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Carlisle continued with his reading even as a fifth sigh pushed through his daughter’s lips in only twice as many minutes. He guessed Mia wasn’t quite aware she was doing it. It was the type of thing that often revealed more about her internal states than she willingly disclosed, just like the preoccupied glances out the window and the distinctly cadenced fidgeting Carlisle suspected had little to do with her English homework.
The Shakespeare Mia insisted on sifting through barely registered in her mind, but she still elected for it over actually speaking to her father. She hadn’t fought his guiding hand when they dispersed from the front entryway, giving Bella and Edward their due privacy, but Mia wasn’t interested in a conversation. She had said barely a word to him for the hour since she settled, solitarily occupying the bench seat in front of the wall of windows. It was the furthest spot in the office from her father’s desk, and while they usually occupied the space together while reading, Mia had made it clear she preferred to sit alone.
Carlisle was a patient man, an accommodating father who preferred not to push his children to speak before they were ready, but he was beginning to wonder if his daughter might finally outlast his inclination towards restraint of this particular type. It was only because Mia hadn’t actually done anything wrong that he had waited this long already, her attitude and words though unexpected, no more reprehensible than the turns of phrase that often left Rosalie’s mouth.
Mia glanced up from her book and was surprised to find her father studying his own book rather than her. She was certain she had felt his eyes on her from across the room, could almost hear his questions and concerns falling into the very space between them. She supposed that could have easily all been in her head though, her own line of thinking taking on the guise of her father.
“Are you upset with me?” Mia had been pondering the question since the night before. She knew he wasn’t quite what one would call angry with her. She had never known her father to be an angry sort, but he had to have some feeling on the matter, some opinion he was withholding.
Carlisle turned to his daughter and shook his head, placing the marker in his book before setting it aside. “Concerned is perhaps a more appropriate word.”
Mia closed her book as well, crossing her legs as she turned to face him. “Not angry though? So, I’m not in trouble?”
Carlisle gave her a small smile. “Do you think you should be?”
Mia glanced out the window a moment before turning back to him. “Not really, but you brought me here so I thought maybe…”
“You’re not in any trouble. And you could have gone with your mother or one of the others if you liked,” Carlisle offered, “but you said you had work to do.”
Mia tapped her fingers on her legs. “And I couldn’t just go back to my own room because…?”
Carlisle smiled. In all truth, that had little to do with the little outbursts she had spent the last day or so mulling over. He simply thought Mia had spent more than enough of the weekend ruminating over things from behind the closed door of her bedroom. Knowing she was upset, he had allowed her a certain measure of self-pity, taken in the form of overthinking beneath her downy covers, only pulled from the act when Alice forced the girl up and into the shower an hour before Edward and Bella’s arrival.
“Would you find it too stereotypical for a father to believe his adolescent daughter has been spending far too much time alone in her room?”
“You can be alarmingly stereotypical,” Mia conceded, unable to hide the bit of smile his words compelled.
She had a moment, or two, of thinking that the whole situation was a bit stereotypical, despite the oddity of it all, because it essentially boiled down to a bit of uncertain jealousy on her part, a seemingly inconsequential twinge of the shameful feeling growing swiftly over the span of just a few days. And as confusing it was for everyone else to watch, the swell of emotions confused Mia a great deal more.
She knew that the thoughts clouding her mind edged towards illogical, knew that the arguments of her subconscious were essentially baseless. She should have pushed the thoughts aside rather than dwelling with her guards up, willfully blocking Edward and Jasper’s abilities, and keeping her parents and other siblings more traditionally in the dark as well.
And although Mia had expressed that she shouldn’t be in trouble, not for the late-night shouting match with her brother or the cool performance she offered him and Bella in the entryway just before, she could admit to herself that she did feel guilty, and the complicated nature of situation made it difficult to sort out on her own.
“I’m not sorry for saying it,” Mia said as if her father had been privy to the monologue in her head. “He needed to hear it.”
Carlisle allowed a small nod of his head. He thought, perhaps, his daughter may have been correct about that. Edward had needed to be made aware of the sentiment behind his sister's words, had needed to hear how she was feeling and understand the depth of those feelings, but Mia’s methods were not the ones he would have chosen, and it was not how he had expected his daughter to deliver the message either.
“Amel—” Carlisle began only to be cut off, the girl spurred to action by the uttering of her full name.
“No, dad, he—"
Mia stopped short at meeting her father’s gentle eyes. Though he was about to voice her full name—something he did not do exclusively as a method of restoring order or in seeking compliance, but just as often as a sentimental sort of thing—there was no sign of fight in him, just his genuine patient curiosity.
Mia knew her father didn’t deserve her fire and she sighed, willing herself back towards some semblance of calm as she mumbled an apology.
Carlisle pushed out of his chair and came to his daughter’s side, settling on the bench with her. "You’re hurting. And your brother’s actions, whether intentional or not, have played a role in that. You let him know in the only way you believed he would hear it.”
Mia leaned into her father, grateful for the assessment she felt wholly unworthy of. Although she had been desperate for Edward to understand, to simply take a moment and actually listen, she hadn’t chosen the particular words for that reason. Mia chose them because she knew she could tap into his guilt through them, hurt him as he was hurting her. She meant to inflict damage.
Carlisle sensed a shift in his daughter at his words and pulled her into his chest as the first whimper escaped her lips. He wasn’t entirely surprised to find that Mia’s opinion on her brother’s attachment had changed. Her sudden jealous anger had puzzled him only until he considered the differences the girl likely assigned to her brother’s seemingly unrequited and then suddenly, very much reciprocated feelings. There was significant uncertainty in it. While all the others had previous experience welcoming someone new to their family, the experience of expanding their circle, most recently for her, Mia had no such understanding.
“Love isn’t finite, Mia.”
It was never difficult for Carlisle to welcome someone new, the love and care coming freely and not at all diminishing what he felt for the others. It could probably be assumed that was the case, but Carlisle knew his daughter’s mind, knew the doubt would creep in without concrete proof, or at least a hardy argument provided to fight against her doubts. Carlisle knew that someday the new love between Bella and Edward would settle and become more manageable for them all. He knew that even should the settling take some time, Edward, though distracted, would care for Mia and their family no less in the interim. But Mia had yet to recognize that, had yet to know it.
She pulled herself from his chest and pushed the heel of her palms into her eyes, willing the tears to stop. “I know, but—”
“Your brother is distracted,” he conceded. “You know, when you came to us we were all a bit distracted too, each of us a bit more focused on being with you than anyone else.”
“I was a baby. It’s different.”
“A little different, yes, but the rationale holds. Everyone created a bit more room to accommodate you, and none of us cared for any of the others any less because of it.”
Mia sat back, settling her chin on her knees as her father continued.
“If what you’re thinking is true, I would have very little care that could be set aside for Edward by now, after welcoming your mother and siblings, and especially after welcoming you.” Carlisle pushed the hair from Mia’s eyes. “Do you understand my meaning?”
Mia glanced up at him. “That there is enough room for both of us?” she mumbled.
Carlisle nodded. “Yes, room enough for you and Bella and anyone else our family should choose to care for.”
Mia nodded a few times, the gesture meant more for herself than for Carlisle. It was a charming and comforting thought, that one’s capacity for love was infinite and could be expanded at will. And Mia knew her father’s words were true. She knew her father loved his children, all of them the same amount. She knew his love had never been diminished by any subsequent additions, herself included.
Without a word, Mia went to collect her father’s book from his desk and handed it off, quickly getting comfortable beside him once again and Carlisle placed his arm around his daughter as she got settled.
Mia didn't speak, but the words were in the air between them, suggested by the girl retrieving his book and settling against him. She was already reading her own book, but Mia’s actions spoke to her father, the translation so clear as she made room for his lesson in her mind and his body beside her on the bench.
I love you, Dad. There’s room enough.