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Charlie adjusts his burgundy tie and smooths his denim button down. Carlisle had said: “Just a casual dinner! To celebrate our new home”. But the guy dressed like he was about to address a board meeting with important investors at all times. He wouldn’t know casual if it bit him in the ass.
Great, now you are thinking about his ass.
Charlie shakes his head, grips the slightly wilted daisies he grabbed from the gas station, and raises his fist to the smooth wood door. Before he can knock, it swings open to reveal a scowling Edward.
What the fuck is this kids problem?
Charlie isn’t going to say he’s father of the year or anything, but Bella has manners. Maybe all of Carlisle’s skills went to doctoring. None left for parenting.
“Good evening,” the brat says stiffly.
“Good evening,” Charlie mimics peevishly. He drove all the way out here on a goddamn Monday. And now he’s going to have to meet the whole family? He wishes that he and Carlisle were just just hanging out at the bar: Charlie downing whisky like it’s his job while Carlisle contemplates his drink like it holds the secrets of the fucking universe.
“Enter, please,” Edward narrows his eyes and lets Charlie pass.
———
They are eating salad. Charlie’s least favorite food. Wonderful. Carlisle carries the conversation on his back like a pro, making polite inquiries and waxing poetic about Esme’s design prowess. Charlie nods along, making humming noises at appropriate intervals.
Nervously, he reaches forward for his wine glass and catches the eye of the blonde, Rosalie, across the table. She’s looking at his tie with disdain, table empty in front of her (“Rosalie ate earlier with some friends,” Esme had said. Charlie doubted that. Not that she had eaten earlier, but that she had friends). Idly, Charlie wonders if she and Edward are related by blood, or if their personalities melded from long term exposure.
Carlisle pauses his soliloquy and takes a polite bite of salad, face weirdly blank as he chews mechanically. I mean, it’s not the worst salad Charlie has eaten, he doesn’t have to look like a martyr about it. Maybe he hates greens too. The kids and Esme are all pushing salad around their plates, also barely eating. Charlie wonders if they are in some kinda religious cult that’s weird about eating or something.
“You guys religious or anything?” He blurts out, apropo of absolutely nothing.
He feels the whole table pause, unnaturally still, and stare at him.
“If you mean, do I believe in life after death? The soul. Most assuredly,” that hadn’t been what Charlie meant, but he supposes it answers his internal question. “‘Thy soul is by vile fear assailed, which oft so overcasts a man, that he recoils from noblest resolution, like a beast at some false semblance in the twilight gloom.’” Carlisle looks into the middle distance, a curiously sad expression on his face.
Well, ok. Sure.
Charlie downs the rest of his Merlot and spears another leafy green, looking around the table. Everyone looks pensive, except for Emmett. The kid is looking towards the room with a giant TV with a vacant expression on his face. That’s right, he’s also missing the game tonight.
“You watch baseball, Emmett?” The boy snaps his attention to Charlie, face lighting up with excitement.
“Totally! The Mariners are playing tonight,” the tense atmosphere at the table subsides as Emmett and Charlie start talking about baseball. To his surprise, Rosalie and Edward join in with their opinions. When he catches Carlisle’s eye next, he is smiling fondly. Charlie feels his face heat. He clears his throat and reaches for his empty wine glass.
“Allow me,” Carlisle fills his glass, as Charlie continues to talk to his kids.
Well. At least the night isn’t a total disaster. He’s managed to hold his own, and slightly thaw the ice twins too. Not bad.
———
“Again, apologies you could not meet Alice and Jasper. They regretted their absence and send their regards,” Charlie is holding the remainder of the Merlot bottle on the beautiful porch. Esme had insisted he take the wine with him, and he didn’t have the heart to tell her he didn’t really like it.
“No problem. Uh, tell them I say hello,” Carlisle beams, and Charlie feels his heart stutter. “See you next week? Wayne’s?”
“I will be there,” Carlisle hesitates in the doorway, not closing the door. Charlie has nothing left to say, his conversation meter having run out long ago. Seconds tik by, and eventually Charlie makes the first move by giving the man an awkward little wave, and turning into the night. He can feel eyes on him all the way to his car.
———