He pressed it to his ear. “Is it possible?” he whispered.
He listened for a long time, staring blankly at nothing.
“And Bella?” he asked. His arm wrapped around me as he spoke, pulling me close into his side.
He listened for what seemed like a long time and then said, “Yes. Yes, I will.”
He pulled the phone away from his ear and pressed the “end” button. Right away, he dialed a new number.
“What did Carlisle say?” I asked impatiently.
Edward answered in a lifeless voice. “He thinks you’re pregnant.”
The words sent a warm shiver down my spine. The little nudger fluttered inside me.
“Who are you calling now?” I asked as he put the phone back to his ear.
“The airport. We’re going home.”
Edward was on the phone for more than an hour without a break. I guessed that he was arranging our flight home, but I couldn’t be sure because he wasn’t speaking English. It sounded like he was arguing; he spoke through his teeth a lot.
While he argued, he packed. He whirled around the room like an angry tornado, leaving order rather than destruction in his path. He threw a set of my clothes on the bed without looking at them, so I assumed it was time for me to get dressed. He continued with his argument while I changed, gesturing with sudden, agitated movements.
When I could no longer bear the violent energy radiating out of him, I quietly left the room. His manic concentration made me sick to my stomach—not like the morning sickness, just uncomfortable. I would wait somewhere else for his mood to pass. I couldn’t talk to this icy, focused Edward who honestly frightened me a little.
Once again, I ended up in the kitchen. There was a bag of pretzels in the cupboard. I started chewing on them absently, staring out the window at the sand and rocks and trees and ocean, everything glittering in the sun.
Someone nudged me.
“I know,” I said. “I don’t want to go, either.”
I stared out the window for a moment, but the nudger didn’t respond.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered. “What is wrong here?”
Surprising, absolutely. Astonishing, even. But wrong?
No.
So why was Edward so furious? He was the one who had actually wished out loud for a shotgun wedding.
I tried to reason through it.
Maybe it wasn’t so confusing that Edward wanted us to go home right away. He’d want Carlisle to check me out, make sure my assumption was right—though there was absolutely no doubt in my head at this point. Probably they’d want to figure out why I was already so pregnant, with the bump and the nudging and all of that. That wasn’t normal.
Once I thought of this, I was sure I had it. He must be so worried about the baby. I hadn’t gotten around to freaking out yet. My brain worked slower than his—it was still stuck marveling over the picture it had conjured up before: the tiny child with Edward’s eyes—green, as his had been when he was human—lying fair and beautiful in my arms. I hoped he would have Edward’s face exactly, with no interference from mine.
It was funny how abruptly and entirely necessary this vision had become. From that first little touch, the whole world had shifted. Where before there was just one thing I could not live without, now there were two. There was no division—my love was not split between them now; it wasn’t like that. It was more like my heart had grown, swollen up to twice its size in that moment. All that extra space, already filled. The increase was almost dizzying.
I’d never really understood Rosalie’s pain and resentment before. I’d never imagined myself a mother, never wanted that. It had been a piece of cake to promise Edward that I didn’t care about giving up children for him, because I truly didn’t. Children, in the abstract, had never appealed to me. They seemed to be loud creatures, often dripping some form of goo. I’d never had much to do with them. When I’d dreamed of Renée providing me with a brother, I’d always imagined an older brother. Someone to take care of me, rather than the other way around.
This child, Edward’s child, was a whole different story.
I wanted him like I wanted air to breathe. Not a choice—a necessity.
Maybe I just had a really bad imagination. Maybe that was why I’d been unable to imagine that I would like being married until after I already was—unable to see that I would want a baby until after one was already coming.…
As I put my hand on my stomach, waiting for the next nudge, tears streaked down my cheeks again.
“Bella?”
I turned, made wary by the tone of his voice. It was too cold, too careful. His face matched his voice, empty and hard.