Chapter 5: Great-Great-Grandchildren and Filters
She had been very weak and very tired when she first held her son. Exhausted and relieved and terrified, feeling things so much more than seeing or listening. The joy of holding her son against her bare skin. The terror when his breathing suddenly got labored. She felt the movements of his limbs decrease more than she saw the bluishness of his breath-deprived body. She remembered the fear, the pleading, the desperation. Praying, hoping and begging to anyone who would listen to save her child. Her last days were blurred into one jumbled mix of emotions that she never wished to relive.
When she entered this new life, Carlisle had told her that her human memories would fade. The bad and the good. He had sat with her and helped her recall the fonder moments of her childhood so that she could hold on to that happiness even now. But Carlisle had steered clear of any topic from her last few years of life. He did not know what had made her jump. And he avoided speaking of anything that could possibly immortalize the horrors in her mind.
So, Carlisle never made her recall the tail end of her human life. But she did.
She did not wish to forget him. Her son. Her child.
She thought of him. Often and in detail, recalling whatever she remembered through the haze of her transformation.
And one memory in particular had always stayed close to her.
The very first time she had held her son, immediately after his birth.
In that moment, she hadn't thought of her exhaustion or of the pain she had just endured giving birth. She hadn't worried about how she would take care of him or make ends meet all by herself. She hadn't been plagued by the thoughts of Charles finding her again.
No, all she had done was look at her child.
He lay nestled in her arms, his tiny form wrapped snugly in a soft blanket. His skin, delicate and pink, was lathered with the waxy afterbirth. His hands, impossibly small, curled into gentle fists and his fingers occasionally stretched as if testing the air. A few scraggly red hair covered his head and his lips, soft and pursed, moved in tiny instinctive motions.
His eyes, she remembered the most vividly. They had fluttered open while she held him close and with those beautiful brown orbs, he had gazed up at her. Curious and confused, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar light and shapes around him.
And a hundred years later, those very brown eyes stared at her. No longer curious or confused. Rather, he looked at her with a familiarity, a clarity that looked almost out of place on the deeply lined face.
He sat in the armchair wrapped in a thick knit shawl. His plump and pink skin had weathered into a network of deep lines etched by a century of laughter, sorrow and wisdom. The scraggly few hair on his head were now a pure white. His gnarled hands gripped the armrests firmly and he almost leaned forward. His eyes…they sparkled with wonder.
"My mother," he gasped out with a feeble voice once again and Esme rushed forward.
Again, a sliver of her mind noticed Carlisle tactfully redirecting Betty out of the room, leaving Esme alone with a child she could no longer cradle in her arms.
"My son," she whispered and knelt down in front of him.
Her son placed a warm hand over her face, his eyes still wide, full of wonder and not a single trace of disbelief. "I knew I would meet you Ma. The hospital…it kept on saying you were gone!"
"I'm here now," she told him, reaching out to touch his face with her own hesitant hands. "I'm not going anywhere."
"I looked for you, I promise," he said slowly. "I looked everywhere. I met your cousin. And I met…Charles."
Esme froze, her breath catching. Her hands hovered uncertainly, her eyes darting over him as though searching for unseen wounds.
"I am all right," he reassured before Esme could verbalize her fears. "My father was with me."
"Your fa-" Esme never got the chance to complete her question for at that moment three sets of feet thundered up the stairs.
"No running on the stairs!" Betty yelled at the young miscreants, interrupting her conversation with Carlisle outside the room.
"We're here to take Pops downstairs!" A young, teenage boy's voice said and Esme turned around to look at the commotion happening in the doorway. Kevin, and two more children his age, a boy and a girl, stood right outside the door, grinning up unabashed at Betty.
"You all will not be taking Pops anywhere. Go back and send my sons upstairs. I didn't raise them to lounge about and push off their responsibility on to kids."
While Betty shooed off the kids who ran down the stairs just as thunderously, Esme turned back to look at her son.
He was smiling. Looking at her. Looking at Betty. Looking at the two middle aged men who clambered up the stairs. Looking at the children getting under everyone's feet. Everything made him smile. It all made him happy.
And Esme's lips couldn't help but mirror his contentment.
She thanked the powers that may be that she could no longer cry for she certainly would have in that moment. And that would be something their host family might find odd. Instead, she stepped aside while the two men helped the older man into a special chair set to the side. It had a long back and handle support at several places. Once buckled in, they heaved him up and easily carried her son down the stairs. Carlisle's offers to help were waved away.
Instead, she fell into step with her husband, a few feet behind them.
"They sent the kids up to interrupt you. They're worried you'll get 'weirded out' by his conviction that you're his mother," Carlisle whispered to her.
For a moment irritation warred with affection in her heart. This family barely allowed her any time alone with her son. Yet, they acted out of care, doing what they believed was best for her—a practical stranger. With Carlisle's quiet reassurance at her side, she exhaled slowly, letting go of the irritation as she joined the family in the living room.
Carlisle handed her the untouched cup of warm drink, the ceramic mug smooth and grounding in her hands. She sank into a chair beside the armchair where they had settled her son. He reached out, his thin, gnarled hand seeking hers, and she clasped it firmly, feeling the frailty of his grasp yet marveling at its warmth. Betty soon bustled over, draping a light blanket over his knees and rearranging the shawl around his shoulders with practiced care before settling into her own seat.
Most of the family was gathered in the room, with the kids in the next room over. Kevin and Renesmee were there. Edward dabbled awkwardly in the doorway between the two rooms before one of the twins grabbed him away with her into their section of the house. Someone was discussing a greenish discoloration of their nail with Carlisle. There were a few new faces too, people she had not been introduced to earlier.
It was one of these people, one of the two men who had helped carry her son downstairs, who broke the gentle hum of conversation. "So," he began, glancing at Esme and then the room at large, "how do we know you folks?"
Esme turned instinctively to Carlisle, hoping he would handle their explanation. He was far more adept at weaving convincing stories than she was. But he was still entangled in a deep conversation with the same person, now discussing her irregular bowel habits.
Betty, once again, saved the day.
"It's a long story, Dave. But do you remember Esme Evenson?"
The man, Dave, nodded. "Yeah, the lady whose photo Pops carries everywhere. His bio mom. Oh…" His eyes widened as he looked at Esme. "You do look a lot like her!"
Betty nodded and continued. "Well, turns out, Pops wasn't the only child the hospital people stole from her. She had a daughter too. Pops was given to my grandfather. The daughter was given to a different family. Esme, here, is that daughter's granddaughter, named after Esme Evenson. That daughter also found about the original Esme, but much later in life. But somehow she never got to know about Pops, her brother. Kevin visited the Cullen's household and let his mouth run. Now that Pops has been asking for his mothers, our dear Esme has so kindly agreed to pretend to be so for him."
"The way Anna sometimes pretends to be his mother too?" Dave asked and Betty nodded.
Esme must have frowned because one of the women sitting near her leaned in to explain, her voice soft and conspiratorial. "That's me," she whispered. "Apparently, I look a lot like the woman who raised him. I'm Betty's daughter-in-law, by the way. Dave's brother, Albert, is my husband."
"I'm sorry! I'm late! What did I miss? Someone tell me the shortest possible version!" Another man, walked in from the back door and shook off the light snow from his hair that prompted several people from crying out an annoyed 'Albert!' or 'watch it.'
In a moment of carefreeness, Esme stared directly into the man's eyes and declared, "The short version is, I am your great-grandmother now."
Without missing a beat, Albert offered his hand and with a brilliant smile said, "Nice to meet you great-grandma. Please share your skincare secret with my wife."
Esme turned to Anna, the wife in question, and said in a playful, mock whisper, "A rich and unproblematic husband."
She wasn't one to brag about money but Alice had given her a heads up to lay some groundwork for unchanging looks, so that she could continue meeting her son for a longer duration without raising suspicions. And expensive cosmetic procedures certainly were a good excuse.
Anna raised an eyebrow at her husband. "Can that be arranged?"
Albert squeezed into the space beside Anna, pushing another woman further to the side on the small sofa, and draped an arm around his wife. "How about we meet in the middle ground and you settle for a rich husband instead of an unproblematic one?"
"How about you don't give me a reason to frown and I won't have to spend money getting rid of frown lines?" Anna countered.
"How about someone passing me another bottle of something?" An exasperated voice made Esme look away from the happy couple. Instead, her eyes found the man who had poured the generous help of whiskey into her still untouched drink. He contorted his face into annoyance but his eyes remained fond and bright, looking at all those sitting around her.
"Another bottle? You'll drink yourself into an early grave if you go at this rate, Billy," Betty snapped at the man.
"Early?" Billy scoffed. "I'm seventy-eight years old Betty. If I drink myself into a grave, it won't be to an early one. It will be to a 'bout-damn-time' grave!"
"Dad, do you hear your son?" Betty looked towards where Esme was sitting with her son.
"Billy, behave!" her son scolded him, without any heart behind the scolding.
Billy, instead, turned to her. "Grandma, your son scolded me."
Esme laughed at the mirth in his eyes and moved to scold her own son in turn but abruptly came to a halt. Her son…Pops…she…didn't know his name! In so many days of work, not once had she learned her son's name!
"I…" she faltered, her voice trailing off as uncertainty clouded her features.
Those around her seemed to pick up on her confusion and Anna, once again, leaned to help. "Gabriel."
Esme straightened, regaining her composure. "Gabriel," she said firmly, directing a playful scolding at him. "Don't scold my grandkid!"
The conversation continued. Someone or the other always had something to say and someone else was always ready with a retort. Esme just sat in her place, keeping her face a neutral indulgent, instead of showing everything she felt. She had no desire to come across as someone insane who actually believed themselves to be a hundred year old man's mother. She smiled where needed and kept her face light. Pretending to be pretending.
Someone whispered a hushed thanks to Carlisle for 'everything your wife is doing for Pops' and apologized for the sheer absurdity of it all. Carlisle reassured the man that this might actually be good for her for Esme had always wanted a big family. She had experience taking care of the elderly, a backstory with proof that Jasper had helpfully created for her. And with all their foster children except Renesmee gone off to college, this was something Esme would be thrilled to do.
Elsewhere in the room, Betty nipped an argument in the bud. Carlisle was again thrown some medical symptoms to diagnose. Albert and Dave were ribbing the woman sitting beside Anna, who, from what Esme gathered, was their sister. A young woman came and gave Gabriel a steaming cup of hot chocolate.
Esme leaned a little away and out of the frame when the young woman took a selfie with Gabriel. Esme's frown mirrored Gabriel's confusion when the screen showed the woman and Gabriel with strange, rabbit-like ears and nose. She had to look between the screen and people several times, trying to make sense of what was going on. Neither Gabriel nor the woman actually had anything on their face then how-
"It is called a filter. The phone adds that to the photo on its own," Edward whispered in the other room and Esme sighed in relief. It was strange.
Betty swatted Billy's hand away when he tried to add a little drink to Gabriel's hot chocolate.
"Oh come on Betty. Pops has a dozen confirmed kills. And you all are feeding him hot chocolate and putting flowers on his head!" Billy protested.
Esme's eyes widened in alarm, darting to Gabriel, who met her gaze with a reassuring squeeze of her hand.
Again, someone was quick to notice her expression and she was soon regaled with the stories of her son's exploits during World War 2. When most of the family was distracted, debating where exactly Gabriel was posted, and when, her son gestured to his own son, pointing at the cup in his hand. Billy managed to sneak in a generous splash of whiskey into his father's cup and Gabriel took a big gulp, sharing a conspiratorial smile with his son.
Ignoring the ongoing conversation, Gabriel tugged at Esme's hand and she leaned closer to him.
"That is my son, Billy," he said, slowly, gesturing at the man in question.
Gabriel's introductions were slow, and quiet. But this time, Esme paid attention.
His first child, Billy. His wife passed four months after their wedding and he never remarried. He still visited her grave once every week and never moved out of the house they moved into together.
Betty was his daughter, the apple of his eyes. She had three sons and two daughters. Her husband was deceased too, though after a long and happy life and met all his grandchildren except the youngest three. Esme was surprised to know the woman she considered middle age was in fact pushing eighty. That kind of youthfulness would certainly help cover up some of the oddities in her own appearance. Before she could contemplate its usefulness, Esme's attention was again redirected.
Dave and Albert and Christopher, Gabriel's grandsons. She knew of the first two already. The third nodded at her when Gabriel mentioned him. All three were successful bankers, though Gabriel spoke more proudly of their kindness to their wives and devotion to their children than of their professional achievements.
"And they are absolutely horrid to their sisters," the woman Albert had been ribbing chimed.
"Hush, he is saying nice things about me," Albert shushed her just as quickly.
Gabriel chuckled and introduced the three men's spouses. Nichole and Anna and Lucy —and then his two granddaughters, Sarah and Naomi, who co-owned a thriving bridal boutique chain.
"They just opened their 9th store!" He crowed with pride and Esme smiled at his enthusiasm.
Gabriel's animation only grew as he continued to introduce his great-grandchildren. From the corner of her eyes, she could see the family looking at each other, some bewildered, some with raised eyebrows, some confused, but each one smiling.
"They haven't seen Gabriel this animated or coherent in ages," Edward's whisper supplied helpfully. "For the past few years he had been very quiet and forgetful."
There was no trace of forgetfulness in him in that moment though as he talked about his youngest great-grandchildren. Lori and Bethany, Lucas and Willian, Kevin and Bob, and lastly, the young woman sitting on the armrest on Gabriel's other side, Paige.
"She works for the fruit company!" Once again, Gabriel was beaming with pride. "And looks after my Billy too."
Billy let out an indignant cry at that and the family once again erupted into a good-natured uproar. Ignoring them all, Paige leaned around a chuckling Gabriel. "I work from home as a developer for Apple. Mom and Grandma were getting worried about Uncle Billy living all by himself. So, I moved in with him. Can't complain. He is really fun to be around and I am saving a lot on rent."
"And on booze," Billy added from across the room. "Yeah, I know you and your friends have been raiding my liquor cabinet."
"Yeah…that too," Paige conceded with an unapologetic shrug.
Esme leaned back into her seat, her hand warm under Gabriel's constant grasp and just…watched.
This family…These people…
She wasn't just sitting beside her son in a house full of strangers. No, she was nestled in the heart of her family—her grandchildren, their children, and even their children's children. Seven great-great-grandchildren! The thought wrapped around her heart like the softest quilt, one she never dared to dream of having.
The room shimmered with the warm glow of Christmas lights, their soft colors reflecting off garlands of tinsel and ornaments scattered around the cozy living room. The faint aroma of pine needles mingled with the sweet scent of freshly baked cookies and spiced cider, creating an atmosphere that felt almost dreamlike.
Around her, the family's laughter rose and fell like waves crashing on a shore, unrestrained and full of life. Voices overlapped as everyone chatted, teased, and shared stories, filling the air with a symphony of joy. Through their mirth she learned so much about them, about her family. Gabriel's hand tightened around hers every so often, grounding her, as if he wanted to ensure she didn't disappear from his sight.
Esme's heart ached—not with pain, but with an overwhelming sense of fullness. These were her descendants. Her son's family. Her family. She soaked in the details: the way the children's eyes sparkled with unspent energy, their cheeks rosy from earlier rampage through the snow, and the way the adults exchanged loving barbs and cheerful stories.
It was more than she could have imagined.
When dinner was served, it was a scene straight out of a postcard. A long, lovingly set table stretched across the dining room, adorned with an elegant but welcoming centerpiece of candles and evergreen sprigs. Plates were piled high with roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, and a myriad of other holiday staples.
The Cullens were seamlessly invited into the chaos of seating arrangements, as though they had always been a part of this family. Esme glanced at Carlisle and Edward, who played their parts flawlessly, indulging in bites of food and chatting warmly with those beside them. Both of them exuded charm, carefully masking their supernatural nature so as not to disturb the joyful, human atmosphere.
Her heart swelled with gratitude at their effort. It would take them a good hour to cough up the food they were eating and the drinks they had consumed. But tonight, they did not hold back for their comfort. They did everything expected of them, and beyond, to blend in with those around them. And they did it for her.
Time slipped by unnoticed as the hours melted into a continuous stream of laughter, conversation, and occasional bursts of music as someone mischievously adjusted the playlist.
Only when Gabriel's head began to dip and his grip on Esme's hand slackened did Betty rise, instructing her sons to carry their grandfather upstairs. "He's had a long day," she said softly, her tone carrying a mix of affection and practicality.
Esme followed behind as Christopher and Albert gently lifted Gabriel into his chair, her steps slow and deliberate. She could feel Carlisle's presence nearby, but he stayed just enough out of the way, watching her with quiet understanding.
When they reached Gabriel's room, the warm coziness of the house seemed even more concentrated. A soft quilt lay waiting on the bed, and the bedside lamp cast a mellow, golden glow. Christopher carefully tucked his grandfather under the layers of blankets while Albert fetched a small tray with Gabriel's medications and a cup of water.
"We'll be downstairs," Dave whispered, his voice low, as he gave Esme a reassuring nod before leaving the room with his brothers.
Carlisle pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, his cool lips a grounding contrast to the warmth in the room. "They won't interrupt you this time," he murmured before stepping out, closing the door softly behind him.
For a moment, Esme stood still, her hand still lingering on the edge of the door. Her gaze turned to Gabriel, his breathing steady as he rested against the pillows, and a wave of emotion surged through her. Gratitude. Love. A bittersweet ache for the years she had lost with him, tempered by the miraculous gift of being here now.
She stepped closer, her movements quiet, almost reverent. Lowering herself into the chair by his bedside, she took his hand in hers once more, feeling his warmth seep into her cold fingers.
Esme sat there, her heart full to the brim, the faint sound of laughter and music drifting up from below. For the first time in a long time, she felt whole, as if a piece of her that had been missing so long was finally in place.
A/N:
General Disclaimer, I have never celebrated Christmas myself beyond what was planned in a Convent School that I attended a decade ago. All my knowledge about Christmas comes from watching Christmas movies (I watched Red One, A boy called Christmas and The Christmas Chronicles between the last chapter and this one) so, I apologize if I got anything wrong. If there is any glaring mistake, please let me know.
Next chapter, Esme and her son finally get the chance to talk one on one. So, two more chapters until the end of the story.
Do let me know what you thought of the story so far! I'd also love to hear how is everyone's holidays going!
In the end, I hope you enjoyed the chapter.
Happy Holidays everyone!
-ZQ