Age of Consent (part 3 of 3)
Age of Consent
Fandom: Twilight
Rating: T
Main character pairing: Bella/Edward
Also available in one chapter on ff.net
Ms. Meyer owns these characters, I'm just playing with them.
Summary: With age comes wisdom. And confusion. A solid look at relinquishing humanity and participating in a mature, equal relationship. B/E No babies.
Part 1, Part 2
My bar exam takes two days to complete, Wednesday and Thursday, and I have to take it in Boston. Fortunately I made sure to bone up on the Massachusetts Rules of Civil Procedure over the last month; one of the essay questions covers that topic, and it takes me forty-five minutes to write a complete answer. It’s a stressful time for me, but I feel confident about the test overall-as the saying used to go, this isn’t my first rodeo. It’s not until I’m fighting rush hour traffic to get home to Salem on the second day of examinations that I realize I could have intentionally bombed the test as an excuse not to stay here. What does it mean that I did my best? Does it hold any significance that I genuinely hope I passed? Is Edward secretly hoping I failed? God, what if I did fail? I could just take the test again in a few months, but do I want to?
I’m looking forward to having the family down for the holiday. All day Friday I cook my favorite Mexican foods to take to the cabin-apparently Columbus Day is largely regarded as an Italian holiday here in the Northeast, which I didn’t learn until law school, when I really started enlarging my circle of acquaintance, but where I grew up, Día de la Raza was decidedly anti-European. Anyway, the cabin kitchen isn’t much, but it’s enough to store and reheat my food-no one appreciates my cooking smells, though I think they’re delicious. Even though I’m the only one who eats, Cullen family gatherings are mostly about the company anyway. We’re all free to be ourselves around each other. Esme will probably rearrange our furniture singlehandedly about seven times before she’s satisfied with the aesthetic-if I’m lucky, she’ll indulge me with her famous chair-juggling routine, since our cabin is in a remote location. Alice and Jasper can say how much the area has changed from the way it was sixty or seventy years ago, and nobody will raise an eyebrow. Emmett will probably complain about not being able to find any decent predators in the local woods, and all three boys can wrestle and run at their natural speed. I can say “hunting” without getting human comments about gun control, animal rights, or hillbilly relatives.
Everyone arrives in Massachusetts on Friday evening, and it feels so good to be together again, just talking. Alice, ever prepared for our interactions, says I will get a passing grade on the multiple choice part of the bar, but she can’t tell about the essays because grading is subjective. She sounds a little envious, actually, but goes on to describe the ins and outs of her current junior year-having nothing better to do, she’s taken to acting as the student body’s anonymous advice columnist. Apparently she’s saved three good relationships and shut down five bad ones. It’s strange; I talk to Alice almost as often as I do Esme, but I find that no matter how much I love her, I can’t relate to Alice the same way I once did. High school is something far away from me, but for her it’s a recurring event. She must be sick of it by now, so why doesn’t she do something about it? Can she do anything about it when everyone thinks she’s seventeen? On the plus side, the schools are much better in Racine than the one in Forks, so everyone’s trying something different with their electives. Rosalie and Emmett are trying sculpting. I think it’s good for them-it requires delicacy and patience rather than Emmett’s brute strength or Rosalie’s need for instant results. Jasper, who favors film over digital photography, presents me with a stunning collection of black and white candid shots of the family in their new home while Carlisle talks about the area. It’s much nicer on Lake Michigan than I expected, and Racine even has its own symphony. I’d like to visit for Thanksgiving; Esme loves that idea, promises to dig up an old cookbook she kept from the years we lived together, and asks how large a turkey I can eat by myself these days.
I stay up late the first night, catching up on what everyone is up to, from Esme’s job as an architect to Rosalie’s restoration of a 1957 Chevy Bel-Air. I’ve always hated being the only Cullen who sleeps; it feels like one more way for me to be left out. I don’t care if they want to talk about me after I’m unconscious-heaven knows I’ve had plenty to say about each of them over the years. It’s just frustrating, being the odd human out. But I am still mortal, and eventually I nod off in an easy chair, the voices around me dropping to murmurs that burble pleasantly through my dreams.
In the morning I wake up to a group of vampires in a vastly different mood. Evidently Edward took the liberty of sharing my concerns with the rest of the family-I don’t mind that he did, though. They ask me to elaborate, they listen and contemplate and remind me of things I’d forgotten or didn’t know. We have a real discussion about the issues at hand, and every one of us is expected to pay attention and contribute to the conversation. The days of deciding what to do about me without my input are long past.
“You’re always welcome to rejoin the rest of the family,” Esme offers.
Everyone begins chattering at break-neck speed about moving us to Wisconsin, whether they should upgrade to a larger home or add on to the existing house, and how far it is to the nearest hunting grounds. I listen silently and hold Edward’s hand as they debate property values and zoning laws. Alice stares off into space for a few seconds and frowns. Jasper looks at her in confusion, but continues debating with Emmett which national forest has better prey, Nicolet or Manistee. Once they start talking food, I know it’s time to interrupt.
Unfortunately, Alice beats me to the punch. “You’re not coming?”
The disappointment in my mother-in-law’s face is impossible to miss. It pains me to do that to her, but it’s necessary. “Thank you everyone,” I say, “really. We appreciate what you’re trying to do for us.” I look over at Edward, who offers me a reassuring smile and picks up where I left off.
“Esme,” he says gently, “Bella and I didn’t stay with you in Racine for a reason. It’s difficult enough concealing our marriage when it’s just the two of us. I can’t live as your adopted son and her husband at the same time. I’m sick of pretending she’s anything but my wife.”
“Then don’t,” Jasper shrugs, as if this is a simple thing, not the source of my gradually increasing stress for the last several years. “Adopting an adult son with an adult wife wouldn’t make sense anyway. There’s no family policy in place that says we have to maintain the exact same illusion everywhere we go. Get your own house and use the name Masen. Or even Swan. Esme’s claiming thirty-two right now. Bella can be her younger sister or cousin.”
“She looks her age, Jasper,” Rosalie groans. “There’s no way she can pull off being younger than Esme.” I don’t take it as an insult-it’s the truth. Esme’s been twenty-six since the nineteen-twenties, and I’m never going to see twenty-six again.
“Then she can claim her real age,” Emmett suggests, “and Edward can be eighteen. So you get called a cradle-robber, Bella. Big freakin’ deal.”
“No one is going to believe I’m older than you,” Edward reminds him. “I look younger than every single one of you.”
“They aren’t going to notice because you won’t be in school with us every day,” Emmett reasons. “We’re still in high school, and you can start at the university in January. Hell, you can get a job for once, so Bella doesn’t have to be your sugar mama.” Edward just rolls his eyes.
“Wouldn’t it make things even more awkward than they already are,” I ask, “if Esme and Carlisle are the surrogate parents to four teenagers, while I’m obviously in a sexual relationship with one?”
“I don’t particularly care,” Alice remarks. “So people talk about your age difference. The yentas at school already gossip about Rose and me sleeping with our foster brothers. I’m over it. I’d rather have the two of you with us.” She gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “I miss you.” I miss her, too. Younger or older, common ground or not, no one could ask for a better sister.
“If you’re worried about your relationship affecting my standing at the hospital or Esme’s reputation at work,” Carlisle tells me, “don’t be. My superior is a 45-year-old woman with a 25-year-old lover. You were right about large cities versus smaller communities, Bella. People register that we’re physically different, but for the most part, we’re not the most scandalous people in town.”
Clearly Wisconsin is a hotbed of social deviance. I should find plenty of clients there.
“When I was a child,” Jasper says thoughtfully, “it was common for men to marry much younger women, fifteen-year-olds even. First cousin marriages were considered normal, not incestuous. In another hundred years or so, depending on what country we live in, there’s no telling what the marriage customs will be. It’s silly to get so hung up on what the norm is right now when human culture is constantly in flux. We survive by adaptation, and that means embracing change.”
That’s something I hadn’t considered, but he has an excellent point. I give my brother-in-law a warm grin. This is why I love family meetings.
“Next time we move,” Rosalie pipes up, “I vote we do away with the adoption charade altogether.”
“What?” Esme startles, hurt briefly shadowing her face again. Being a mother is an integral part of her identity; I wonder when she last pretended to be anything other than someone’s mom on the official public family tree.
My gorgeous sister-in-law looks at Esme with a smile that’s almost, but not quite, apologetic. “Nothing will ever change the way I feel about you, but I’m getting sick of playing an orphaned child. I’ve been doing it over and over for almost ninety years, and what is the damned point to it anymore? I know it’s easy to take advantage of crappy foster care records, but eventually we’re going to run out of places that don’t already have our names or old photos of us in the state systems. Meanwhile we’re a hair’s breadth away from having incest charges filed against us because the legal definition of ‘sibling’ varies from state to state, and sometimes it does include foster siblings. All that hassle and potential for exposure and prosecution, and for what? High school rarely teaches us anything we don’t already know, and claiming we’re teenagers when we start someplace only draws even more attention to the fact that we aren’t aging.”
“She’s right, you know,” Alice adds. “Starting as kids, the humans seem to expect our faces to change more. I didn’t have that problem when Jasper and I lived on our own. Maybe it’s time we give up that particular pretense. It doesn’t seem worth the risk.”
“But…” Esme falters. “You’re my children.”
“Yes, they are,” Carlisle says firmly, but not unkindly. “All six of them. But you don’t talk to Bella or about her like she’s one of the kids anymore. You think we don’t hear you on the phone with her?”
“It’s not the same,” Esme sighs. “Bella’s in a very different place in her life than she was before.” The longing in her voice makes me wonder how long she’s waited to have a regular friend, not someone she feels responsible for guiding, and I feel like I should say something.
“You don’t know how relieved I am to have someone in the clan to relate to on that level.” I’m trying to be diplomatic while still showing my support for the brothers and sisters who’ve supported me. “But I’m the youngest member of our family, not the oldest.”
“You’re an adult now,” she clarifies, as if we didn’t all know that.
“We’re all adults,” Rosalie reminds her, “and I for one would like to be treated that way for a change. Not just by you and Carlisle, but by everyone, by the whole world. We live in the age of inexpensive plastic surgery-let the humans whisper about how much ‘work’ we’ve had done if it means I can have a career instead of yet another cheaply made polyester cap and gown.” Rose flashes a grin my way. “I think I might like to try law school, too.”
“I pity your opposing counsel,” I say with a smirk.
By the time the family flies home on Monday, everything is settled. Edward and I will stay in Massachusetts until the end of the year, then relocate to Racine. Esme is already mentally compiling a list of properties that could be perfect for us. Edward and I drive back to our house, wondering if we should try to have our furniture moved or if we should just admit defeat and donate everything to Goodwill. His mother has retained a sense of what I used to like, but my tastes have evolved, and I’m fairly attached to my things. I suppose it doesn’t matter-we’ll move again in a few years anyway, and I might like something else entirely by then. What’s important is that everyone is happy.
There’s just one little problem.
“Bella,” Edward murmurs against my naked skin late Monday night, “Alice took me aside this morning when we were hunting. Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
“Actually,” I whisper back, “I have questions for Esme.”
“Well then,” he replies knowingly, “I suppose it’s a good thing she agreed to stay in Salem for an extra night. We should call her hotel.”
“Ask her to come by in the morning,” I yawn, thankful for Alice. She may occasionally be meddlesome, but I wouldn’t change her for the world.
***
“Monica,” I say brightly to my neighbor, “this is my sister, Esme.” We exchange pleasantries for a few moments before I manage to extract us from the situation. I like my human neighbor and her welcoming demeanor, but she has no sense of when to shut up.
“This is lovely,” Esme says of the décor, and I don’t know why that’s such a relief to hear. “Cozy and comfortable, inviting…” She stands in the entry while I close the door, take her coat, and wait for more judgment. “Do you ever have people in here?”
“Not yet, but I’m planning on having my neighbor and a few of her friends,” I nod, hanging up our jackets and hats on the coat rack. “It’s my turn to host the card game this week.”
“Are they good friends?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.
“They’re nice people.” But that’s not what she asked, and we both know it.
“There’s something slightly impersonal about the space,” she notes, turning back to the room and looking carefully at the walls. “Usually you hang photographs.”
“I’m sure you understand why I can’t do that anymore.” I sit down on my couch, in my favorite spot, and smile at her weakly. “I’m anticipating a few questions about why I don’t have any photos of my late husband or Edward’s parents up. I still can’t think of a good answer.”
She comes to sit with me then, sympathetic even though I was expecting her to be upset with me. “Tell me what’s on your mind, Bella.”
I begin, uncomfortable but hopeful. “Esme, how difficult is it for you to be in my house right now, with my scent on everything?”
“It helps that I spent several days with you in the cabin and fed from a deer,” she hedges, not entirely answering my question. “Spending last night in a hotel was fine for keeping me acclimated to human smells in general, but you’ve always been a bit more…flavorful. How Edward always manages to resist when you cut yourself is beyond me.”
“And Jasper?” I wonder. “How was it for him?”
“If you’re expecting me to give you a detailed account of everyone’s various degrees of discomfort and thirst,” Esme warns, “you’d be better off asking Edward. He’s always been the one to monitor such things. But to address your real concern, Jasper wasn’t chomping at the bit to feed on you. He and Edward had that talk years ago.”
“I know,” I sigh. Jasper, who withstood the call of a pool of my blood in a ballet studio long enough to kill James, should have been more than able to tolerate my paper cut later that same year. Jasper felt that having me in proximity for several days prior to the fight with James made all the difference, and blamed my birthday incident on Edward for forcing him to maintain a wide berth from me at all times for the entire summer. Edward blamed Jasper for not demanding more of himself, for failing specifically because he expected to fail and had everyone else convinced to expect it, too. In the end, they reached a middle ground agreement. I still feel that, like Edward, when Jasper was more concerned about saving my life than satisfying his own thirst, neither his desensitization, nor my flavor, nor anyone’s expectations made a bit of difference.
But we’re not facing that same life-threatening situation every day. Sometimes I just want to kick back with a book and a glass of merlot and listen to music, and I’d like to be able to do that without worrying that my brother-in-law is going to attack me because I’ve unintentionally made his throat burn. “Is it reasonable,” I ask, “for me to expect Jasper and everyone to be fine with me in the house?”
“You’re getting your own house,” Esme frowns, still looking a bit peeved about that part of the deal.
“Yes,” I reply, “but the point of moving to Racine is to be closer to all of you. We’re going to visit each other’s homes often. Is it any less dangerous for him to visit me periodically in a house that reeks of my human scent than it is for me to visit him in a house that doesn’t smell like me at all?”
“I don’t understand.” Esme looks at me curiously. “Bella, what are you trying to say?”
“I haven’t actually…” I taper off. In court I’m eloquent, but right now I feel like I’m a stumbling seventeen-year-old again.
“Is this about the transformation?” she says helpfully. “If you’re scared about the pain, Carlisle thinks he should be able to keep an IV inserted to feed you Demerol for the first two days.”
That would be a good idea if I thought it would work, but my memory of James’s bite and Carlisle’s morphine says otherwise. “I don’t care about the pain. It’s temporary.”
“I know you’re concerned about the intensity of the thirst,” Esme sympathizes, “and you’re not wrong to be worried, but it won’t always be as awful as it is the first year or so.”
“No, no, it’s not that,” I wave off her concern.
“Well then-”
“Esme,” I ask her abruptly, “what do you miss about being human?”
If she’s surprised by the question, it doesn’t show. “My baby,” she says immediately. “I still miss him. If I could, I’d have another.” But I already know that.
“What else?” I insist.
“That’s all I can remember clearly.” She looks away briefly, sorrow contorting her features, before turning back to me. “Why?”
“What else do you recall?” I want to know. “Anything?”
“Well…” she flounders, “nothing concrete. Basic things stayed with me when I woke up, like my name, language, math and reasoning skills, the same general sense of morality. I can remember my ex-husband, a little. He was abusive, so I ran away when I learned I was pregnant. You know this story.”
“You didn’t remember your parents, your human friends, school, anything?”
“No. Or if I did, I don’t remember them now.” She gives me a compassionate look. “But I didn’t try. Bella, I had just committed suicide. I didn’t think there was anything left for me in the world. There was no reason to actively attempt to remember anything about my life. I woke up to Carlisle, and he was kind and gentle. I wanted my son, and Edward eventually became that for me. Everyone remembers things differently. Rosalie recalls a great deal about her life because she’s always clung to the humanity she feels Carlisle robbed her of. Edward remembers bits and pieces about his mother, the Great War, and the epidemic in Chicago, but he doesn’t remember much about his father, his friends or extended family, or what schools he attended. Carlisle has held onto his memories of his last two human years in England for almost four centuries, but his childhood is completely erased. Do I need to continue, or do you get the general idea?”
“Don’t you remember anything else at all?” I plead with her.
“Carlisle mending my broken leg when I was sixteen,” she says slowly. “That’s it. Nothing else.”
“Just the images,” I prompt hopefully, “or do you remember speaking to him?”
“I remember flirting with him.” The dreamy look on her face is impossible to miss. “He told me I was too old to climb trees, but he looked impressed. I loved his smile. I remember thinking that I wanted to break my other leg just to have an excuse to have him touch my skin again…I nearly forgot about that…” She starts out of her recollection and gazes at me differently. “Is that what you’re afraid of, Bella?”
With a hard rub at my temples, I close my eyes and confess. “I can give up most things for Edward, practically anything. I never wanted to be a mom, so that’s no sacrifice. Food and wine aren’t really that important to me. I can forego having human friends or memories of my parents, because I have my family and friendships in all of you, and my parents are practically strangers to me now anyway. Even the career I’ve been building isn’t more important to me than my marriage. I can start over with any number of careers eventually. I can give up on adrenaline, pheromones, growing my hair, all of it.
“But there’s one thing I can’t bear to lose, Esme, and that’s the last thirteen years with Edward.” I meet her eyes, wondering if she sees the desperation in mine. “I love the life we’ve lived together, even the difficult parts. Being with him is what made all the whispers, the battles, and the bodily harm worth living through. If you can promise me I’ll still love him as fiercely after the change as I do now, I’ll go yank him out of school this minute and have him turn me. But the idea that I might forget him or the way I feel…no, Esme, I just can’t do that.”
“Oh, honey,” Esme whispers, reaching over for my hands at lightning speed. “Bella, I would love to be able to make you that promise. But I can’t. None of us can, not even Carlisle. All I can tell you is that the clearest memories are the most recent or significant, like Emmett and his bear and staring at Rosalie, or Jasper and his military career. I would be surprised if you didn’t remember Edward most of all.”
“What about Alice?” I whisper. There is no need to say more than that. In spite of all her family research, including meeting her human sister’s Alice-faced great-grandchildren (one of whom was somehow not surprised to see her), our tiny Alice has no more memory of her human life than before.
We stay quiet for a while, Esme waiting with me for a few minutes before she excuses herself to take a tour of the house and get an updated feel for my decorative tastes. When I finally manage to recover my composure, I join her, saying nothing of the conversation we just had, instead answering questions about how much space I think I’ll need in my next home.
“You know,” I reassure Esme before she leaves for the airport, “just because the others don’t start out somewhere in a high school claiming you adopted them, that doesn’t mean they aren’t still your kids or don’t need your advice. I certainly do.”
“Thank you for saying so.” Her careful hugs always manage to feel soft, in spite of her cool, nearly unyielding skin. “Just remember, Bella: your choice is not just about you. I know my son, and I know he’s trying not to pressure you one way or the other, in spite of his own feelings.”
“You’re absolutely right,” I agree, thinking of the familiar brooding eyes and stance he’s been exhibiting lately. “I think he feels bad about influencing my decision to remain human for so long.”
“That certainly sounds like him,” she sighs knowingly. “Edward would have you believe this is an intensely personal decision, and in your case it is. But I want you to think about something: your entire adult life, Edward has been telling you that the only thing that matters is what you want. That’s why you’ve lived in the places you have and attended the schools you did. I’m glad you’ve had those life experiences, but don’t you feel it’s time you think about what he wants? Whether he admits it or not-and if he hasn’t told you by now, I don’t think he will-whatever you decide is going to have a major, long-term impact on him. A supportive marriage works both ways.”
***
“Edward,” I murmur, softly but not sleepily, “I have a question for you.”
“Of course, my love.” He’s behind me, holding me close under our electric blanket. It’s December, and we’ve had our things from the main house sent to Racine (“to be closer to my sister” is what I told the neighbors) and the property listed for sale. Because we’ll be driving and don’t know how long it will be before Edward can hunt again, we’re spending our last week in Massachusetts at the cabin, which we’ve decided to keep for future vacations. He spent all last night feeding, and we just finished packing the last of the pictures this morning, ready to transport them ourselves whenever we decide to move on.
“Will you still love me if I’m old and grey and wrinkly, with arthritis and cataracts and tubes in my veins and nose?” Curtains are open, blinds are up. There’s a quarter moon shining through the window.
He kisses my hair. “I will.”
“Will you still love me if my mind starts to go,” I ask softly, lacing my fingers with his over my stomach, “and I can’t remember who you are or why you’re with me?”
Edward gulps audibly, and the sound makes me sad. “I promise.”
“Will you love me when my skin is cold and hard,” I say, my own voice shaking, “and my heart doesn’t beat anymore?”
“Bella,” he breathes, his mouth grazing the side of my face. The unfamiliar sound of difficulty shudders through his voice. “I will love you every day of your life, and every day of mine, no matter how long either of those may last.”
I shift around until my lips meet his. “Edward, my wonderful Edward,” I tell him, reaching up to twist my fingers into his hair. “I adore you.” I pull back and meet his moon-silvered eyes. “No matter what else happens, please remember that for both of us.”
His kiss flutters over my forehead, and I could almost swear he sounds like he’s crying. “Always.”
“Make love to me?” I ask.
Edward’s hands ghost over me, finding all the favorite spots as my lips linger over his, our legs interlocking in perfect symphony as we join with slow, loving thrusts and call to each other in whispers. “Bella,” he groans against my mouth as we reach our climax, lost in pleasure.
“I love you, Edward,” I cry.
Without another sound, I slip my tongue between his lips and carefully slice it open against his venom-coated teeth.