It just makes it worse when I think about you too much, so don’t write anymore
What part of ‘mortal enemies’ is too complicated for you to
Charlie shrugged. “There’s no law that says I can’t cook in my own house.”
The wordboyfriend had me chewing on the inside of my cheek with a familiar tension while I stirred. It
wasn’t the right word, not at all. I needed something more expressive of eternal commitment. . . . But
words likedestiny andfate sounded hokey when you used them in casual conversation.
1. ULTIMATUM
Charlie watched my adjustments with pursed lips. “Did I get the noodles right?”
I shoved the wrinkled paper into my back pocket and ran, making it downstairs in the nick of time.
I don’t know why you’re making Charlie carry notes to Billy like we’re in second grade — if I wanted
to talk to you I would answer the
What was surprising was how much each crossed-out line wounded me — as if the points of the letters
had cutting edges. More than that, behind each angry beginning lurked a vast pool of hurt; Jacob’s pain
cut me deeper than my own.
I ran my fingers across the page, feeling the dents where he had pressed the pen to the paper so hard
that it had nearly broken through. I could picture him writing this — scrawling the angry letters in his
rough handwriting, slashing through line after line when the words came out wrong, maybe even snapping
the pen in his too-big hand; that would explain the ink splatters. I could imagine the frustration pulling his
black eyebrows together and crumpling his forehead. If I’d been there, I might have laughed.Don’t give
yourself a brain hemorrhage, Jacob, I would have told him.Just spit it out.
The jar of spaghetti sauce Charlie’d stuck in the microwave was only on its first revolution when I
yanked the door open and pulled it out.
While I was pondering this, I caught the unmistakable scent of a smoking burner rising from the kitchen.
In another house, the fact that someone besides myself was cooking might not be a cause for panicking.
I looked in the pan on the stove — the source of the smell that had alerted me. “Stirring helps,” I said
mildly. I found a spoon and tried to de-clump the mushy hunk that was scalded to the bottom.
Charlie sighed.
We can’t be friends when you’re spending all your time with a bunch of
Fiancée. Ugh. I shuddered away from the thought.
Laughing was the last thing I felt like doing now as I reread the words I’d already memorized. His
answer to my pleading note — passed from Charlie to Billy to him, just like second grade, as he’d
pointed out — was no surprise. I’d known the essence of what it would say before I’d opened it.
I glanced at the clock routinely — something I did every few minutes around this time. Less than a half
hour to go now.
“Did I miss something? Since when do you make dinner?” I asked Charlie. The pasta lump bobbed in
the boiling water as I poked it. “Ortry to make dinner, I should say.”
Look, I know I’m being a jerk, but there’s just no way around
I prodded the noodles in silence, guessing that Charlie would get around to talking about whatever was
bothering him in his own time. My dad was not a man of many words, and the effort he had put into
trying to orchestrate a sit-down dinner with me made it clear there were an uncharacteristic number of
words on his mind.
He folded his arms across his chest and glared out the back windows into the sheeting rain. “Don’t
know what you’re talking about,” he grumbled.
You made the choice here, okay? You can&rsquo,Air Max 93;t have it both ways when
Jacob
“Ha. Good one.” He shrugged out of the jacket as if my glance had reminded him he still had it on, and
hung it on the peg reserved for his gear. His gun belt was already slung in place — he hadn’t felt the need
to wear that to the station for a few weeks. There had been no more disturbing disappearances to trouble
the small town of Forks, Washington, no more sightings of the giant, mysterious wolves in the ever-rainy
woods. . . .
Yeah, I miss you, too. A lot. Doesn’t change anything. Sorry.
I was mystified. Charlie cooking? And what was with the surly attitude? Edward wasn’t here yet; usually
my dad reserved this kind of behavior for my boyfriend’s benefit, doing his best to illustrate the theme of
“unwelcome” with every word and posture. Charlie’s efforts were unnecessary — Edward knew exactly
what my dad was thinking without the show.
“So what’s all this about?” I asked him.
“What did I do wrong?” Charlie demanded.
Generatedby ABC Amber LIT Converter,
Edward had another word in mind, and that word was the source of the tension I felt. It put my teeth on
edge just to think it to myself.
“You’re supposed to take the lid off first, Dad. Metal’s bad for microwaves.” I swiftly removed the lid
as I spoke, poured half the sauce into a bowl, and then put the bowl inside the microwave and the jar
back in the fridge; I fixed the time and pressed start.
Bella,
“You would know,Air Max 92,&rdquo,Air Max skyline; I replied, grinning as I eyed the badge pinned to his leather jacket.