Writings

Note on the Series: I tend to write rather heavy fiction, both for myself and for fanfic. But every now and again I have inspiration for something whose whole point is just to be humorous. It is my hope that by having a place to throw these, I will be inspired to occasionally step back and bang out a little bit of funny. Each piece is short, canon-compliant, and simply for fun.  Enjoy!

Acronymy
When Carlisle picks up Edward and Alice from school, he discovers that his vocabulary is lacking a very important word.

Packages
Three brothers, one plain box, and the reason why identical initials are a problem.

Tweet, Tweet
It’s a special day for Carlisle…but he’s only paying attention to Twitter.

She thinks Forks looks ridiculous at Christmastime. This town is really just people who are too stodgy to move to Port Angeles, or god forbid Olympia or Seattle, and the holiday retail hubbub seems awkward and misplaced. She likes it better during the year when the shops close early and the only thing that remains open is the greasy-spoon diner that calls itself the Forks Coffee Shop. The coffee shop has been her haunt recently; and most nights Leah rumbles her way down La Push Road in her ’88 Celica to partake of the quiet and a two-dollar cup of coffee. The woman who works there at night is one of those stupid-looking white women, the ones who spend too much time trying to make their straight hair curly and wear lipstick the color of blood even though their skin is too translucent to pull off that color. The woman gave Leah the evil eye at first, probably because sometimes the residents of Forks mistake the Natives for the Mexican migrant workers who come north to steal good logging jobs, or so the common complaint goes. Or maybe she does recognize Leah for Native, and it’s just straight-up racism; Leah doesn’t know. But it’s been months now and the woman has learned to be more tolerant. Leah sits there for hours getting her one cup of coffee refilled over and over, staring at the stuffed elk that serves as a room divider, and thinking about nothing at all. So racist or no, Leah is grateful for the woman’s tolerance. She doesn’t have much money—never has—but she always tips more than the cost of the coffee as a thank you.

From the windows of The Fern Gallery, Leah can see up the street to the coffee shop. Strands of weather-beaten tinsel garland hang from the eaves of the low building, and a motorized Christmas tree revolves lazily in its front window. The worn letters on the marquee out front spell MERY CHISTMS—stealing letters from the coffee shop is a favorite pastime of the high school boys who have nothing more productive to do. With the missing letters and the old tree, the coffee shop’s decorations look halfhearted, as though their presence is accidental. The whole town looks like this in December. It’s too small to make a big splash, but too folksy to let the holidays go by unnoticed, and so each year the tattered vinyl banner stretches itself across Highway 101 in the middle of town, the old twinkle lights make their way into the windows of the shops, and people try to make up in fake cheer for the fact that winter means no hikers, no tourists, and no loggers.

They don’t have what you would call a bustling retail season.

She’s been spending a lot more time in Forks lately. It used to be only occasional, maybe a quick run to town to get fancier groceries or to buy fishing equipment for her dad for his birthday. But there wasn’t sense in leaving the rez all that often. Her whole world was there, or the parts that mattered, anyway. Her mother, her brother, her father to the extent that he could be counted on, her friends. La Push is beautiful in its own way, the crowded houses with their siding beaten by seawater and wind, and their roofs which always seemed to need two or three of the men on top of them in the summertime to lay new shingle. But the Quileute aren’t a people who are about the outsides, they’re a people who are about the insides.

And it’s Leah’s insides that are the problem. Because La Push, for all it has, also has Sam.

The holiday job at The Fern is step number one in project Get The Hell Out. College would be Plan A, but Leah’s grades went to pot when Sam disappeared and she stopped sleeping, and then they dropped even further when he returned. He was so strange, skulking around at night, sleeping through the middle of the afternoons, and changing from the best-friend/boyfriend that she knew to this sullen, frightened creature. He wouldn’t tell her where he’d been—just begged her to go forward as though he hadn’t disappeared for two weeks. Nights which had once been filled with laughter became filled with arguments instead. But she loved him, and so she tried to reconcile. He tried, too, and for a few months, things seemed as though they might be working.

Then Emily came.

The table on which she’s meant to be rearranging sterling-silver twig reindeer suddenly rattles violently, and Leah takes a step back, removing her shaking hand. A calming breath slows her heartbeat, and slow exhalation steadies her. She loves Sam, and she loves Emily. And even she has to admit that Sam looks at Emily differently than he ever did her. As much as she hates to acknowledge it, there’s something there that she doesn’t understand. So she’s agreed to be a bridesmaid. But after that, she’s leaving.

A huge logging truck rumbles past the store, its thick tires kicking up wet and muddy slush onto the middle of the display window. In her mind—because there are customers in the store—Leah swears profusely. But then she reminds herself that every hour spent here is seven dollars and sixty-five cents closer to being freed, before taxes.

She goes to get the Windex.

~||x||~

The next week a fresh snow falls, which makes the Christmas décor look slightly more fitting. Wind whips Leah’s hair across her cheeks and nose as she stands in front of the store, tugging futilely at the neck of the coat she inherited from her mother. Sue Clearwater is a practical person above all, and although the electric-green coat isn’t what anyone would call fashionable, it’s filled with warm down, and it buttons  from Leah’s chin to her knees.

She gets thirty minutes for a dinner break, per Washington state law. Five of these each night are spent having a cigarette outside the store’s back door, and then she often wanders the street. Service at the coffee shop is too slow for a quick dinner, and she needs to save her cash anyway. So if she eats dinner at all, it’s usually a wilted sandwich she’s brought from home, or on occasion some leftover frybread. But frybread is a shared endeavor, and with her only daughter moping around, Sue Clearwater hasn’t made any in a while. So most of the time Leah eats nothing, and just wanders the main drag of Forks until her weathered watch tells her it’s time to get back to The Fern.

She’s barely paying attention when she realizes she’s managed to wander her way to the TruValue hardware store. They sell pop here, and so she goes in to grab a bottle, even if it is almost a quarter of an hour’s wages. Her brother makes fun of her for thinking of money in this way, but he’s only twelve. One day he’ll understand. Their mother certainly does.

The door jingles as she opens it and Leah slips inside. Tinny, fake Christmas carols play on the badly distorted overhead sound system, and red and green signs direct people to holiday specials—snow shovels, tree trimmers. Six Christmas trees sit  in the entryway, with signs handwritten in orange marker directing people to  the lumberyard, where they can buy a similar one. Three are decorated, three are not—bunched together at the front of the store they look haphazard, not altogether cheerful.

Leah shrugs off the overly-attentive clerk who meets her at the door and makes her way toward the checkout and the coolers of twenty ounce Diet Coke. She’s made it only halfway across the floor when something—or rather, someone catches her eye. She recognizes his build from the back, the slight shoulders, the long hair as jet-black as her own falling down the back over the bright-green shirt, the head topped off with a pointed green hat.

She’s trying to stifle the laugh when he turns. His expression is first surprised, then mortified, and then his face drops into a scowl.

“You will keep your trap shut about this, Clearwater, if you know what’s good for you.”

But she’s already laughing, and from under the lopsided green hat, Jacob Black’s eyes flash dark.

“What,” she manages through her giggle, “are you doing here, Jake?”

He scowls down at the linoleum floor, and he looks even more ridiculous as the flashing twinkle lights overhead turn his green hat from purple to blue and back again. Not looking up, he mumbles something that sounds a bit like “carburetor.”

“I’m sorry?”

Sucking in a deep breath, Jake looks her in the eye, his expression having moved from angry to just depressed. “I…need…a…car…bur…e…tor…” he says, enunciating each syllable carefully as though he is speaking to someone who is hard of hearing. “Dad said if I earned half of it, he’d pay the other half. I’m working on that old truck.”

She pictures Jacob’s front yard, which has always been one of the messier ones on the rez, and the hideous red-orange tank of a truck comes immediately to mind. Jake has wanted to work on cars for as long as she can remember—he didn’t play with Hot Wheels like her brother, who is closer to his age; he built them. Painted them. Pulled out little brushes and did minuscule detailing jobs. It only makes sense that now that he’s getting closer to being a bona-fide driver on his own, he would begin some serious engine work. And if it gets that eyesore off their lawn, so much the better.

Her lips press together of their own accord. This explains why he’s here—unlike some reservations, there’s no casino in La Push to drive their economy, so it’s either one of the two restaurants there at the docks or work in Forks if the high schoolers want money. That is, after all, why she’s here, too. But it certainly doesn’t explain…

“The hat?”

Jake scowls again. “Christmas spirit,” he sneers. “All the stock boys have to wear them.”

“It’s”—she struggles for the right word—“cute?”

He rolls his eyes. “Right. And I’m driving myself home in my BMW tonight.”

This brings up an interesting point. “Your dad drive you?”

He cocks his head to the side as if wondering whether to answer truthfully, but nods.

Leah frowns. Billy Black drives okay; it was diabetes that took his legs from him. One more victim to the white man’s shitty diet. But the disease left him with borderline decent mobility, just not enough to stand. So he must be the one driving Jake to and from the rez every day. Still, though, the choice of driver can’t be fun for Jake, and the offer is out of her mouth before she thinks about it.

“You wanna ride with me instead?” She’s as surprised by the offer as he seems to be, but the words come from her almost unbidden and she realizes they speak a deeper truth. After months of disappearing to Forks alone, having a partner with whom to drive would actually be welcome. “I could start bringing you in when we both work,” she adds.

His eyebrows shoot almost to the brim of the hat and for a moment he almost does look the part of a little Christmas elf, or at least one in some revisionist history where Santa’s helpers are a little more ethnically diverse. She half-expects him to shake with glee and say, “you mean it?” but his face quickly recovers the sour ‘I’m-too-cool-for-you’ look she knows all too well from her little brother.

“Dad’ll be pissed,” he answers solemnly, his lips pressing together in mock sympathy. “He spends his time while I’m at work drinking beer and watching the Seahawks with Charlie Swan. I’d hate to deprive him of that.”

But he’s already grinning.

~||x||~

She drives Jake to and from Forks six times before he even brings it up. Like Leah, Jake doesn’t seem to care much for small talk, and she appreciates this. It’s almost like driving alone, except that the sound of Jake’s breathing seems to fill the car, which strikes her as odd, since she’s the one who smokes while driving.

That had been another thing that suddenly changed about Sam after The Disappearance. Once he smoked twice as much as she did—a full pack each day to her half—and he turned eighteen first which had opened access for both of them. Not that cigarettes are exactly hard to come by on the rez—tobacco is the sacred plant of her people, after all. The white men figured out how kill people with it of course, but smoking is still prevalent despite the risks.

After Sam returned, however, he suddenly refused to smoke. Said the cigarettes were vile-smelling and he couldn’t stand the taste. He asked her not to smoke, either—didn’t want to kiss her after she had a cigarette. So she tried to stop smoking as much as she could, but really what happened was that they stopped kissing.

Now that she thinks about it, maybe that was part of the problem.

For about a week after Emily (for simplicity’s sake, her head has reduced the whole mess to just her cousin’s name—it’s not “the breakup,” but just “Emily”) she smoked more than ever. Death from lung cancer, she thought, was quite possibly preferable to the shame of losing the love of her life. She hated the way the rest of the community stared after her; she could feel their eyes boring into the back of her head when she wasn’t looking, and when she did look, people quickly averted their gazes. They still stare, although as much as it makes Leah feel like a selfish bitch to admit this, it got better after the incident with the bear. Now it is Emily, not Leah, who gets the pitying looks when people think she isn’t paying attention.

But this is the problem of the rez. She loves that everyone is family, that she is part of so much more than just Sue-Harry-Leah-Seth. But it is impossible to shake Sam and Emily when everyone treats her as though they all grieve with her for what she’s lost. So on the one hand, plan Get The Hell Out seems like a terrible idea. On the other, how long can one person live without air?

Jacob is good about not asking any questions, although she recognizes the perplexed stare boring its way into the side of her head as she keeps her eyes on the sometimes untrustworthy terrain of La Push Rd. He never says anything, however, and they drive mostly in silence both ways, to Forks in the mid afternoon after the rez school lets out, and back to the rez in the inky black night.

So it takes over a week of shared shifts—the hardware store and The Fern were happy to help the two of them synchronize their work schedules to optimize the driving—before Jacob says anything to her at all that isn’t directly related to the drive itself. It’s a request for a cigarette, of all things, and she turns him down at once.

“Have you ever even smoked before?”

He gives her a withering look, and unbidden, her lips curl upward. Jake does, after all, live on the rez, too. Without thought, she hands him the cigarette she’s smoking and reaches in her purse for another. He doesn’t smoke it right away, instead turning it between his fingers contemplatively as the end smolders an angry orange. Jake studies his cigarette and doesn’t say anything as she pulls another one from the squashed pack, presses it between her lips and lights it with one hand still on the wheel. When he’s stared at it and then at her so long that she is almost ready to scream, he finally takes a deep drag and exhales, the smoke circling his head lazily as it curls its way to the decaying ceiling.

“Sam gave me my first one,” he says, turning the white stick over in his fingers once again. Jake’s fingernails are long and oval, she notices, and oddly clean for someone who spends his spare time up to his elbows in bearing grease and motor oil. Sam was meticulous about that, too. A warrior’s pride in his appearance—he wasn’t vain, just proud of who he was.

Jake doesn’t say anything else for a moment, and it takes Leah a moment to respond.  When she does, her voice is angrier than she intends it.

“Sam quit.”

The words seem to sum up a lot more than the love of her life’s former affinity for Marlboros.

“I know.”

Another long exhale; more smoke nestling its way into the ripped ceiling.

“My dad says some shit about me understanding it someday,” he adds, almost hopefully, as though she’ll have some information he lacks.

Leah takes another drag but clamps her mouth shut in an effort not to say anything to Jake. The smoke burns as she exhales through her nose, making her eyes water a little. Which is probably a dumb move, because now Jake will think she’s crying. She’s exhausted every tear she can shed over Sam, she thinks. When you cry for a week straight, your body has nothing left for awhile.

Some shit about me understanding it someday. This strikes Leah as odd, but then her own father acted rather strange about the whole Emily situation as well. But Harry Clearwater is Harry fire water far more often than not these days, and although she loves her father, Leah doesn’t always take him seriously when he goes on a slightly-less-than-sober diatribe.

If Billy Black is dropping hints to Jake, maybe Harry isn’t crazy after all.

“For what it’s worth, I’m on your side,” Jake mutters after a moment.

She frowns. “There aren’t sides, Jake.”

He grunts and drags on the cigarette once more. He looks a little ridiculous smoking—Jacob is not a grown man like Sam; he looks more like a puppy of some large breed who hasn’t quite grown into his paws yet. She’s reminded painfully of his age, or rather, lack thereof, and has to resist the urge to snatch the cigarette from him as his jaw works slowly and the end of it bounces up and down.

They drive awhile in silence, their exhaled smoke swirling its way out through the miniscule crack Leah has opened in her window. Soon the two cigarettes are reduced to butts jammed into the filthy ashtray in the dashboard. She’s turning on to Highway 101 when Jake finally speaks again.

“You aren’t just saving up money for Christmas gifts, are you.” It’s not a question.

She doesn’t answer him right away. She has a new account with Bank of America on the north side of town, and it has six hundred twenty-two dollars and forty-seven cents in it. This isn’t enough to leave yet—it won’t make for a deposit on an apartment, not even in Port Angeles or Olympia, and besides that she needs to find a real job, not just a part-time gig in a struggling gift shop.

He doesn’t press her further, and soon they are at the hardware store. Jake’s skinny arm bends backwards around the seat as he retrieves the pointed green hat that he keeps stowed on the floorboards, as though Leah hasn’t already seen him in it. He rolls it up into a tight wad of fabric which he clutches in an open fist. The Celica’s wheels crunch  as she pulls to a stop in front of the store. Jake unbuckles his seat belt and yanks up on the plastic lock—nothing on Leah’s car is automatic—but he pauses before he pulls the handle.

“Your mom and dad will miss you,” he says.

Leah stares straight ahead. She knows this to be true—Sue Clearwater loves her children more than anything. To have children is to tie oneself even more firmly to one’s ancestors, and as family, they are to stay together. Her father feels the same way as her mother, even if he can’t always manage to show it.  Thinking about this, though, just makes her feel more trapped, and so when she answers Jake, her reply is terse.

“My dad’s a drunk.”

Jake’s thin shoulders shrug once. “My mom’s dead, and my dad’s a cripple.” His gaze shifts from the door to the floorboards, and for a moment, she worries she’s brought up something difficult. But then he grins.

“Sorry, but I always win at poor-little-old-me. You don’t stand a chance.”

She laughs, and Jake yanks on the door handle. He springs out of the car, slamming the door behind him, but he doesn’t move right away. He stands in the parking lot, the cold wind whipping his long hair behind him, and then he turns abruptly and opens the door again.

“I will miss you,” he says. “And I’m not a drunk.”

Before Leah can open her mouth, Jake has slammed the door, spun on his heel, and raced off toward the door, kicking up little bits of gravel as he goes. She watches him until his bright green body is out of view. Then she stomps the clutch and heads toward The Fern

~||x||~

The stores close early on Christmas Eve, which means less pay for Leah. She accepts this, but isn’t happy about it—the account is healthy, but not good. Not yet. The hardware store stays open an hour longer than The Fern—so that people can get their last-minute mulch on their way to church?—and so she goes to the coffee shop to wait. Too-red lipstick woman is there, and she wishes Leah a Merry Christmas as she slides into one of the bar stools. The ripping vinyl protests as her jeans slide across it.

She’s three-quarters of the way through her second cup of coffee when the door jangles open and Jake appears. The floppy green hat is clutched in one hand, and his shirt is untucked on one side. He has a peculiar bounce in his step as he moves across the mostly empty diner and slides onto the stool next to hers. He doesn’t even say hello; just stares as she continues to sip the coffee.

“That will stunt your growth, you know,” he says finally.

The comment takes her so much by surprise that she can’t help but to laugh.

“Jacob Black, I am at least three inches taller than you are.”

He straightens himself up as much as he can on the stool, but she still sits taller than he does. After a moment, he gives up and slouches once more. The little green hat unfurls itself on the counter, revealing a carved figurine. She examines it more closely—it’s a remarkably good replica of a bear, its paws splayed alternately as though it is walking.

“Did you make that?”

He nods, pushing it toward her, silly green hat and all. “Merry Christmas. Or you can take it as a thank-you gift for driving my ass all over the place.”

She picks it up and turns it over in her hand—the wood is smooth and cold against her palm. The bear is remarkably detailed. Claws are visible on his front paws, and as she looks at them, she realizes why Jake chose this particular animal to give to her. Slamming the bear down on the counter, she scowls at it before picking up her mug of coffee.

“It’s just a Christmas gift,” Jake mumbles, and suddenly his posture is more uncomfortable. “I figured you had a dark enough sense of humor to appreciate it.”

The truth is, she does. And she is almost on the verge of finding the bear funny, were it not for the fact that the pain is still a little too real. Even her mother had insinuated that Emily’s injury would make Leah feel better about the whole situation, and it hasn’t. Watching Sam disappear every afternoon to Forks Community Hospital for the three-days Emily had been in their tiny inpatient ward had only served to hammer home the point that he would never be hers again. But when she answers Jake, all she says is, “She’s still my cousin.”

Looking crestfallen, Jake slowly rolls up the green hat and pockets the bear. When he speaks, his voice is suddenly terse.

“I’m gonna go outside and wait for you to finish.” He shrugs back into his jacket—a beat-up leather thing that she suspects was a hand-me-down, much like her own—and slides off the stool. His face has lost the joy that it had when he entered, and Leah feels a twinge of guilt. Before she thinks about it, she’s reached into her purse and flung the weathered pack and a lighter at him. But she throws them too abruptly for his reflexes, and the pack lands with a slap and skids across the floor. Too-red-lipstick lady looks from her to the cigarettes and back to Jake, and gives her a disapproving look. But Jake has collected them before she can say anything, and the door jingles merrily once more as he leaves. Through the wide windows on the side of the building, she watches as he leans against the Celica for a moment. Then he jerks open the car door and chucks the cigarettes and the lighter inside.

Leah can hear the car door slam even from inside the restaurant.

~||x||~

By the time they reach La Push, it’s already pitch black. There aren’t many streetlights out here in the rez, and in the moonlight she can make out the craggy islands off the shore as they approach. They have to pass her house to go to Jake’s—the Clearwaters live next to the forest and the Blacks live closer to the docks.

Neither of them has spoken the entire ride from Forks. When Leah finished her coffee, she hadn’t acknowledged Jacob, but simply collected the cigarettes from where they had scattered themselves on the floorboards and put them in her purse before turning on the ignition. Jake sat down with such force that the whole car shook, but only closed his door quietly and looked straight through the windshield on the ride home.

When they pull up to his house, a soft glow from the Christmas tree inside is visible. Every now and then its color is obscured by a body passing by. Jake’s sisters are home for the holiday, Leah knows. Rachel and Rebecca were a year ahead of her in school, and aside from Emily, are probably her closest friends. But she hasn’t seen them since they’ve arrived back on the rez—she doesn’t want to deal with their pity over Sam.

So she decides not to get out of the car, just in case Rachel and Rebecca see her. She doesn’t feel much like talking tonight. Moreover, her mother expects her home—she’s been working on a big dinner all afternoon, and it’s for “the four of us.” Sue Clearwater is a kind woman, but she’s no pushover, and both Leah and Seth know better than to back out of plans.

Jacob opens the door silently, and he has one leg out of the car before Leah stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” she says suddenly, the words surprising them both.

He shrugs, and the leather jacket moves uncomfortably on his shoulders. He doesn’t, however, look at her.

“Do you still have the bear?”

A withering look.

She takes a deep breath, and finds the question is harder to ask than she might have thought.

“Can I have it?”

Jacob’s lips purse for a moment as he thinks. Then he shifts awkwardly on the seat so he can raise his hips, shoves a hand into his jeans pocket, and withdraws the little bear. He holds it in his hand a moment, looking at it, then he holds his hand out to her.

When she takes it, his warm palm presses her cool one. She’s always had cold hands. People comment on this daily, to her embarrassment. So she lets her hand linger in the warmth of Jacob’s for a moment longer than is probably necessary.

And then she kisses him.

It’s not a romantic kiss, not really. Not the kind of kiss she shared with Sam, the kind where it was easy for him to tell if she’d been smoking. “Tastes like ash,” he’d say, and she would ask him how much ash he’d eaten in his life to be so sure. But she doesn’t kiss Jake like that—she doesn’t open her mouth and neither does he, although Leah guesses that on Jake’s part, this might be more from inexperience than anything.  The whole thing is over in under ten seconds, and then they are sitting once again in the quiet car.

She flexes her fingers around the bear.

“I don’t have anything to give you for Christmas.”

He draws the back of his hands across his lips pensively—not wiping, just thinking, she believes. He still looks a little shocked.

“S’okay,” he answers, shaking his head. “I wasn’t expecting anything back.”

Leah nods, and holds up the bear. “Thanks. This is kinda funny.”

Shrugging again, Jake pulls up on the lock and opens the door. The car is suddenly filled with frigid air, and the bear feels cold against her palm. Jake puts one leg out of the car, but then twists over his shoulder.

“Like I said, Clearwater. I’m on your side. I think everybody is.”

And then he’s out of the car and the cold has stopped. He lumbers away toward the cheery house—Leah can see Billy’s silhouette in the window, half the height of his daughters in his chair. As Jacob goes, she pulls a neat three-point turn in the street and then stops to roll down her window.

“Jake!” she calls out.

He pauses, but it takes him a second to turn around. When he does, he is silhouetted by the light of the living room, too, with his face turned a strange shade of greenish-purple by the colored lights strung on the low eaves of the house.

“Are you working on Monday?”

He nods, then redundantly calls back, “Yeah.”

“Let me know what time. I’ll pick you up.”

“I’ll call you,” he says, and turns toward the door once again.

“Hey!”

Jake spins.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” he calls, and gives her a quick grin before turning once more and disappearing through the front door.

Leah smiles to herself as she puts the car in gear. Then, with the lights of the Black house glowing warmly behind her, she drives toward home.

~Fin~

December 25, 2003

Our new living room appeared to have been hit by a tornado. A very peculiar tornado which had hit only a single target—a wrapping paper store—before flinging its detritus around our living room. The recently-refinished floor was all but obscured by red, green, gold and silver and the signs of our joyous gift-opening session littered the furniture. I could sense my wife’s unease with the mess even as she beamed with pride watching our children enjoying the gifts they had received and given. She shifted in my lap toward the direction of the kitchen, where we stored the garbage bags.

I leaned in, pulled her back, and pressed my lips to her neck. “Don’t,” I whispered. “Let it be. Enjoy this. It’s Christmas.”

Esme rolled her eyes but laughed and relaxed back into my chest. “It’s a miracle that you and Edward weren’t living in utter filth when I joined you.”

“Oh, we were just fine,” Edward’s exasperated voice piped up from where he lay on his stomach in front of the fireplace, paging carefully through his gift from Esme and me: a first edition manuscript of Mozart’s Piano Concerto in C. I had an excellent source for rare books in Portland who had been thrilled for the challenge I’d set him to find Edward a suitable Christmas present. And to my joy, Edward seemed in love with it. He hadn’t even been out to the garage yet to assess his other gift from us: a new silver Volvo, to help assuage his worry that our usual fleet of ostentatious cars would draw too much attention in our new hometown.

Cars were a popular and traditional gift in our household, although by some strange arrangement, this Christmas had seen only the Volvo as far as new cars. Emmett had given Rosalie a 1976 Jaguar XJ-S to rebuild, but other than that it had been a remarkably light Christmas on the automobile front. Instead there had been many gifts of diamonds, the traditional shower of new clothing picked out by Alice (and straight from the runways), new video games, and rare books (mostly for Edward, Jasper, and me). Edward and Alice had done a remarkable job of staying silent about everyone’s gifts this year, and Esme and I had even managed to surprise Edward with the music by keeping our Christmas-related thoughts confined to the new car. It was delightful to catch him off-guard about something every now and again.

Alice and Jasper sat playing chess in the corner. Jasper was trying valiantly to make last-minute decisions about his moves but was nonetheless being destroyed by his wife despite his best efforts. Rosalie and Emmett were off sitting on the couch, Emmett anxiously and carefully opening his copy of Resident Evil 4, which Rosalie had gone to great lengths to get her hands on two weeks early. I was surprised—Rosalie generally disapproved of Emmett’s addiction to the graphically bloody games. But Christmas was one of those times to set that aside, I guessed.

“Emmett, you’re not putting that in! Not on the big TV! No gruesome games on Christmas!” Esme almost leapt from my lap, and I chuckled, keeping my hands on her hips. She hated it when the boys got playing some game that detailed the spraying of blood and body parts.

Emmett turned to her, raising one eyebrow and smirking. “Esme,” he said slowly, “you do realize that this whole house is, well, you know…full of vampires?”

We all laughed. This argument was familiar, and so was my wife’s response.

“It’s not the same,” she said stubbornly, and I laughed. She addressed Emmett again, this time more firmly. “Not on the big TV, not on Christmas. You can play it tomorrow. Or upstairs.”

“Mmm. Upstairs,” Emmett repeated quietly, raising his eyebrows at Rosalie. She smiled back at him and took his hand. This caused Alice, Jasper, and Edward to all groan aloud.

“Oh would you two get a room?” Edward complained, not looking up from his music.

“Really,” Alice added. Jasper rolled his eyes at Emmet and then flicked over his king as Alice laughed.

“That wouldn’t be any fun,” Emmet said innocently, grinning. “If we weren’t here, how would we ever manage to make you all uncomfortable?”

Alice snorted and rolled her eyes.

Esme and I both laughed. Again, Christmas was proceeding quite normatively for our household. Certain levels of emotion were somewhat hard to hide from our three gifted children and although the rest of us tried not to burden them, it was sometimes difficult to conceal. Leaning in again, I gently swept my lips against Esme’s collarbone, letting my thoughts drift a little.

“Carlisle—” Edward said warningly, and Esme shot me a dazzling smile.

I laughed. “Just thought that perhaps a reminder was needed that Emmett and Rose aren’t the only married couple in the room.” Winking at Edward, I quickly shifted my thoughts back to how delighted I was watching him lying there so blissfully, and how much I loved him.

He groaned again. “Thanks, that’s almost worse.”

Emmett grinned again. “Yeah, Carlisle,” he said, making a lewd gesture with his hips.

“Emmett.” Esme and I voiced our disapproval in unison, and our son let out his booming laugh.

It was Alice who literally jumped in to fully cut the tension, however. “I know something that Carlisle can think about that won’t bother Edward,” she said, leaping back into the main part of the living room. She gave me a knowing smile.

Edward rolled onto his back, propping himself up on his elbows. “Oh?”

She nodded, winking at me. “There’s still one more gift to be given.”

I smiled back at her. Alice had been very gracious—she had neither told any of the others about this last gift, and she had also managed to push it from her mind while in Edward’s presence. She was the only one who knew about it, and she had been patiently sitting on that information all afternoon.

Edward and Esme both shot me very curious looks, and Emmet, Rosalie and Jasper looked bemused.

I nodded to Alice. “Would you go get them? They’re on my—” she zipped upstairs to my study and was back in the same instant “—desk,” I finished.

“Here.” She dumped the pile of small packages into Esme’s lap. I had packed them simply, in neat silver boxes, with no ornamentation and only an envelope on top with each recipient’s name.

“Do you want to—”

“—Hand them out? Yes, I will.” Alice scooped the packages back, save the one labeled “Esme.” I watched her as she flitted around the room like a dancer, finally coming to rest again next to Jasper. Each of my family members looked at the little package with amused confusion.

I suddenly found I was a little nervous. The idea had come to me only a few weeks earlier, while standing in front of Forks’ only jeweler’s shop. He had displayed in his window an assortment of pieces all adorned with his family’s coat of arms. I had found my mind immediately pulled to a dull, human memory from nearly four centuries ago. In the home of my paternal grandfather, whose face I could not bring myself to recall, I had stumbled across a ring with peculiar symbols. I had asked my father about it, but he had told me that to wear such a thing was to put one’s family before God, a sinfully prideful act, and that I was better off with the simple wooden cross that he whittled for me to wear shortly thereafter.

“Carlisle?” Edward was no doubt reading my thoughts. His expression of bewilderment was beginning to be replaced with a small smile as he put together what he might be holding.

I cleared my throat. “This is an unusual gift,” I said quietly. “It’s not showy; it’s not expensive; and I think you’ll all be sort of surprised by it…”

“They’re going to love them, Carlisle,” Alice said, beaming. “I know I do.”

“Shhh,” I answered, but her comment put me more at ease and I continued. “It’s easier, sometimes, to not say everything aloud. And I found as I was preparing these that there was a lot to say and I wanted to get it all right. So I wrote a letter explaining this gift—it’s in the envelopes.”

My family stared at me.

I gestured to the boxes as if to say “open them,” and they all complied. There was the sound of rustling paper across the room as the six of them opened their envelopes and began to read. I looked over Esme’s shoulder as she unfolded her own letter.

Christmas 2003

To my beloved family:

The sheer fact that I can use “family” where the rest of our kind might use the word “coven” stands as testament to that which I celebrate today. For over two hundred fifty years I sought any others who might be willing to embrace the humanity shrugged off by so many of our brethren, who might be willing to see one other than their mate as an appropriate recipient of affection and love. In 1918 I acted on this searching desire, and while I will never cease questioning the rightfulness of that act, I find I cannot take anything but joy in its result. For it was in turning Edward that I began a chain of events that led me here—to a joyful Christmas morning surrounded by those that I love.

I have wondered for a long time how to mark this deep connection, beyond simply continuing to be here for one another as we have been. The thought of some physical token of what our family means to me, and what I hope it means to each of you, has crossed my mind many times over the years. But it was our move here and a moment I had in the town center here that led me to this gift.

The name Cullen (O’Cuilinn) is Irish in origin, from the word for ‘holly,’ a plant which our Druidic ancestors considered a symbol of eternal life. My own ancestors likely emigrated from Wexford, Ireland to England sometime in the fourteenth century. At that time, it was common for families to identify themselves in a number of ways, one being the coat of arms.

The coat of arms of the family Cullen traces back to the twelfth century. Its heraldic symbols are intended as representative of the qualities befitting those who carry the surname Cullen. It however seems appropriate, that these symbols are also signs of what makes our family strong, and my wishes for each of you as members of it.

The chevron is a sign of protection. This is emblematic of what we do each day in standing against the core of the nature of who we are so that those around us might continue living the way they know. It is my wish that this conviction to protect the humanity around us and within us continues to burn within each of you.

The trefoil is a sign of perpetuity and longevity, a reminder for us that we should make use of this, the most unusual of our gifts. Although I know that it is easier to view eternity as a burden, and that the thought of the peace of human death crosses all of us periodically, we have an obligation to ourselves and each other to use this endless time for good.

The hand is the sign of faith, sincerity, and justice. I see these ideals acted on each day in the way that each of you choose to live the vision that guides this unorthodox family we share. It is my fervent hope that these qualities continue to dwell in each of you as our years together go on.

The last, the sheaf, is the symbol of the harvest, and stands for the achievement of hopes: both my wish that you achieve the hopes of your hearts, and the fact that the presence of each of you in my life is the realization of mine. It is because of you that I can finally call this existence of mine a life; you are the fulfillment of dreams I never realized I had. For this I shall be forever grateful.

I am proud to call you my family Cullen. For all that each of you are, for your presence here, for all that we share and will share together in the time to come, I thank you. Accept these as tokens of my love and appreciation for you all; and my pledge to you to uphold all that this family stands for, regardless of what might face us in the future.

Merry Christmas!

–Carlisle

As they each reached the end of the letter, my family members in turn looked up at me in shock, except for Alice, who was beaming.

“I don’t know what to say,” Jasper mumbled.

Rosalie was just shaking her head, her lips pressed together.

“Jesus, Carlisle,” whistled Emmett. “Didn’t know you were so sentimental.” I saw his lips mouthing the words “fulfillment of dreams I never realized I had” as he looked down again at the letter.

“Oh, open them already!” shrieked Alice. I shot a glance her direction and smiled to see her package already open, the silver charm on its choker already around her neck. She grinned back at me, fingering it. I love it, she mouthed, and I nodded.

Around me I could hear the rustle of boxes being opened, and happy sighs as each removed the piece I’d had made for them. Still in my lap, Esme opened her box slowly, smiling at me as she did so. Revealing the two rings within it, she gasped and turned to me. Our lips met in a tender kiss, and she whispered, “I love you.”

“And I you,” I answered. I took the smaller gold ring and slid it onto her right ring finger, then held out my right hand so that she could do the same. She didn’t break our kiss as she placed the larger silver ring on my finger. Esme pulled away from me a moment to admire her hand.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, and I kissed her again.

“Wow, Carlisle,” came Emmett’s voice, distracting me from Esme. “Thank you.”

Rosalie looked up, and nodded, giving me a rare and beautiful smile. “Yes, Carlisle. Thank you.” She was turning her pendant over in her hand, gazing at it.

Jasper nodded as he let Alice tie the leather band on his wrist. “Unexpected,” he said quietly, “and amazingly thoughtful, Carlisle. Thank you.” I smiled and nodded to him.

Edward still lay silent on the floor, his own wristband in his hands. As I caught his eye and wondered if he was happy with the gift, he nodded slowly, pushing up his sleeve so that his right wrist lay bare. He silently crossed the room and held his arm out to me.

My fingers graced his warm arm as I put the band on him; his whole body had absorbed the heat of the fire and was now radiating its warmth back at me. I rubbed the back of his hand gently, and he briefly closed his eyes as he whispered, “Thanks, Carlisle.”

Sliding out of my grip, Edward slipped over to the piano and began a piece. I recognized the opening arpeggios at once: it was a beautiful modern carol called “This Christmastide,” and one of my favorites. I shot a smile in my son’s direction and whispered, “Thank you, Edward.”

He smiled back.

Several hours later found Esme and me finally cleaning up the detritus in the living room, she taking care to group each of our children’s gifts together and run them to their respective rooms, and me lobbing wrapping paper balls into the fire, which blazed bizarre colors as it burned the different dyes. Rosalie and Emmett had long since disappeared to the third floor, and Alice and Jasper were on their third or fourth rematch of their chess game, Jasper still losing miserably.

Esme descended the stairs one last time. She wrinkled her nose as she appraised the fireplace.

“Did you throw all the wrapping paper on the fire?” she asked accusingly.

I raised my eyebrows. “Who, me?”

“Yes, you. And I know your guilty look, Dr. Cullen.” She smiled and muttered, “It makes you very handsome.”

I laughed and grabbed her into my arms before she had a chance to react. She let out a little squeal of a giggle. “The better to sweep you off your feet, Mrs. Cullen,” I answered, grinning.

Esme took advantage of our embrace to kiss me gently, but then she moved her lips to my ear and whispered quietly so that Jasper and Alice wouldn’t overhear. “Edward is out on the porch. You should go see that he’s okay.”

I looked past her and to the entryway. Sure enough, Edward’s pale figure shone in the moonlight as he stood staring out at the lawn.

Setting my wife down, I nodded and was out the door.

Moonlight shaded across our porch, turning Edward’s and my skin pure white. Beyond the trees thundered the Sol Duc river, its waters not stemmed by the insufficient ice we had seen so far this winter. For a brief moment I was able to see my own breath before my body acclimated to the outside temperature and the air coming out became as cold as that coming in.

Silently I moved to Edward’s side, resting my forearms against the railing. He gave me a brief glance and laughed.

“What?”

He gestured to my arms. “That. You do that so easily, you know. The human thing. Acting like you need to try to be comfortable.”

Oh. I straightened my posture. He was right; for me the act that I put on had fully become second nature. I never even thought about it anymore—humans leaned on railings; so did I.

“It’s not a bad thing, Carlisle,” he said quietly. “Not wanting to be a monster.”

Was that what was troubling him? He was again worried about being a monster?

“No,” he answered, still staring out at the lawn. He clutched his right wrist with his left hand, moving the wristband around slowly.

The crest. He had been so silent about it; I had wondered if he were somehow bothered. I began to ask him this, but he cut me off.

“It’s not this that I’m bothered by,” he said quietly, meeting my gaze with his golden eyes. “I like this. It was very thoughtful of you. And very heartfelt. Thank you.”

“Always, Edward,” I answered, still puzzled. What was he bothered by, then?

He sighed, shifting his eyes back to the lawn.

“Do you really question your decision to turn me?”

So that was the problem. How did I answer this? On the one hand, yes. The one thing that I felt unsure of in my whole existence was my decision to turn four members of my family. Physicians were always warned not to play God, and what was more playing God than snatching people from death into possible damnation? The guilt I felt for these acts could be crushing. On the other hand, standing here in the darkness next to this strong and compassionate man who considered himself my son brought me such joy. The two feelings were inseparable from each other.

Edward nodded, having channeled the stream of my thoughts. He said nothing for several seconds, but continued absently twisting the band on his wrist. When he finally spoke his eyes shot upward and he addressed the heavens in a voice that was nearly inaudible, even to me:

“I wonder if I will be lonely for two hundred years, too?”

I closed my eyes. This was the way these conversations with Edward always went, with me being forced to unravel his thoughts one level at a time until we slowly got to the root of things. And of course this was the source of the problem. Living with three perfectly, blissfully matched pairs was such a burden on my young son. Esme worried constantly about the lack of interest he had thus far shown in others of our kind; although Tanya had tried her best, Edward had rebuffed her gently at every turn. I supported Edward, but I would be lying if I told him that I didn’t share his concern.

He sighed. “That’s what I thought.”

“Edward,” I answered, placing a hand over his, “you won’t be unpartnered forever. I know you won’t. It’s just…not time yet.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah…but ‘time’ could be in two hundred years.”

“Or two. Like Rosalie.”

Edward let out a bark of a laugh. “It’s already been more than two.”

“Two from now, then.”

He rolled his eyes.

Not wanting to further antagonize him, I chose my next words carefully. “Honestly, Edward, no one can know the timing. And I know that you know that. But happiness will come for you. This universe owes it to you.” Heaven knew that if I could give it to him, I would move mountains to do so.

“You already tried that route,” he said ruefully.

I laughed. “Yes, I did, I suppose. And while I love Rosalie—I think this time around I’ll leave it up to the universe to intercede.”

Edward did not laugh, but he did shoot me a wry smile.

“I guess we’ll see,” he said finally a moment later.

“We will.” I slid an arm around his waist, turning us both back toward the house. “And in the meantime, you have the rest of us.”

At long last, a grin broke on my son’s face. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” he teased.

I cuffed him on the shoulder, but I was laughing. “Yeah, Merry Christmas to you, too, you ingrate.”

Edward’s face dropped into a gentle smile. “Merry Christmas, Carlisle,” he answered quietly. And together, we walked slowly back into the house.

Endnote:

Everything in Carlisle’s letter is actually true of the surname Cullen, although it is unclear from the genealogies in exactly which century Irish Cullens might have first emigrated to England (so I chose one of the possible ones). I also had to make a choice about the crest itself, as the one used in the movies replaces the sheaf with the lion, a heraldic symbol of courage. While I like the choice as an extra symbol unique to the Olympic Coven, I decided that Carlisle probably wouldn’t have changed his family crest. So the one described in this story is the real Cullen family crest, pressed into use in about the twelfth or thirteenth century.

“This Christmastide” is a real and beautiful modern Christmas carol. There are several fantastic recordings of it out there. I personally prefer the instrumental settings to choral ones, although its lyrics are wonderful in their own right and also speak to this story: Peace and Hope and Love abide / This Christmastide!

“Carlisle?”

My father’s head lifted from his reading—the Journal of the American Medical Association, I noticed, as he laid the little book on down on his massive desk. His golden eyes met mine appraisingly.

He looks afraid, Carlisle thought, even as he said, “Yes, Edward?”

“Not afraid,” I answered. “Just—a little nervous.”

His eyebrows lifted. Nervous? “You need never be nervous about talking to me about anything. You know that.”

I sighed. “Yes, I know. I have a few things I need to talk to you about.”

“Anything, Edward. Of course.”

My throat seemed to constrict. “Carlisle, I’ve asked Bella…” I paused. Did I really want to tell him this now?

He finished for me. “You’ve asked her to marry you,” he said quietly. Oh, Edward! Thank goodness.

I was amused. “Are you reading minds now? I thought that was my job.”

His face broke into a broad smile. “It’s all over your face.” As though you’re in agony and ecstasy at once. I’m getting used to that face.

“You think it’s a good idea, then.”

Carlisle let out a bark of a laugh. “Edward, there is no other idea. You won’t live without her. She won’t live without you. What else is left?”         I nodded, sitting down in the chair across from his desk out of habit. “Have you told Esme?” She’s going to be unbearable about this. Alice, too.

“Not yet. The easier parent first.”

Parent, he sighed to himself. He was thrilled I’d used that word, and the intensity of the joy that began pouring out of him could have knocked me off my chair.

“Okay, okay, okay, stop.” I threw up my hands. “Look, if you’re going to go to pieces, I’m going to start just calling you my creator, I swear. You’re as bad as Esme, you know. You just don’t say anything aloud.”

His face evened, but he was still smiling. But I am so happy for you. “I’m sorry, Edward—son.”  A flash from his mind—Bella, in a beautiful white gown, clutching my hands, staring adoringly into my eyes while I gazed down at her. But her hands were as pale as mine, her eyes no longer the deep brown but the same gold of the rest of our family’s…

“No!” I spat. “No. Not then—”

But she must—the Volturi. “Edward, it is no longer your choice.”

“After,” I said. In my vision of the same event Bella was still—Bella. With that unbearably perfect scent. Her hands still warm against mine—not equal, not the warmth that I felt when Esme touched my face, but human warm. Her cheeks not pale but flushing red as our lips met—I now pronounce you man and wife…

A sigh brought me back to the present. I wish I could read his mind, too. What’s he thinking?

“Sorry.” I caught my father’s even gaze again. “I was thinking of the wedding, too. But with her still—her.” Not to mention the other thing that she wanted to stay human for. I blanched.

“She’ll still be Bella,” Carlisle said softly.

I shook my head. “You know as well as I that she’ll be a newborn,” I answered. “We don’t know when her feelings for me will come back.”

But we know that they will. He was still grinning. And then you’ll know… An image of Esme appeared, Carlisle’s body pressed to her, her shoulders bare…

“Carlisle! Oh my God!” I instinctively threw my hands over my eyes, as though that would stop what I was seeing.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry.” Esme abruptly disappeared.

Johannes del gracia rex Anglie, dominus Hibernie, dux Normannie, Aquitannie et comes Andegavie, archiepiscopis, episcopis, abbatibus, comitibus, baronibus, justiciariis, forestariis, vicecomitibus, prepositis, ministris et omnibus ballivis et fidelibus suis salutem…

The Magna Carta. Much better. Carlisle kept the onslaught of Latin legalese running as he said, “I just meant that you’ll get to experience something…new, that’s all.”

I gazed at him. He was still rattling off names of archbishops in his head. As much as I wanted to pretend that he’d never had the thought he’d just shown me, the topic was one of the things I’d wanted to ask him about. “Carlisle, if I ask you something—”

“Yes?” In primis concessisse Deo et hac presenti carta nostra confirmasse, pro nobis et heredibus nostris in perpetuum…

“Can you keep any disturbing images of Esme out of it?”

His mouth opened as though he was about to say something, but then closed. “I’ll try.” The Magna Carta abruptly stopped. “It’s about…physical love, then?”

“I think these days they call it ‘getting it on.’”

So crude. His nose wrinkled as though he’d just caught a whiff of something terrible. “What is that you wish to know?” He’s been to medical school twice now, surely he’s not confused about the mechanics?

“Of course not! Give me some credit?”

“I’m sorry. You know I can’t always control what comes to mind first. What is it that worries you so?”

I sighed. I had laughed at Bella when Charlie had unsuccessfully tried to nail her down for “the talk” and here I was bringing it on myself. Of course, she had had an out that I didn’t have: “Edward is very old-fashioned,” I had heard her voice ring in Charlie’s thoughts the next time I had seen him and he’d remembered their conversation while still giving me the evil eye. I smirked. If only Charlie knew who was driving this particular part of our relationship. But still—that didn’t make this conversation any easier.

“Bella wants—” I paused. “She knows she’ll be a newborn once she’s turned, and she’s worried that it won’t be the same.”

Carlisle continued to frown a moment, and then his eyes widened as comprehension dawned. “She wants to consummate your relationship while she’s still human?” he croaked.

I nodded.

That seals it. She’s insane. I love her, but she’s insane. I thought she might be…

“What?!”

“I’m sorry?” Clearly, Carlisle was thinking on two fronts at once.

“You thought Bella was insane?”

“Well—” he stuttered, finishing his sentence in his head, she fell in love with you, she wants to be one of us…

“Thanks for that.” I rolled my eyes.

“You know what I mean.” Carlisle finally stood from behind his desk and perched on the edge of my chair so that he could lay a hand on my shoulder. Carlisle was not often overtly physically affectionate, and when he was, it was usually this—a hand on the shoulder, a pat on the back. It was nevertheless unnecessary—I heard every time the words I love you crossed his mind, which could get upwards of a couple times a second if he was feeling gooey. “I’m very happy for you both. Overjoyed. But this—there’s no precedent for this.” As though there is a precedent for anything involving him and Bella…

“What about the legends? The incubus, the succubus?”

My father shook his head. “Doesn’t apply. The point was to kill the victims.” The vampire version of that man I dumped in Portland for you, he thought, and I shuddered. “If the human’s body is destroyed in the…process, it doesn’t matter.”

“What should I do? Do you think it’s possible?” I honestly wasn’t sure if I wanted him to say yes or no.

He frowned, his lips pursed, replacing his hand in his lap. “Well, according to Aro, you never should have been able to resist biting her in the first place.”

I remembered that clearly. “I certainly never thought to see Carlisle bested for self-control of all things,” the millennia-old vampire had told me. He’d called Bella my “singer,” telling me that her blood called to me uniquely above all others. I should not have been able to refrain from killing her, much less have a relationship with her. A relationship that had gotten disturbingly physical lately, I thought, as I remembered lying with her on the huge bed in my room, her leg hitched over my hip. The desire then had been almost unbearable, monstrous. A very different monster than the monster that used to chase me, the one that had made me want to devour her in a completely literal sense that first day in Biology. But nevertheless a monster.

“It won’t be easy,” Carlisle mused quietly, studying my face. “I’m not sure I could do it, myself.” If Esme were human…he shuddered and his mind started to wander.

“Carlisle—” I warned.

Right. Sorry. He rattled off another section of the Magna Carta before speaking again.

“It’s possible,” he finally said. “It might even be probable. But the control it will take, Edward…you’ll have to be so careful.” And I don’t doubt for a microsecond that you will be. I have such confidence in you, son.

“I’m not so sure.” My mind flashed back to the images Alice had foreseen back when Bella had first arrived in Forks—her body broken, bloodied, me, red-eyed and at fault. The thought had made me want to be violently ill then, and now it was beyond unthinkable. I would die. I knew that now. There was no world for me without her in it. But I couldn’t not try. She had agreed to everything I’d asked: the wedding, the car (cars if I could manage—one for while she was still fragile and then one for when she could drive fast), waiting to change, despite that I thought my father might have changed her the minute after she’d put it to a vote with my entire family if he hadn’t feared my reaction. She’d put this one request in answer to my interminable ones. How could I not acquiesce?

Carlisle’s lips were pressed together. “It’s dangerous, Edward. Extraordinarily dangerous. But I know that you know that. And I trust that you can stay in control.”

That was the problem, I didn’t trust that. But then, I hadn’t promised her that we’d complete the act. I’d promised her that we’d try. Try. That word, as I turned it over in my head, made me relax a little bit. I remembered the first time our lips had met in the meadow. If need be, I could be a half a mile away in an instant. Yes. That would do.

My expression must have subtly changed, because Carlisle smiled a tiny smile. My, I never thought I’d be talking about this with Edward.

“Well, it’s been over a hundred years.” Which put me roughly eighty-three years behind the majority of the boys at Forks high, if my analysis of their thoughts was in any way accurate. They certainly weren’t thoughts I enjoyed plucking out of the air, but in a high school it was inevitable. And in the locker room, it was audible to anyone—although I knew full well the big talkers were usually exaggerating. “Isn’t that long enough?”

My father laughed. “Try two hundred seventy-odd.”  It was to the point that I thought I would never get to…

“I get it! I get it. No mental pictures, please.” And what did he mean he never thought he’d be talking about this with me? Did he really think that I’d never find someone? For someone with such faith in my ability to control my animalistic tendencies, he sure had a low opinion of my sex appeal.

Carlisle was still smirking. “No mental pictures. I just—I am very, very happy for you. I hope you know that.”

“I do.”

I want you to experience what I’ve experienced, he thought fiercely.

“And what is that, exactly?”

He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes, hitting me with such a flurry of Latin from his mind that it threatened to make my head hurt.

“More Magna Carta?” I said, amused.

“I thought you’d rather that than Esme.” He shook his head and exhaled a short breath.. “It’s powerful, Edward. So powerful. I have complete and utter faith in you, son, but you absolutely cannot treat the move to become intimate with Bella lightly.”

This time it was me who laughed. Lightly? Lightly would have been giving in over a year ago, the first time I had d felt the pull of my other monster, as I was starting to think of it. Agony, that was what this was. Slow, hellish torture.

“But it will be different for you,” he said more quietly, as though to himself.

I had not expected him to say that. “What do you mean?”

“We vampires are steadfast creatures, Edward,” he answered slowly. “Our temperaments do not easily change.” Yet yours has. What a strange and wonderful gift Bella has been.

“And sex….changes our temperaments?”

He made a face at my word choice, which was obviously too twentieth-century for him. “Physical love is a great pleasure, Edward. I have not known a greater pleasure, although your brothers…well, you should ask them.” He looked briefly pained. “At any rate, it engenders very strong emotion. And strong emotion can change anyone, even us.” Esme swirled in his memory again for a brief moment, thankfully clothed. “But your feelings for Bella have already altered you. Quite completely. I daresay that you have already undergone the changes your brothers and I experienced.”

I knew what he was talking about. It took only a fraction of a second to call the memory of the first night I’d snuck into Bella’s bedroom. How peaceful she’d been, how I’d just wanted to admire, to think. And then in one whispered word out of the depths of her sleep my world had turned itself inside out. Edward. Among a century of crystal-clear memories, the memory of her speaking my name in her sleep still stood out. The moment when I had known, beyond doubt, that I would love Bella Swan for eternity. Carlisle was right. Bella had already changed me.

Carlisle was studying my face again. “It will be different for you,” he repeated. “And that’s a good thing.” It will give you strength. Even if she is still human.

“Hmmm. Okay.”

“I have every confidence in you. And it is not misplaced.” Before you think it, son.

I stood, and Carlisle automatically rose also. That’s it, then?

“Yes,” I answered. “Thank you.”

Always, Edward. He emphasized “always,” and I heard his full meaning. For the rest of eternity. Whenever I needed advice. And on whatever topic. I remembered the last thing I had to ask him.

“Oh, Carlisle?”

“Yes?”

“About the wedding itself.”

“Yes?” His eyebrows were raised.

“Bella would like to elope, but Alice will turn me to a pile of ash if that happens—”          Carlisle smiled. As will Esme, he thought.

“— so, I was thinking of suggesting we have it here. Non-threatening.”

He beamed. I like that idea very much. Your mother will be overjoyed.

“I think Bella wants to ask Alice to be her bridesmaid.”

My father rolled his eyes. We are never going to hear the end of her. “Alice will be pleased.”

“And I thought…” I paused. “Well, someone will need to stand up for me, too.” I looked at him pointedly.

Oh, Edward. I actually didn’t have time to see him move in his head before his arms were around me, so instantaneous was his reaction. He was sucking air rapidly, his breath noisy at my ear. I recognized the sound.

“You are not crying.”

Of course I’m not crying, he shot back. I can’t.

“You know what I mean.”

He continued to hug me fiercely for several moments, his thoughts wordless but forcefully exuding love, gratitude and strangely, pride. Although I could have broken his embrace easily, I waited instead, and he finally slowly and reluctantly let me go.

“Of course I will stand with you,” he said. He took my hand and squeezed it firmly, smiling. I absolutely cannot wait.

“Thanks, Carlisle.” I took my hand from his and started for the door, heading away from the stairs and toward my room.

Not so fast, he thought. You’re forgetting about telling your mother.

I winced. Yes, I had to tell Esme. I pulled myself upright and braced myself for an even more overt display of over-sentimentality. But as I turned toward the stairs, I was nearly deafened by Alice’s shriek:

“It’s about time you told Esme! I am so sick of keeping this a secret! You guys, Edward is getting married!!!”

The last word just about shattered the glass in the living room. I put a hand over my eyes for a moment, then recovered. Standing up straight, I began to make my way downstairs trying to look confident. I caught Esme’s eye from the stairwell, and she beamed at me from across the room. How marvelous, Edward. I am so happy for you and Bella.

“There is so much I still haven’t gotten done! I don’t understand why you couldn’t have made your mind up earlier, Edward Cullen! The flowers. The officiant. My dress. The food. We have to feed people. There will be humans here.” Alice was still going on at top volume, stomping around the living room and throwing her hands in the air as she listed each item.

“She’s impossible,” I muttered, just loud enough for Carlisle to hear as I headed down the stairs to face the rest of my family.

Behind me, my father only laughed.

~Fin~

It was that time of year again. It was a beautiful Thursday afternoon and the sun was streaming in through windows of my office. Under normal circumstances, I would have spent the day in the Hoh rainforest with the rest of the family, but one of the other surgeons was already on vacation and there hadn’t been a free slot to take the day off from the hospital. Plus, it gave me time to get this other task done: spread before me on my desk were several small stacks of paper. My W-2, the account paperwork from each of our brokerage accounts, statements from some two dozen or so credit cards, and of course, Internal Revenue Service Form 1040.

I had to admit, I always kind of looked forward to this annual ritual: holing up at my desk for a few hours and bringing closure on another year of my family’s life. So many things to deal with this year: although Edward’s recently issued marriage certificate would emancipate him in the eyes of the IRS, I was now claiming Renesmee as a dependant. Then there was the added deduction for mortgage interest on the new house in Hanover, which we’d decided to rent out while Renesmee was growing up. Not to mention the host of capital gains that we always had to record. It was mundane, and wondrously so. It made me feel human.

As human as I could feel given that the entire U.S. Tax Code was stored in my head, anyway.

CULLEN, I penned at the top of the form, CARLISLE IV. The IV was a necessity—although our return every year was perfect and provided no reason to arouse suspicion, I had to somehow keep the IRS from noticing that I’d filed a return every April for the last 93 years, ever since the income tax had been levied. And so I had created four Carlisle Cullens. Carlisle Cullen, Jr., as far as the IRS knew, was 74, happily retired, and received his social security checks at the home he lived in with his son and grandson. Carlisle Cullen III was presently taking a long sabbatical from work and so had no income except from his stock portfolio that did an amazing job beating the market (thanks to Alice). And among the stacks of immaculately kept bogus paperwork in my filing cabinet was the death certificate for Carlisle Cullen, Sr., who according to my diagnosis and signature, had succumbed to kidney failure at the ripe old age of 97. I’d figured early on that if I established that the Cullen men lived well into old age, I’d have fewer problems with the paperwork as the years went on.

Immortality was getting more and more complicated with every passing decade. Before moveable type had really taken hold, there were almost no records save the church register of the town. Live on the outskirts of town, pretend to be an atheist, and no one ever bothered you about whether your name was on record. After moveable type it was a little harder—the medical schools I had attended in France certainly kept decent records, but even then it was difficult to trace a student once he had left, and all I’d needed was my diploma as proof that I was a qualified practitioner. In the New World, the most I’d had to worry about until the 1970s was just making sure that the year on my diploma from Harvard Medical School wasn’t too far behind—enrolling Edward there twice under my name had helped with that charade. But now computers meant that every piece of paper had to be perfect, or someone would inevitably notice. Human parents kept their children’s report cards out of nostalgia. I kept them to be sure that no teacher who had once taught a Cullen somewhere else in the country had moved, only to find the same seventeen-year-old in their class twenty years later. Most human memories weren’t that good, but my children were more than memorable than most. To say nothing of the records of the schools now—they wanted a birth certificate and inoculation records, and they kept the social security numbers of every one of their pupils on file interminably.

I was beginning to think my expanded brain capacity existed for the sole purpose of dealing with the whole mess.

I bent over the paper and had just begun to fill in our address when I felt a hand at my collar and heard in my mind, Granddad.

The name seemed to warm me from the inside. It had been the better part of a year and I still wasn’t used to it. Although I didn’t have to be able to read Edward’s mind to know with certainty that he never thought of me as anything but his father, he only ever addressed me by my name. So it was only through his daughter that I had finally achieved the name I hadn’t realized I’d longed for. It was beautiful to hear, arousing a joy so deep it was almost painful.

“Renesmee.” I turned a bit in my chair to appraise my granddaughter. I had nearly forgotten that she and Esme had not gone out with the others; they had stayed behind and gone to the grocery store instead. Our family had always made sure that we were seen there at least semi-regularly, and now that Renesmee was living with us we actually had a bit of a reason to go. Renesmee had, at much urging, decided that eating food every now and again was probably a good idea. Plus she knew it helped the rest of us keep up the charade if others saw our child eating ice cream and candy just like theirs did. She didn’t much care for anything but sweets, but as she had gotten her perfect teeth from Edward, I wasn’t too concerned.

Grandmother said I shouldn’t disturb you.

“You are always welcome to be with me.” I patted my knee, and she slid into my lap. She was almost imperceptibly heavier than she had been this morning, when we’d sat and read The New York Times together in the living room. It was maybe a fraction of an ounce, but I noticed. She was still growing fast—more slowly than before, more humanly, but fast nevertheless. It made me deeply sad. Having a child in this house—a growing, living child—was wonderful, something I’d thought I’d never experience. A few short years—the blink of an eye—and she would be as still as the rest of us. It seemed like mere hours ago that I had held her as an infant. Wise even then, she had put up with being held long after she’d begun to walk on her own; she knew that it made her seem more normal, and more importantly, she knew how much we all loved to hold her.

And still did, for that matter. I put my arm around her waist; she was so warm. Renesmee squirmed a little to look more closely at what I was doing. What is this? she asked, staring down at the desk too, her quick mind no doubt making inventory of all the paperwork arranged atop it.

“I’m filing our taxes,” I explained. “These are all the papers about our finances for last year.”

She picked up the nearest paper, my W-2 form from the hospital, and studied it carefully. This is what you make?

“Yes,” I answered. “That was my income from the hospital last year.”

It’s not very much.

I laughed aloud. I was the highest paid surgeon on staff at Forks Hospital, second in income only to the hospital’s CEO. “It’s plenty,” I said, tickling her so that she winced and giggled. “Very few people in the U.S. have salaries that high.” Only in this family could two hundred thousand dollars possibly seem small.

She peered intently at the form before me on the desk, and I could almost see her mind working to compare it to my W-2. May I try it?

I handed her the pen, and she neatly wrote in all the figures from my income statement. It took me an only an instant to verify that she had completed the form perfectly. I chuckled.

Why are you laughing? She looked concerned. Did I do it wrong?

“No, it’s perfect,” I answered. She continued to frown at me—I hadn’t given her the answer she’d asked for. “I’m laughing because no one will ever believe that you helped me do my taxes.”

Six was our current claim for Renesmee’s age. Of course her physical age was far less—seven months—and her intellect was far beyond that age, which meant she was easily bored by her peers. When she stopped growing, we could probably send her to high school just like we had with the others, but until then, it was too risky. She might start kindergarten and go through puberty in a matter of months. So we’d put out the word that we were home-schooling, which in actuality mostly consisted of Renesmee reading everything she could get her hands on. And doing my taxes, apparently. Well, it was good mathematics practice, if nothing else.

“Would you like to help me go through Schedule D? It’s much more difficult.” I pulled the second sheet forward along with the statements from the many brokerage accounts held in the name of Carlisle IV. She glanced at them a moment, then back at me.

Why do you do this?

“Why do I pay my taxes?”

She nodded.

“Many reasons.” I looked at her and she stared up at me. It was at the same time comforting and unnerving to look into her dark brown eyes—I was so used to the golden eyes of the rest of our family. “It makes me feel human, and that’s nice.”

But you’re not. None of us are.

“No, that’s true.” I paused. “The money goes to other people, though. And pays for the things that everyone uses together. Like the schools and the roads. And it helps people who can’t afford to see doctors, which is very important.”

Renesmee frowned at me. I was being pedantic, and she wasn’t shy about letting her annoyance flood my mind. She knew I was holding something back.

“The Volturi will be headed this way if we’re discovered,” I added quietly. “Paying taxes keeps us all underground.”

At this, Renesmee jerked her hand away from my body as though I’d caught fire. She was afraid of the Volturi, and didn’t like us to worry about it. Edward had come to me a week or so after the Italian vampires had left our home told me that his daughter was having gruesome nightmares. Bella was unaware, as Renesmee had not told her mother, but Edward had seen them in his daughter’s thoughts and was alarmed. I’d urged him to tell Bella at once. Far from the histrionics we’d both expected, Bella had been collected about the whole thing. “She’s a child, she’ll grow out of it,” she said.  Renesmee slept for the next month in Bella and Edward’s bed, with at least one and usually both parents at her side—in that way, they were both able to monitor her dreams. Further, the three of them moved back into the main house for a stretch, because Bella and Edward felt that their daughter would find the presence of eight adults calming, which she did. And, true to Bella’s prediction, the nightmares had stopped within two months. But that certainly didn’t mean that Renesmee’s fears had subsided, as she was reminding me now.

“If they ever come back, we will all protect you, you know that,” I said.

“I am not worried about myself,” she answered, startling me. Renesmee rarely spoke aloud, and I knew she was doing so only to avoid contact with me so that I wouldn’t see what she was thinking. She had seen Irina destroyed by the Volturi—which one of us was she imagining being dismembered? Looking at her as she refused to meet my eyes, I had a disturbing feeling it was me.

“You are like your mother,” I said quietly, rubbing her shoulder with one hand. “Concerned more for the welfare of those around you than your own.”

She shook her head, her auburn curls brushing my chin and neck. “I am like you, Granddad.” Her hand snuck back to the bare skin on my arm, and a memory came to me from her. The view was from midair, where she lay in her mother’s arms, of me, standing before the two dozen vampires assembled with us. Me, talking to Aro, trying to convince him that there had been no wrongdoing. And Renesmee’s fear, unexpressed to any of us at that moment, now flooded my thoughts and made my stomach turn. She had been terrified–but not that the Volturi might kill her, although the possibility was very real. No, what had frightened her so deeply was my willingness to suffer in her place.

I ran a hand through her soft hair as the memory ended and the gut-wrenching terror left my body. “Thank you for showing me that,” I whispered. “I understand better now.”

I don’t want you ever to go, Renesmee thought fiercely, leaning into my chest.

“Going is certainly not in my plans,” I answered, putting my arm around her more tightly. She sat silently for a long time, nearly as still as her parents were able to. There was just enough vampire in her to render her inhuman in that respect. I reveled in the feeling of her weight against my chest. How quickly would the day be coming when she didn’t want to sit in laps anymore?

But you will, came Renesmee’s thought, interrupting my own.

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

You will. If you have to. Like with Aro. To protect us.

I paused. While I knew better than to fall into the trap of assuming Renesmee was anything like a normal child, she still at times managed to floor me with her unnerving perceptiveness. Most children would have been perfectly content with my statement, but she had immediately noticed that I had not given her an absolute answer. I looked her in the eyes, and I could see the anxiety and uncertainty behind her gaze. I wanted desperately to allay her fears, but I didn’t want to insult her intelligence, either.

“You are my family,” I answered finally, stroking her cheek. The family I’d never known I was searching for; the family that had materialized around me so soon after that day when I had succumbed to my own loneliness and Elizabeth Masen’s plea. I hadn’t expected anything but a minute chance at having a companion—and I had wound up with six children and a wife.         “I would do anything in my power for you.”

This set Renesmee’s thoughts spinning, making them unclear as she lay against me, but I caught a few words: noble, good, selfless.

“I’m not perfect, Ness,” I murmured, raking another hand through her hair. In my mind flashed the memory first of Emmett, then Rosalie, then Esme and finally Edward, writhing in agony as my venom coursed through their veins. Four. Four that I had damned to this life, five if you counted Bella. Although I could never have left the sweet child who now sat in my lap without a mother…but then, of course, I had at first been hell-bent on preventing this very child from ever being born. I shuddered, tightening my grip on Renesmee as though my memory of what I might have done could cause her to disappear.

“I am so very far from perfect,” I repeated softly.

You have not killed, she answered firmly. In three hundred sixty-four years. And although she was unwilling to put her thought to words, Edward’s handsome face swam in her mind for a moment. I got the message. When the time had come—too quickly, only a few months after she had been born—that she’d asked about her family’s past, her parents had wisely chosen to keep nothing from her. Edward had taken her in his arms and they had disappeared together into my office where he’d shown her the paintings that I’d collected and told the stories that they represented. I saw her eyes flit to that wall now, centering on one piece in particular: the Gris, the cubist mess that I’d bought in 1929 because it spoke to how jumbled I’d felt without Edward. It was a painting of a pianist, if you could call an abstract rendering of keys and body parts that. When I’d seen it in the gallery in Milwaukee, I’d nearly crumpled to the floor in grief. Esme insisted we buy it, and so it was part of my collection and my history. Renesmee knew perfectly well where her father had been when I’d bought that painting, and exactly what he’d been up to.      

“Don’t you think on that,” I whispered, stroking her hair. “Not even for an instant. Your father is a good man.”

I know. A flood of jumbled images came then—Edward, swinging her up over his head as she giggled; running after her in a game of tag; his hands next to hers on the grand piano as he taught her the basics of playing; his voice as he rocked her and sang the lullaby he’d composed just for her. Then just as quickly, the images shifted to me—me cradling her, my hands over her as I measured her growth as a baby, my arms around her as I read The Aeneid to her in Latin. Her love and adoration for us both radiated into me.

You are a good man too, Granddad.

My breath caught in my throat. “Thank you, Renesmee,” I managed, suppressing the flood of emotion that was threatening to take over my senses. It was a good thing Edward wasn’t here. He hated it when I got “gooey,” as he put it.

As though in answer to my thought, I heard the front door crash open. A chorus of voices converged on the house at once.

“Yeah, well, I would’ve taken that mountain lion out in half a second if you hadn’t been hunting the damn elk and sent it my way,” I heard Emmett boast.

“I didn’t have anything to do with that, that was Bella,” Edward answered calmly. “And elk or no elk, you still managed to make such a mess of yourself with that lion.”

“Right, well, I hunt. I don’t consider it an occasion for fine dining.”

“Honestly, Emmett,” Alice chimed in. “One bear almost kills you once in your lifetime and you spend the rest of eternity trying to tear every animal you meet into little pieces.”

Edward’s laugh rang through the halls. Renesmee looked up at me, delighted.

“You should go see your parents,” I whispered to her, just as I heard Bella ask, “Where’s Renesmee?”

“Upstairs with Carlisle,” Edward answered absently, having heard either my voice or my thoughts. “She’s coming down.”

Renesmee leapt off my lap and bolted out into the stairwell. I heard the shrieking giggle and the quick rush of air that told me she’d gone downstairs in her usual manner—by flinging herself headfirst off the second-floor landing. I winced. Edward’s and Bella’s reflexes were perfect, sure, but their daughter’s weren’t. Someday, something was going to go wrong. Thank goodness there were two M.D.s in the house.

“Hello, my doll,” I heard Edward say. “Did you have a fun day?”

There was no sound of her answer; he’d obviously caught her and still had her in his arms.

“Well that does look like fun,” Edward commented after a moment.

“What on earth is Carlisle up to, all holed up in his office?” This time it was Alice. “Esme said he’s been up there all afternoon.”

Alice must have been across the room, because I heard Renesmee answer her aloud. “He’s doing…” she paused a moment, confusing me. She could probably recount the names of all the forms on my desk—she couldn’t possibly have forgotten what I was up to?

“He’s taking care of everybody,” she answered finally.

I smiled. Leave it to Renesmee to boil our entire conversation down to its essence in five words. She was a brilliant girl. I stepped out onto the landing and surveyed the scene as I descended the stairs. Alice and Jasper sat in each other’s arms on the couch, having just put on a Fred Astaire movie. Emmett was assembling our giant chessboard on the dining table as he narrated his hunt to a bored-looking Rosalie. I could hear Bella’s laughter from the kitchen, where Jake had just finished telling a joke. As my feet hit the first floor, I caught the opening bars of Fauré’s Berceuse, the four-handed piece that Edward had been teaching Renesmee the last several weeks.

“Carlisle?” Esme’s voice was very quiet as she came to my side.

“Hmm?”

“You okay? You look—in awe.”

In awe. I supposed that was true. I had spent a quarter of a millennium alone, believing myself to be backwards; sure I’d never find companionship. And now to step into my living room and join a houseful of people who shared my vision, who shared their love, whom I loved in return; sons, daughters, a granddaughter—it was nothing less than a miracle. I caught Edward’s eye as he looked up from the piano, where he was watching his daughter’s increasingly sure hands. He grinned, and nodded to the music stand, which was empty. She’s got it memorized, he mouthed proudly, and I beamed back at him.

“Truthfully?” I said quietly, looking away from them, “I’m feeling blessed.” If someone who might be eternally damned could be blessed, at any rate.

“Blessed?” Esme gave me a quizzical smile. “What on earth were you talking to Renesmee about?”

I shrugged. “Oh, we were just…taking care of everybody.” I winked, putting an arm around her waist. “Come. Let’s watch this chess game unfolding over here.”

Esme smiled, and together, my wife and I went to join our children.

~Fin~