When Edward came home from his hunting trip, it took him all of thirty seconds to start throwing things: smashed his boxes of records; howling obscenities at Carlisle and Esme and anyone else who would dare stand within earshot. He called me a harlot. A freak. A circus act.
He did, until I explained what was going on, anyway.
That was what I told the Cullens, about how Edward would respond. But the decision I couldn’t see was Esme’s, who even after a few hours already seemed as though she would gladly accept a new daughter and son. In my visions, I saw she enjoyed their home; that she took pride in its appearance and loved keeping it looking nice. I did not understand that she was a carpenter, and that the house was her work of art. And after I explained to all of them that I could See, they understood that Edward moving into the garage was the best idea.
So it was Esme’s decision which thwarted the storm, because inside ten hours, before Edward came home, she built him a new room—turning a large storage space in the garage into a getaway for a confused vampire in a house full of couples. A bed, with a headboard with plenty of room for books; a whole wall of shelving perfectly sized for LPs. She even painted it; a pale shade of almond that glowed against all the color of Edward’s music. That room, more than any she’s built him since, was soaked with a mother’s love. And when he came home, Edward screamed only a little.
And he didn’t call me a harlot.
“Freak,” though…that one stuck.