Chapter Text
My dad drove me to the airport blasting classic rock, the kind of stuff divorced men listen to, which was ironic, given that while he was still divorced, he’d also remarried four months ago. Well, ‘remarried’ in the emotional, spiritual sense, if not the legal sense.
Marriage was legally defined as between a man and a woman in the state of Arizona, so Dad and Phil weren’t actually ‘married’ in the eyes of the government. But they’d had a ceremony with a pastor and a reception and everything, and they lived together and referred to one another as husbands.
You might have expected me to be pretty uncomfortable with this, given that I was a seventeen year old male and it was 2005. And I wasn’t exactly thrilled about it. But not really for religious or moral reasons- I didn’t actually think it was sinful for two guys to… you know. It grossed me out, sure, but I was self-aware enough to realize it would be incredibly rude to make any comments or insinuations about that disgust.
And, maybe because I wanted to pretend I was more accepting than I actually was, I tried to tell myself that in a few years, this wouldn’t bother me at all. Like Dad always said, the world was changing. It wasn’t as if him being gay was this new shock to my system. I’d known Dad was gay since I was quite young; maybe seven or eight. He never sat me down and told me in some sort of confession; I just… picked up on it.
He was utterly disinterested in the single moms who’d try to flirt with him at school events or neighborhood parties. He loved Broadway musicals and shopping for clothes. And he sort of… I don’t know, he certainly didn’t throw himself at every mailman, plumber, or pizza guy we encountered in our daily life, but I picked up on a sort of vibe, I guess.
It had never really disturbed me or anything until he actually started dating men, which I admit made me sound like a selfish asshole. My dad had raised me since I was a toddler. Yeah, he was scatter-brained and forgetful at times, but he was a good father, kind and affectionate, utterly devoted to me for fifteen years of my life. Could I really begrudge him for wanting to… spread his wings a little, once I was on the verge of manhood myself?
I liked the expression ‘verge of manhood’, because it made me sound like some kind of hero in the fantasy books I loved, like Frodo from Lord of the Rings or Jon Snow from A Song of Ice and Fire. My dad was not a literary type of guy; he enjoyed soap operas and romantic comedies. I wasn’t really into contemporary TV. I liked reading and old films, and while I knew that made me sound like a pretentious prick, I also sort of enjoyed being a pretentious prick.
Dad said I had ‘resting bitch face’, which, fair enough. We looked very alike; dark brown hair, a sharp widow’s peak, a large forehead, a long, thin nose. My dad gelled his hair back, but I wore mine loose, realizing my forehead was way too big for a crewcut to ever look good on me.
While my dad was animated, always smiling or laughing, talking with his hands like an Italian, I was much more stoic and reserved. I had bad posture and tended to hunch my shoulders, which regrettably were still not very broad. I was average height- I kept praying I would have one final growth spurt and shoot up- my mom was unusually tall for a woman- but so far, no such luck. I was too thin, too.
Dad was always encouraging me to eat more, but I’d inherited his small appetite and tendency to forget to eat when engrossed in something more interesting. I could have compensated for this by hitting the gym, like plenty of my classmates, but that sounded agonizingly uncomfortable. Not the working out part- the idea of being watched by other guys, or worse, girls.
It was never lost on me that I was seventeen years old and had never held a girl’s hand, been kissed, or even been out on a nervous first date. I didn’t think of myself as shy or timid, but I also wasn’t bold enough to just approach some girl in public and ask her out, and while I’d had female friends before, it was always blatantly obvious they had no interest in me romantically. And I didn’t want to be that creepy nerd pressuring them to just give me a chance.
Maybe that was part of why I’d decided to move in with my mom. Maybe I thought a fresh start at a new school would be just what I needed to reinvent myself. Or maybe it was mostly about the fact that I didn’t like Phil, Dad’s baseball player husband. Phil had never been rude to me, and he treated my dad like a prince.
But yeah, their relationship made me uncomfortable. Not just because they were two guys living together and… you know… but because I wasn’t used to living with anyone besides Dad, and I wasn’t used to Phil’s personality or habits. Plus, he was only 30. Dad wasn’t ancient- he was only 37, having knocked Mom up when they were both 20- but 30 to me felt more like an older sibling than a parent. At the very least, Phil didn’t look super young or anything. He was bald as an egg.
I hadn’t expressed any of this to Dad. I just said that with him and Phil traveling constantly, it made sense for me to just finish high school up in Washington, and I’d been planning on attending college up north anyways. Arizona wasn’t exactly known for its academic rigor. Plus, I pointed out, Mom deserved to spend some with me before I left the nest for good. For basically my entire life, she’d only seen me during summers.
I was very aware of how unusual it was for my dad to have primary custody, not my mom- and she wasn’t a bad mother or anything. But when they split, they agreed that Dad had much more time and energy to raise a child, and that Mom’s job- cop, now chief of police- was not conducive to single parenting. Other kids gave me shit for it sometimes, growing up- implying my mom was some deadbeat who left me- but it never really bothered me.
I liked when it was just me and Dad. We’d always been more like friends than father and son. He was easy to get along with; funny, playful, creative, up for an adventure. My mom was even quieter than I was, and not very affectionate or curious about my daily life. The only thing she’d ever really given me, I felt, was her surname: Swan.
Dad kept up an unending stream of small talk about everything besides my flight… until we parked and made it inside the airport. Then, suddenly, his cheerful attitude evaporated. Despite being much more emotional than me on most days, Dad wasn’t a crier. But now, he was as close to tears as I’d ever seen him.
“If it gets to be too hard, you can come home at any time,” he told me firmly, gripping my shoulders. “I will drop everything. I will come back to Phoenix if I’m somewhere else. Don’t worry about me, Bell. You’re still my number one.”
But that wasn’t really true, I thought cynically. He had a husband now, a partner. Couldn’t he and Phil have waited until I graduated?
“I’m fine,” I said. I hugged him, slightly stiff, but he embraced me like this was the last time we might ever get the chance.
“I love you, Bellamy,” he said. “Knock their socks off, alright? Give ‘em hell. You’ll do amazing up there.”
I snorted, but said, “I love you too, Dad.” And then I got on my plane.
My mom picked me up in her cruiser, which annoyed me. She wasn’t working today- did she need to broadcast to the entire Port Angeles airport what she did for a living? She gave me a side-hug, awkward as ever. She was a tall, sturdy woman- not fat, but definitely not thin. She had broad shoulders, long limbs, big hands and feet.
She’d played basketball in high school, and might have played in college, if she’d gone. She kept her curly brown hair cut short, and despite being straight- as far as I knew- my friends had always commented that she dressed like a total lesbian. Flannel, jeans, and boots. Her face was lined and weathered; she looked older than my dad, older than her years, from decades of living and working outdoors in all types of weather.
“Hey, Charlie,” I said. I’d never called her Mom, and while it used to annoy her, she’d let that go years ago.
“Hey, Bells,” she said. “How’s Ren?”
“Same old,” I said, shifting my weight from one leg to the other as she popped the trunk for my suitcase. “How are you doing?”
“Oh, you know, keeping the peace,” she mumbled, her typical weird attempt at a joke. I truly had no idea what had attracted my parents to one another. I got that my dad was still deeply in denial about his sexuality at the time, but what about him interested Charlie? His looks, I assumed- he was still a handsome guy. But it baffled me that they’d ever lasted longer than a single night.
Charlie brightened a bit once we got out of airport parking and hit the road. “Got your car all sorted out,” she said proudly. “How you feel about a truck?”
That cheered me up, too. I loved cars, and I’d expected her to hand me the keys to some shitty 1990 Toyota. “What kind?”
“Chevy pickup, bright red. But don’t worry about getting pulled over,” she snorted.
“What year?”
She paused for a long moment as rain pattered against the windshield, then admitted, “1963.”
Charlie seemed to be bracing herself for an explosion from me, but I cracked a grin. “Charlie, that’s sick.”
“Is that good? I don’t know your slang.”
“Yeah, that’s good,” I laughed. “That’s really cool. Thanks.”
“Billie Black sold it to me for real cheap. She’s in a wheelchair now, you know, so she can’t be driving, and her daughter doesn’t have her license yet. Plus, Jane’s more into bikes, anyways.”
I vaguely remembered Janie Black; she was a couple years younger than me, a Quileute Indian who lived on the rez with her brothers and widowed mother. But we hadn’t seen one another since I was fourteen. I remember her mom a little better; gruff, like my mom, but kind.
It took us a solid hour, even without much traffic on the roads, to reach Forks. It was the opposite of Phoenix. Green, wet, and misty. When I was little, I used to pretend it was a fantasy kingdom, or an alien planet. The forest made an excellent backdrop for my games of pretend, and magic seemed to lurk behind gnarled trees and foggy, winding roads.
But by the time I was a teenager, there was little magic left. Forks was charming for a weekend visit, but depressing for any longer than that. The sun rarely came out, the town itself was tiny, and there was nothing to do besides hunt, hike, and fish, none of which I was very interested in. Charlie’s small house was just as dreary as I remembered. Unlike Dad, she had no interest in adding many personal touches, and I knew the fridge would be barren. Luckily for her, I actually enjoyed cooking, something I’d inherited from Dad, whose kitchen experiments were legendary.
My distaste for the house was canceled out by the truck parked in the driveway, though. It was red as a tomato, but it was cool, in a retro, vintage way, and it looked solid, imposing, even, like it could survive any kind of collision or go tearing off-road. Plus, I wouldn’t have to make car payments.
“It’s great,” I said to Charlie, speaking loudly over the sudden downpour. I flipped up the hood of my jacket and we hurried to get my suitcase inside the house.
I returned to the same small bedroom I’d spent every summer in as a kid. It was painted pale blue, with faded, lacy curtains that I wanted to rip off the windows. It still looked a little like the nursery it had once been- Charlie hadn’t ever bothered to get rid of the rocking chair in the corner. But it had a bed and a desk and a bookshelf and a computer, so I couldn’t complain.
After I’d unpacked, the weight of my decision settled over me like a wet blanket. I swallowed back the lump in my throat, trying to steady myself. I wasn’t going to cry like some little kid. I could handle a new school. I didn’t care if I didn’t make a bunch of best friends; I hadn’t had any back in Phoenix. I was used to being a loner, and usually I could even enjoy it. I liked people-watching. I actually liked schoolwork, too. Most teachers treated me well, I’d always been a top student, and I found literature and history and science interesting.
I didn’t sleep very well that night, though I tried to blame it on the howling wind outside. Come morning, I was groggy and grim, and Charlie wisely didn’t try to offer me any encouragement or advice as she hustled out the door to work. After picking at my toast and eggs, I trudged out to my new truck, keys in hand. To my relief, the cab didn’t smell bad, and the engine didn’t sputter. The radio even worked.
Forks High was nothing like my old school. Rather than one large sprawling building, it was a collection of smaller brick buildings, and it was surrounded by trees and shrubs, rather than manicured lawn and gravel. The secretary in the front office handed me my schedule and a map of the school. Then, I walked out to meet my fate. To my relief, there were no immediate stares or whispers. I moved fast and kept my head down, hoping to blend in with everyone else, even though it was the middle of January, not the beginning of the semester.
My first few classes went smoothly. A few people realized I was knew and asked for my name, but no one was overly bubbly or hostile. When I made it to lunch without incident, I’d relaxed a bit, but also realized that in a cafeteria this small, it would be very, very obvious that I was eating by myself. I stood there, holding my tray, for longer than necessary.
“Excuse me,” someone said coolly behind me.
I startled and turned. An inordinately gorgeous girl was staring up at me, a haughty, impatient expression on her face. I’d known plenty of pretty girls back in Phoenix, but most of them had bleached blonde hair, orange foundation, and seemed to exclusively dress in hot pink or purple.
This girl was beautiful in a more old-fashioned, classical way. She was almost doll-like, but like a porcelain one, not a Barbie. She had high cheekbones, a sharp chin, and almost golden-hazel eyes. She was tall for a girl, only an inch or two shorter than me, and I was five foot nine. Her auburn hair was thick and wavy and somewhat messy, escaping from its braid. Her lips were full and pink. I stared at her for several moments, slack-jawed, until she rolled her eyes and brushed past me. The only thing that detracted from her looks were the dark circles under her eyes- as if she hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, like me- and the scornful glance she tossed over her shoulder at me.
I had no idea what to do with that. She was so pretty I couldn’t even register her obvious dislike.
I might have stood there for the entire lunch, watching as she vanished into the crowd of students, before someone said, “First time meeting a Cullen?”
A short, wild-haired guy was standing next to me, grinning. I recognized him from my Trig and Spanish classes. “Jesse,” he said, by way of introduction. “The ice queen who just snubbed you? She does it to any guy who doesn’t avert his eyes in shame. That’s Edith Cullen. Her mom’s some hotshot doctor up at the hospital, and her siblings are kind of freaks.”
I scanned the room. “They all go here?”
“Yeah,” Jesse said. “Three girls and two guys. Edith and Emma and Jasmine, and Ross and Alec. They’re all former foster kids, adopted. Their mom is Dr. Caroline Cullen. Their dad’s an architect. Ezra Cullen. He designs houses for rich fucks who want to come out here to escape Seattle.”
“What makes them freaks?” I asked, following Jesse towards a table.
“They’re all fucking each other,” he snorted. “It’s pretty damn weird. Emma and Ross are a couple, and so are Alec and Jasmine. They’re all over each other. I guess it’s technically not incest, or whatever, since they claim they didn’t grow up together, but still. I mean, it’s like something out of a porno.”
“Oh,” I said, but I couldn’t help but note that Edith was clearly not paired up with an adoptive brother. I briefly fantasized about rescuing her from her dysfunctional, abusive household; she’d jump into the passenger seat of the Chevy and smile at me with those liquid gold eyes.
“Yeah, don’t even think about it,” Jesse laughed, as I sat down beside him. “Ross and Alec are crazy protective of her. Maybe they just want to get in her pants, or maybe they’re just all fucked in the head, I don’t know, but she doesn’t date. And no offense, man, but I don’t think you’re her type, anyways. No one here is.”
I scoffed. “I’m not interested. She’s a bitch- I wasn’t even standing in her way.”
But Jesse seemed to see through my very typical deflection of lust into disdain. Shaking his head, he dug into his slice of pizza, while I barely touched my pasta, still searching for Edith Cullen in the crowd. When I found her, she was sitting with her siblings near the rain-drenched windows.
They were talking to each other intently, almost as if they were worried about something. One girl was tall and big-boned, though still quite pretty, with dark curly hair in a high ponytail. The other was also quite tall, but a more conventional blonde. Of the boys, one could have been a male model- broad shoulders, slim waist, perfect skin, with wavy blonde hair, and the other was short and kind of Goth, with jet black hair and dramatic, artsy clothing.
Suddenly, Edith turned and met my gaze. Her brow wrinkled in contempt, and she stared back at me so intensely that I broke eye contact first, flushing red. When I glanced at her again, she was talking to the blonde boy. He looked at me and laughed. A tidal wave of rage rose up in me, so sudden and jarring it almost scared me. I’d never felt so intensely embarrassed or rejected before. Then it passed, and I forced myself to take a bite of my lunch, hating myself. A hot girl thought I was pathetic. That wasn’t exactly a shock. I just needed to ignore her from now on.
But despite that, I found myself continuously glancing at her whenever her back was turned for the rest of lunch, furious and hopeful all at once.