Mmh."
"When do you have to reply?"
"In seven working days," Edward said grumpily and then sighed.
They ate silently– Bella, pensive, and Edward, gloomy. When Bella finally spoke, her voice was upbeat. "I don't mind Springfield," she said contentedly.
As if oblivious to his anger, she continued speaking breezily and thoughtfully. "It'd be stressful for you to commute, so I was thinking… maybe I could commute a couple of days a week. I think we'll manage. We could keep the apartment in Boston."
"I don't think your job is worth it," Edward retorted, teeth gritted. "It'd fucking exhaust you to commute that much every day."
Obliviously, he took a bite of a bagel.
Bella sucked in air, sniffing – and Edward immediately knew he had hurt her. He turned. Pain swirled in her eyes and contorted the line of her mouth. She curled into herself, shoulders slumping. "Sweetheart, I didn't mean–"
"Don't sweetheart me," she half-snarled.
"I just meant – You'll be so tired –" Edward said desperately.
"We both know it's not really about my health," she snapped mordantly, and the sadness in her eyes spilled to moisture that never fell past her eyelashes. "You don't think my job is important enough to commute."
"I didn't mean that," Edward said desperately, not entirely sure he was telling the truth. "I meant – You can find something else in Springfield, like… I don't know, like a librarian… or a teacher! You could get a teaching job."
Bella's anger sharpened. "You're such… Ugh, you're such a condescending prick. You know, you need a graduate degree to be a librarian, Edward. Just because you think those things are beneath you – "
"I didn't say that."
"I know you," she snarled. "I know you."
Her anger deflated, and she grew impossibly sad. "I know prestige is really important to you, and – I do wonder sometimes what you must think about me."
"Bee, I genuinely think you're the best person I know."
"Ugh. Ugh. Fuck you."
"Bella, I really meant that it'll drain the fuck out of you to commute, and no job is worth that," he said pleadingly, half-lying. Bella knew him too well. Edward really did believe that Bella deserved to work somewhere larger and more prestigious – certainly not at a small nonprofit operating with a shoestring budget. Edward supplemented with generous monthly donations, unbeknownst to Bella.
She squinted at him suspiciously.
"That's all I meant," Edward stressed, and his eyes glistened with sincerity. "Really, really, angel."
"We can try it out as we go," he continued soothingly, knowing he would have to put his temper tantrum behind him. "Slowly. Figure out what works."
She nodded stiffly. "That's what I said."
"And you're always right," Edward said. "Every fucking time."
That night, their last night in Seattle, they met Edward's father at his favorite Mexican restaurant. Carlisle claimed it carried the best Enchiladas on the Pacific Coast.
Like always, Carlisle tapped his cheek with a single pointed finger, asking wordlessly and playfully for a kiss on the cheek. Beaming, Bella leaned forward to kiss his cheek, resting her hand on the tabletop. In the dim light, the diamond ring sparkled, but Carlisle did not notice it.
"Oh," Carlisle said jovially. "You'll like this, sweetheart."
Mortifyingly, his father proceeded to lift up the hem of his slacks, showing Isabella a whimsical pair of socks. Navy blue, the socks displayed repeating pattern of planets, stars, and comets in various sizes and colors. A thin gold thread ran through the pattern to add a touch of luxury and whimsy. "They look so cool," Bella exclaimed warmly, genuinely pleased.
"I wonder who got them for you," Bella added dryly, feigning curiosity.
Edward rolled his eyes, feeling the embarrassment tingling under his skin. It was a thing his girl and his father did: trade in whimsical socks. Bella was always on the lookout for a pair of socks for his father – and Edward was years away from finding it genuinely adorable. Edward was years away from grasping how wonderful an uncle that made his father, and how sweet it made his girl.
Under the brightly decorated table, Bella took Edward's hand in hers.
"How is work, sweetheart?" Carlisle asked warmly, slathering a tortilla chip in guacamole. "What's new with you two?"
"Work is fine," Bella piped with a muted smile, eyes downcast. Then she cheered up considerably. "Edward was just accepted to an internship program."
Edward gritted his teeth and couldn't help but glower at Bella moodily about it. Carlisle's smile spread thinly. "We had a chat, sweetheart. I'm very proud. Had to explain why he'll be just as qualified to treat patients as anybody else."
Edward grunted, averting his eyes to scan the room for a waiter. He felt a Margarita would numb his
"Is everything really, OK, sweetie? You seem a bit blue."
Bella and Edward exchanged a look, and Bella's eyes welled with tears again. Her lips trembled. "Uncle Carlisle, I don't know if you knew but…" Edward squeezed her closer and finished her sentence.
"Esme has breast cancer," Edward said tartly, and Bella's tears accelerated their pace down the slope of their cheek.
Carlisle looked taken aback, and his lips turned into a hard grim line. His eyes filled with stormy fear-and-concern for his kids. "I'm very sorry to hear that, kids," he said, sighing. "I hadn't heard it from her."
Bella spoke first, and the words shot out of her with a buzz of anxiety. When she spoke, she looked dozens of years younger. Tears slipped down her eyes. "Is she going to be OK?" Bella asked his father, placing all the remnants of childish faith in her question.
"Many types of breast cancer have very high five-year survival rates," Carlisle said comfortingly. Edward picked up on the shrewdness of the phrasing, but Bella heard what she wanted to hear. She perked up, smiling faintly at Carlisle. The relief flooded her eyes, loosening the tight set of her shoulders.
Bella interrogated Carlisle with oncology questions after that. Her relief seemed to grow with his every answer – even if to Edward's trained ear, the answers were not reassuring, but factual. Carlisle noticed the ring only when Bella lifted her hand to cradle a margarita stem.
"Oh." Carlisle's blue eyes zeroed in on the ring.
Cluelessly, Carlisle forced a rictus grin and flashed Edward a warning sign. Bella noticed the expression on Carlisle's face. Edward knew his father was genuinely concerned – concerned that their marriage would be built on a web of lies. Bella did not. As it would for many months, the glow faded from her face. The expression of doubt would haunt Edward for as long as he lived.