I struggled to get a grip on myself as I drove to school. The vision of Gran—I would not think of it as me—was hard to get out of my head. I couldn’t feel anything but despair until I pulled into the familiar parking lot behind Forks High School and spotted Edward leaning motionlessly against his polished silver Volvo, like a marble tribute to some forgotten pagan god of beauty. The dream had not done him justice. And he was waiting there for me, just the same as every other day.
Despair momentarily vanished; wonder took its place. Even after half a year with him, I still couldn’t believe that I deserved this degree of good fortune.
His sister Alice was standing by his side, waiting for me, too.
Of course Edward and Alice weren’t really related (in Forks the story was that all the Cullen siblings were adopted by Dr. Carlisle Cullen and his wife, Esme, both plainly too young to have teenage children), but their skin was precisely the same pale shade, their eyes had the same strange golden tint, with the same deep, bruise-like shadows beneath them. Her face, like his, was also startlingly beautiful. To someone in the know—someone like me—these similarities marked them for what they were.
The sight of Alice waiting there—her tawny eyes brilliant with excitement, and a small silver-wrapped square in her hands—made me frown. I’d told Alice I didn’t want anything, anything, not gifts or even attention, for my birthday. Obviously, my wishes were being ignored.
I slammed the door of my ’53 Chevy truck—a shower of rust specks fluttered down to the wet blacktop—and walked slowly toward where they waited. Alice skipped forward to meet me, her pixie face glowing under her spiky black hair.
“Happy birthday, Bella!”
“Shh!” I hissed, glancing around the lot to make sure no one had heard her. The last thing I wanted was some kind of celebration of the black event.
She ignored me. “Do you want to open your present now or later?” she asked eagerly as we made our way to where Edward still waited.
“No presents,” I protested in a mumble.
She finally seemed to process my mood. “Okay...later, then. Did you like the scrapbook your mom sent you? And the camera from Charlie?”
I sighed. Of course she would know what my birthday presents were. Edward wasn’t the only member of his family with unusual skills. Alice would have “seen” what my parents were planning as soon as they’d decided that themselves.
“Yeah. They’re great.”
“I think it’s a nice idea. You’re only a senior once. Might as well document the experience.”
“How many times have you been a senior?”
“That’s different.”
We reached Edward then, and he held out his hand for mine. I took it eagerly, forgetting, for a moment, my glum mood. His skin was, as always, smooth, hard, and very cold. He gave my fingers a gentle squeeze. I looked into his liquid topaz eyes, and my heart gave a not-quite-so-gentle squeeze of its own. Hearing the stutter in my heartbeats, he smiled again.
He lifted his free hand and traced one cool fingertip around the outside of my lips as he spoke. “So, as discussed, I am not allowed to wish you a happy birthday, is that correct?”
“Yes. That is correct.” I could never quite mimic the flow of his perfect, formal articulation. It was something that could only be picked up in an earlier century.
“Just checking.” He ran his hand through his tousled bronze hair. “You might have changed your mind. Most people seem to enjoy things like birthdays and gifts.”
Alice laughed, and the sound was all silver, a wind chime. “Of course you’ll enjoy it. Everyone is supposed to be nice to you today and give you your way, Bella. What’s the worst that could happen?” She meant it as a rhetorical question.
“Getting older,” I answered anyway, and my voice was not as steady as I wanted it to be.
Beside me, Edward’s smile tightened into a hard line.
“Eighteen isn’t very old,” Alice said. “Don’t women usually wait till they’re twenty-nine to get upset over birthdays?”
“It’s older than Edward,” I mumbled.
He sighed.
“Technically,” she said, keeping her tone light. “Just by one little year, though.”
And I supposed...if I could be sure of the future I wanted, sure that I would get to spend forever with Edward, and Alice and the rest of the Cullens (preferably not as a wrinkled little old lady)...then a year or two one direction or the other wouldn’t matter to me so much. But Edward was dead set against any future that changed me. Any future that made me like him—that made me immortal, too.