Chapter Text
August 4th, 2003
(Later, much later, the irony will dawn on Maria, making her want to scream and laugh at the same time. She told Alice, had insisted time upon time to her and to the others that she didn’t believe in predestination or in any ineffable plan, simply because she hated the idea that she was not fully in control of her own life. And yet—)
The bell on the other side of the shop clatters against the door for the first time in an hour. Maria swears lowly under her breath, in the middle of lugging yet another heavy box full of books from the storeroom towards the shelves for restocking. There’s less than an hour until closing and she’s been at it for the entire day, seeing how slow business has been getting lately.
“Welcome!” Maria half-yelps over her shoulder as the box teeters precariously in her arms. “I’ll be with you in just a moment.” She sets the offending item down, and swipes away the hairs curling on her forehead constantly getting in her eyes. Maria only needs to round one single, overfilled shelf to get from the makeshift, curtained-off storeroom to the front of the stop where the register counter sits in the middle of towering piles of books that she’s been working on sorting through and shelving for the entire summer. Oh, the joys of being one of two employees in a small business.
“Hello, welcome to Angel’s Books. Is there anything I could help you find?” Maria greets in her well-practiced, cheery customer service voice before she even lays eyes on her customer as she settles behind the counter. She brushes her fingers in absentminded reverence across the cover of her most recent read, Carmilla, that she’s been consumed with for a day now, reaching for it every chance she gets, which are —fortunately or not, depending how you look at it — not exactly difficult to come by during her shifts. Already Maria’s mind is traipsing over to the moment she gets home after the drive from work, when she’d be able to finish the book. She supposes it won’t even take her until midnight to— but first, she’d have to finish the shift, to deal with this one, and most likely the last customer of the day.
Or, more accurately, customers: two women, one of whom turns around at Maria’s words from the shelves the two have begun to browse. The woman smiles, and although there isn’t a single mark or fold on her face, Maria instantly imagines her to be of the type to one day get laugh lines by the corners of her honey-brown eyes. Despite this immediately disarming quality, there is something still and almost inanimate about the woman, as if her exceptionally fair features were sculpted of ice. She seems older than she looks, to put it simply, a kindness that only comes with age and understanding shining from her young face and fluid movements.
“Oh, hello,” she returns Maria’s greeting, the smile audible in her voice. “Yes, as a matter of fact. Do you happen to sell textbooks? Highschool, specifically? My daughter,” and at this she gestures to the other woman with her, who finally turns around leisurely, “is starting Senior year next month at Forks? Have you heard of it?”
In truth, Maria almost misses the last of the woman’s words, as she locks eyes with the blonde girl at the woman’s side. Maria notices the same stillness in the daughter as she did in the mother just moments before, but this obviosity dawns on her much later than she’d like.
Maria supposes that there actually isn’t one singular thing that first catches her eye about the girl, that it’s mostly just her general – being – that has Maria more or less floored, metaphorically speaking. She’d like to think that it’s not just because the girl is the most beautiful person Maria has ever laid eyes on — but she knows that she’s not really one to be put above such a vanity — but that what catches her is the strange sensation that the girl, without voicing a single thought or concept of herself, rouses in Maria.
She doesn’t believe in the soul, not really, not like her Grandma Swan always talked about it, but in that moment, in locking eyes with an entirely strange person to her, the fanciful concept suddenly flits to the forefront of her mind, and Maria can’t quite reason with herself as to why that is.
Maria tears her eyes away, turning to the girl’s mother who is, in turn, staring at her daughter with a tilted head and a squint in her eyes. Maria doesn’t dare look at the girl again.
“Yes, we keep a selection of textbooks right over there, ma’am,” Maria says, gesturing — still with a smile, always with a smile — to the shelf just next to the curtain separating the shop from its messy guts, “and there are also some in the back, so if there’s something you can’t find please just ask and I’ll go check for you.”
The kindly woman turns back to Maria again, directing one last raised eyebrow in her daughter’s direction. “Thank you, we’ll take a look,” she says. Maria, realising her mistake far too late, also chances an almost automatic glance at the girl and instantly regrets it.
If the girl had looked ambivalent and disinterested just moments before — her nose caught in a perpetually judgemental scrunch, her lips much less inclined to turn up in a smile than her mother’s — upon a second glance, her near-homicidal glare is enough to convince Maria of the fact that she truly does not have a good reason to be so affected by her. She’s merely a stranger, a pretty stranger, yes, but a stranger who seems to loathe her for no apparent reason. Maybe she’s one of those rich, entitled girls who categorically looks down her nose on customer servers. Maybe that weird flip in Maria’s guts was merely some mind control trick by this strange girl and her strange mother. God knows there is something unorthodox about them, though Maria can’t put her finger on what it is, exactly.
When the pair move further into the shop in the direction Maria pointed them towards, speaking in tones too low for Maria to hear as relentless rain pelts away at the window, she sits down on the chair behind the counter, and discreetly runs her palms up her face into her hair. It has absolutely, she decides, been a far too long day for this. She blindly grabs the copy of Carmilla she had found under the shelf covered by a pile of dust in the storeroom the day before, and flicks it open to the right page.
She knows what the story is about, of course, knows that the beautiful stranger is, in truth, a vampiress slowly draining the poor narrator as she sleeps. They met in a dream when they were children, and still the girlish Laura suspects nothing. Nothing at the uptick of mysterious deaths in the area, nothing of Carmilla’s pale strangeness.
Maria glances up, and just about holds herself from flinching back as she finds her customers have moved to the counter without her hearing them. She shuts her book and stands up.
“You find everything okay?” she asks as the mother hands her the textbooks they found.
“Yes, we’re all set, thank you–” the woman’s eyes flit down to the name tag attached to Maria’s dark mauve cardigan almost too fast for her to see, “ – Maria.” They exchange a smile as Maria rings their purchases up.
“Did you say you were from Forks?” She finds herself asking, her mind returning back to the woman’s earlier words that she had disregarded at the time. Foolish, foolish girl that she was.
“We just moved there, actually. My husband got a job at the hospital,” the sweet woman explains. Something rings a faint bell in the back of Maria’s head.
“Oh, I think my dad mentioned something about you guys,” she says, remembering her dad’s barely contained excitement at finally getting some new blood to replace that old bastard, Dr. Grove – his words, not hers. “He’s the chief of police, we’re both born and raised in Forks.” This makes the woman smile, even wider than before. She glances at her daughter again, but Maria knows better than that, already.
“Oh, how wonderful! I suppose you go to Forks High, then?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m starting Senior year in September,” Maria explains. The woman’s purchases are all packed up and paid for, but she gives no sign of being in a hurry, so Maria thinks she might as well make some small talk and get to know the new people in town. Her dad would be proud, though an eternal introvert that he is. He likes to say that when it comes to socialising, she’s more like Renée than himself, but Maria has never been fond of the comparison.
The girl scoffs, the first sound Maria has heard her make the entire time she’s been in the shop. Her mother throws her a sideways glare.
“You’ll be classmates with Rosalie and her brothers, then. How nice.” She clearly expects her daughter — Rosalie, apparently — to weigh in at this, but unsurprisingly, the girl says nothing. Maria can practically hear her eyes roll.
“Yep, that’s cool,” Maria says when the lull in the conversation gets to be too long for her taste. She surreptitiously glances at her watch. Less than thirty minutes until closing. If these two leave soon, she could even get home early. Maria smiles at her customers.
“Welcome to Forks. It’s a lovely place,” she says when she can think of nothing else.
“Thank you, Maria, it was lovely to meet you. I hope we’ll see you soon again,” the woman says, an inexplicable tinge of disappointment in her tone as she looks at her daughter, rather than Maria. The girl looks towards the door, her boredom so curated that it must be a feign.
“Likewise, have a good night,” Maria calls after them as they leave the shop, the bell once again making a sound at their wake. Outside, the streets of Port Angeles are getting dark, and Maria can only just barely make out the forms of the two climbing into a shiny car parked by the curb. They drive off with an expensive purr of the engine.
August 20th, 2003
Maria would like to be able to truthfully say that her interest was not piqued in the slightest that day by the two women in her shop, Rosalie and her mother who looked too young to be her natural mother but who shared some vague, undeniable quality with her daughter that made them family without doubt.
But she can’t, not truthfully, and that frustrates her more than Rosalie’s rudeness. Her own inadequacy in rising above being curious about them — just because they are new to town, because they appear out of the ordinary, because Rosalie is —.
Well. Maria’s inadequacy gets to her more than anything has in a while. It’s not a word she would use to describe herself with most things.
For weeks she’s heard gossip about the family everywhere she’s went: in the grocery shop, at the Carver, from her friends especially in the moments she’s had time to see them between shifts. Even Rebeckah, who generally prefers to refrain from hearsay — gossip is the Devil’s radio, and I do not want to be his DJ — brings the Cullens up ten minutes into a beach trip.
Internally Maria rolls her eyes, but actually makes sure to keep them on the road. She’s never really trusted Sean’s driving skills, not after he reversed into her truck in the school parking lot last September. Her dad forbade her from seeing him for weeks after, claiming his poor coordination abilities a testament to a weak character. Maria would much rather be driving herself, seeing as she was the most frequent driver of the group, but Sean’s parents have the bigger car, a fact which put an end to the driver debate.
“I’m just saying, Mar, that there’s something not right about them,” Rebeckah insists, sticking her head between the two leather front seats of the Campbells’ fancy car. Maria turns her face towards Rebeckah, and sees the seriousness of her friend’s features. She’s dressed for a day at the beach, which is technically what they are doing, though of course, the weather has refused to co-operate with their plan as the dark clouds draw closer and closer to them. Rebeckah’s face only lacks a natural tan, the red strands of her hair missing the beams of sunlight filtering through them. They’ve been best friends since they were five, when they met at kindergarten after Maria simply refused to go back to California with her mom and Bella, had become just inseparable in the simple way children become to each other and never let go. Maria still loves Rebeckah in that same way, a treasured relic from their childhood that she doesn’t always understand but one she doesn’t question.
“I thought your mom said that Dr. Cullen is excellent at what he does,” Maria reminds her, remembering Mrs. Hill’s — charge nurse at Forks Hospital — description of the doctor’s good looks and equally good ability the last time they had dinner at Rebeckah’s.
“She also said that he never eats,” Cady pipes up from the seat behind Maria, having pulled her head back into the car from where she had been resting it on her arms out the open window. “And–get this– my brother saw two of the siblings kissing each other when he drove by their car.”
“Well, they’re not actually blood related, Cady. They’re all adopted from different families.”
“Except the blonds. The creepy guy and the super-model looking chick who just scowls at everyone,” Sean says, forgetting to indicate as he takes a left out of Forks and towards La Push. “Apparently, they’re twins.”
“And it’s still weird. They shouldn’t be dating when they have the same parents and siblings. It’s unnatural,” Rebeckah says, plopping back into her seat and crossing her arms.
“People have different types of families, Becka. We shouldn't judge,” Maria insists tiredly.
“At least now we have something new to talk about,” Cady points out, not really as bothered by the Cullen family dynamics as much as she is appreciative of the break in the well-worn patterns of a highschooler’s life in a small town.
“And I’m not judging, I’m just saying that just because they’re all shiny and new and pretty doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t be wary of them.” Rebeckah sounds genuinely concerned, her tone pitching higher just like it does when she feels like she’s being trod down. “I mean, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m not really psyched about the fact that the blonde, bitchy one keeps showing up at Maria’s work.”
Maria’s heart clenches at the worry in her friend’s voice, and so she takes care in gentling her voice as she says, “It’s fine, Becka. I’m not worried about it, maybe she just likes reading,” and reaches to the back seat to pat Rebeckah’s head, the only part of her she can reach. “And she’s not a bitch, her name’s Rosalie,” she thinks to add, not very comfortable in the position of having to defend a person she doesn’t particularly like. But it doesn’t feel right either, to have her friends talking about a person they’ve never even met as if they actually know what she’s like.
“Oo-ooh, Rosalie,” Sean sing-songs from the driver’s seat. “You’re right, Mars. I wouldn’t be creeped out either if that hottie babe was obsessively stalking me. I mean, have you seen—.”
“Shut the fuck up, Sean,” Maria snaps, “before I make you.” Instead of punching Sean like she suddenly really, really wants to—her third-oldest friend, who might be a bit of a dumb dick sometimes, but who once punched a guy who tried to feel Rebeckah up in a party and who Maria knows is not the ass he pretends to be—she leans back in her seat and rolls down her window, leaving her eyes with the greenery zapping by in a damp blur, a clear sign to her friends that she does not mean to continue the conversation.
But their words do make her think, almost make her question the resolve she’s built within herself, her resolve to be, if not disinterested, then ambivalent and neutral about the Cullens. About Rosalie. Because it is true that since they first met a couple of weeks prior Rosalie has visited the small bookshop in Port Angeles where Maria works five times.
Not that Maria is keeping count.
But it has caught her attention, simply because not even the most loyal regulars of the shop visit as religiously as she has started to. And she never buys anything, and she’s always alone, never with her parents or siblings or anyone else for that matter. In fact, Rosalie always manages to show up at times when the shop is empty, like she’s allergic to others’ company. Maybe that’s also why she’s yet to say a word to Maria. The girl is always all scowls and turned backs, barely deeming Maria worthy enough to look at.
Maria really cannot figure out what she has done to earn the abject hatred.
And the thing is, yes: Rosalie is weird in the things she does and the way she is, decidedly different in a way that no other person Maria has ever met has quite been. In that sense, it’s not a huge surprise why everyone is so, so fascinated with the whole family, why people are wary.
But just because she can understand it doesn’t mean that she likes the ostracisation, however self-righteous that may be. She has a streak for that sometimes anyway, she’s been told.
Despite Maria all but ignoring the road and Sean’s horrible driving, they do make it to La Push all in one piece. It’s no sunnier here than it was in town, though the clouds are a lighter and more forgiving shade of grey, more heather than bruise-like, and as the four of them pile out of the car Maria can see that the sand is still damp from the rain last night. Sean and Rebeckah insisted on going surfing on the one day they all were free from work at the same time, and Maria and Cady had nothing against a trip to the beach, if only for a change of scenery. Maria just hopes the water isn’t too cold for swimming, having told her friends the only way they’d get her on a surfboard was by strapping her to it. Cady doesn’t like the water, content to just sit on the sand sketching the sandpipers, in her own words.
“Oh, ye of too much faith,” Cady says after Maria asks her for the seventh time whether she’s actually okay to stay by herself while the rest of them go into the water. “You really think your company is better than being alone, don’t you? That’s just adorable.”
“And there’s Leah and the others,” Rebeckah says, pointing a little further on the shoreline where multiple figures are waving at them, “they can watch Cady for us.”
“Cady doesn’t need to be watched,” Cady says airily, already having situated herself on the blanket she brought. She lines up her box of charcoal pens next to her thick, rough drawing paper, her sharp eyes already scouring the shoreline for prospective subjects. She then turns that focused gaze on Maria and Rebeckah, both of whom instantly put their palms up in surrender.
“Fine, fine.”
“Okay, jeez, message received.”
Sean snorts, and Rebeckah slaps him in the bicep with the back of her palm.
“Hey, Lee,” Maria calls out with a wave when she thinks Leah, who’s started to make her way towards them, is within earshot. The other girl jogs the rest of the way to her, grabbing Maria in a one-armed hug, whilst side-eyeing Rebeckah and Sean, who have devolved into a slapfight. “Don’t ask,” Maria tells her with a roll of her eyes.
“Wasn’t planning on it,” Leah grins from behind her Aviators, her arm still around Maria’s shoulders. “Hey, Cady. You still putting up with these idiots?” Cady just snorts, not lifting her eyes from her sketchpad.
“Uh, excuse you.”
“I said what I said, Swan.”
*
“The others won’t miss you?” Maria asks breathlessly as Leah presses her against a tree some way off from the shore, her hands slipping under Maria’s shirt and snaking around her waist. Maria shivers at Leah’s warm fingers, her own skin cold from the water earlier.
“Don’t care,” Leah says, her palms running upwards across Maria’s stomach. Maria slides her own hands from Leah’s shoulders to her jaw, pulling the other girl closer. When their lips meet Maria welcomes the usual swoop in at the bottom of her ribcage ignited by Leah’s soft and warm mouth on hers, she welcomes it before she realises that it doesn’t come, not in the way she’s come to expect.
It still feels nice, incredibly nice, the intimacy and nearness, Leah’s body touching hers in the way she’s learned Maria likes. It’s warm, familiar in every way except how Maria feels, like her emotions regarding Leah have dulled, somehow, and she can’t figure out why.
So she flips them around, Leah’s back hitting the trunk of the tree, a small groan escaping her lips as Maria slips her tongue in Leah’s mouth. Maria lets one of her hands drift down from Leah’s neck, stopping to toy with the button of her shorts, teasing and asking for permission in equal measure.
“Please, Maria,” Leah gasps as Maria ducks her head to kiss the other girl’s neck.
Later, when Leah is pulling her shorts back on and Maria is redoing her bun, Leah suddenly looks down. “Sam asked me out again,” she says, eyes flitting everywhere but Maria, her sheepish eyes out of place on her usually confident features.
Maria is stunned for a moment, though not exactly surprised as it is obvious to anyone who has spent five minutes around Leah and Sam that the boy is enamoured with her. Maria has always thought him very intense, his brooding type of seriousness a strange match to Leah’s unapologetic brazenness. Still, it wasn’t unimaginable, the thought of them together. Maria knows it’s what both their families want, especially Leah’s dad.
No, none of this surprises Maria. What does surprise her is the way Leah brought it up, carefully and solemnly, and not with a slightly pitying chuckle like she has every other time Sam’s made advances.
“You said yes?” Maria asks as she resumes twirling her hair around itself, though she knows the answer. Maybe she should feel worse that the girl she’s spent a year fooling around with might be getting into a relationship. Leah is her friend, her closest friend, maybe, but this thing between them has never been very serious. They both know that.
Finally, Leah turns to look at her, her dark eyes flitting across Maria’s face as her brows knit together. From the beach Maria hears their friends shrieking as they chase each other along the shoreline, their voices indistinct and familiar. It was going to rain soon.
Something settles over Leah’s features. “If I did, would you be angry? Would you care?”
“Of course I care, Leah,” Maria balks, “you know that. Do you want to be with him?”
“I might,” Leah says and crosses her arms across her chest, the tip of her sneaker scuffing against the dirt at their feet.
“Okay, then.”
Leah sighs, turns away. “I just—,” she cuts herself off with a frustrated scoff. “I don’t fuckin’ know. I thought you’d – be more upset or something.”
“Do you want me to be upset?” This was going the wrong way, Maria knows, and yet doesn’t know how to stop it. She tries for a gentler tone as she says, “Look, Lee,” she sighs, “we’ve been sneaking around almost a year. None of our friends know because we chose to keep it that way, because we agreed that this would just be a – casual thing, or something.”
“I know that,” Leah snaps, though she deflates instantly, her shoulders dropping as she shakes her head.
“Great,” Maria says. “So if you wanna date Sam, then date him. I’m not your keeper.”
“You’re a bit of a bitch, Swan, you know that?” Leah says sharply, though she grins ruefully as she does.
“So I’ve been told,” Maria smiles and stalks a step closer to Leah to peck her cheek. “What did you tell Sam?”
“I said yes, but fuck if I know why,” Leah says as they start to head back towards the beach.
“Maybe he just finally wore you down,” Maria muses, looping her arm through Leah’s. “He’s been very persistent.”
“Ugh, I know,” Leah groans. “It’s almost offputting.”
“Then why aren’t you?” Maria asks genuinely. “Offput, I mean.”
Leah is quiet for a moment, almost until they are within earshot of their friends. Rebeckah has settled down next to Cady on the blanket in a bastardisation of sunbathing, shivering in her shorts and tanktop. Sean is wrestling with a few boys from the Reservation, Paul and Embry, by the looks of it. None of them have spotted Maria and Leah yet, and Maria suspects they barely noticed the girls were gone.
“I don’t know,” Leah says suddenly, quiet and serious. “There’s something about him that I can’t—.”
“Mar!” Rebeckah suddenly calls out, sitting up.” Will you please tell Sean to drag his butt here so we can leave? It’s going to rain.”
“This is why I wanted to drive,” Maria grumbles, squeezing Leah’s arm.
August 22nd, 2003
She’s back again. Rosalie, at the bookshop, for the sixth time in less than three weeks.
And yes okay, sure, Maria told her friends time and time again that she isn’t bothered, that she doesn’t think it’s weird, that Rosalie Cullen can do whatever she pleases and that Maria does not care, could not care less, in fact. And it’s true that she definitely cares much less than some others seem to, the entire town still not settled after the ripples caused by the arrival of the Cullens, but even she has to admit that it’s maybe a little weird.
There are no other customers, as almost always when Rosalie stops by. If Rosalie were a man Maria would definitely be afraid, and maybe she should be afraid in any case like Rebeckah said.
Problem is that Maria has always relied on her instincts more than anything else.
“Look,” she says, thumping the book she had been reading on the counter perhaps too forcibly. Rosalie jumps and whirls around to face Maria with the most blank face Maria has ever seen anyone make. “Is there like, a super rare edition you’re looking for that I could help you find?” Maria asks. She’s met with silence, and an expression that’s very quickly souring. “Or did you maybe lose an earring the first time you were here?” Maria continues and amps up her polite smile, refusing to be deterred by rudeness. If Rosalie wants it, Maria could do the guessing game all night. Rosalie’s amber eyes merely narrow.
Maria exhales sharply through her nose. “For your sake I hope it’s one of the above, because let me tell you,” she chuckles, “if you’re here three times a week just to scope out the layout of the place for an upcoming robbery, you will be sorely disappointed by the spoils. Business is not exactly booming, as you can see,” she says, throwing her arm in a vague arc encompassing all of the small, outdated shop devoid of any other customers than the glaring, pale girl.
Maria is not expecting her to answer, and is not surprised when Rosalie just scoffs derisively, the fury practically radiating off of her as she stalks out of the store, slamming the door in her wake.
Maria is not surprised, but she is disappointed. And also starting to get extremely pissed off. Maybe she should ask Mrs McCall to ban Rosalie from the store altogether. Or maybe she should start stalking her back, find out where she lives and slash the tires of her ostentatiously red convertible that she always drives and parks right in front of the shop like she wants Maria to know that she has a fancy fucking car and that she—.
Maria forcibly tugs her hair free of the braided updo she’d spent twenty minutes on this morning, running her nails sharply across her scalp. It’s unlike her to be this bothered by a person, by anything, let alone be visibly shaken. Or, well. That’s how Maria prefers to think, at the very least, that she could remain unflappable at the face of anything.
Anything but Rosalie, apparently.
*
The parking lot of Forks Precinct is almost empty when Maria pulls in. It of course started drizzling on her drive over from Port Angeles, reminding Maria that she really needs to invest in some new wipers. The ones she has now sound like they’re barely able to drag themselves across the windshield. Maybe she’ll ask her uncle Billy if he has any extras, or maybe Jake. She grabs the warm bags of Carver takeout from the passenger seat of her truck, and darts quickly into the rain, going straight for the door past a fancy, black Mercedes that she doesn’t recognise.
On Thursdays she brings her dad dinner to work on her way home from work or school, as he tends to stay overtime in order to leave a little earlier on Friday for their weekly movie night. Maria loves both traditions, as a kid she used to spend a lot of time at the station after school. Back then it was the epitome of coolness, and though the shine has perhaps worn off a little over the years, it’s still nice to come visit her dad’s work. Especially when it gives her the excuse to eat the Carver breakfast special for dinner.
“Hi, Miss Brady,” Maria brightly greets the receptionist at the front desk.
“Maria, honey,” the older woman turns around from her trusty filing cabinet with a smile, already reaching for the top drawer of her desk. “Like clockwork, you are. I should set an alarm.” Miss Brady bustles around the drawer for a moment before handing Maria the faded visitor pass attached to a hot pink lanyard. It’s been Maria’s since she was four, the likeness she drew of herself with a green crayon still next to her name. Bella has a matching one still tucked away somewhere, but it’s been years since it had any use.
Maria shakes herself from her maudlin thoughts and sets down the strawberry milkshake she got for Miss Brady.
“Now, didn’t I tell you not to bring me any more of these last week, honey?” Miss Brady tuts, though she can’t quite hide her pleased smile. “They’re terribly bad for my, uhm—.”
“ ‘Silhouette’ is usually the word you use, Miss Brady. And you say that every week,” Maria tells her primly, inching the styrofoam cup closer to the receptionist.
“Such a cheeky girl, you are. I can’t wait for my retirement, if only to be spared from your antics,” Miss Brady shakes her head, contently sipping her milkshake.
Maria chuckles. “Sure, Miss Brady.”
“You tell that father of yours to not leave the lights on in his office time,” Miss Brady calls after Maria when she traipses into the bullpen.
She greets the deputies as she zigzags between the desks, her wet boots squeaking on the old linoleum. Her dad’s office is at the back of the bullpen, separated by a glass wall and the door that he always keeps open. After he was first promoted when Maria was about ten he used to grumble about the bonus of getting his own office, not a fan of the way it highlighted the fact that he was the superior now, considering he wasn’t even the deputy with the most experience at the time. Over time, though, he’s grudgingly gotten used to it, though Maria always hears the other officers giving him shit for it. She finds it deeply amusing.
Maria raps on the open door, waving the bag of greasy takeout in front of her. “Hi, dad! Hey, whose bougie Merc was that in the—?” Maria begins as she starts to set the food on the small, battered coffee table her dad keeps next to the worn out sofa. She cuts herself short, however, as the other person in her dad’s office steps from behind the filing cabinet the chief for some inexplicable reason keeps as a sort of divider in front of his desk. “ —parking lot…” she trails off, as the man smiles at her sheepishly, the pale of his skin almost matching the white of his coat.
Maria’s dad stands up and rounds his desk. “Mars, sorry,” he says, turning to his visitor, “doc, this is my daughter, Maria. Mar, this is—.”
“Doctor Cullen,” Maria says, reaching her hand for him to shake. “It’s very nice to meet you.” The man smiles, and Maria instantly sees how well he and his wife must be suited to each other. His hand in hers is cold and smooth, almost like touching a worn rock as it is incredibly solid almost as if there was no flesh in his hand. The doctor’s eyes are like Rosalie’s and his wife’s, and again Maria wonders at the lack of genetic connection between the Cullens.
“Likewise, Maria,” he says warmly. For a moment Maria could almost swear there’s something knowing about the twinkle in his honey eyes, as if he and Maria have met before but Maria just can’t remember. “I believe you met my wife and daughter at the bookshop you are employed at a few weeks ago? Esme spoke most highly of you.”
Maria nods, smiling as she narrows her eyes curiously. The doctor’s turn of phrase is endearingly old-fashioned. “Yeah, yes I did,” she says. Dr. Cullen looks at her, still with a kind smile, though now almost as if expecting something else. Maria brushes her knuckles against her jaw. “Rosalie is turning into quite the regular,” she chuckles.
At this, the doctor seems almost taken aback. Clearly, this was not what he expected Maria to say, though he recovers quickly. His features break out in a smile so wide Maria is afraid his jaw might crack. “Is that so?” he says, positively gleaming. Maria can’t help but mirror him, the doctor’s inexplicable joy somehow infectious.
“Yes. She was there today, actually. Left just before closing.”
“Must be a real avid reader, then,” Charlie commented, “just like Maria here.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Dr Cullen agrees absently, smiling mostly to himself now. He clasps his hands in front of him. “Well, if you would excuse me, I have to get home now, for dinner.”
“Oh, sure, doc. Us too,” Charlie says, already eyeing the bag oozing grease on the side table with longing.
“Good night,” Dr Cullen says on his way out of the door. “It was lovely to make your acquaintance, Maria. I hope we meet again soon.”
“You too, doctor. Have a good night.” Maria watches the officers in the bullpen avert their eyes as the doctor walks past their desks, some turning to whisper to each other when he’s out in the lobby. A town is ever as small as the minds of its people.
“He’s moonlighting as our forensics guy after Yvers moved over to Seattle,” Maria’s dad explains as he digs into his food. “A real nice fella. You really met the wife and one of the kids?” he asks curiously. Maria turns away from the lobby doors to her dad, and sits down next to him on the sofa.
“Yep. Mrs Cullen seems really nice,” she says, opening one of the many containers to reveal her eggplant omelet and another to reveal her blueberry pancakes. The chief scoffs fondly at his daughter’s choice of dinner.
“And the girl?”
Maria pauses. Suddenly she’s at a complete loss as to how to describe Rosalie, despite the fact that Maria had meticulously mentally catalogued every bit of information on the girl she had. What was there to say, truly?
“She’s—,” Maria pauses to exhale, looking for the words, “— she’s a little… intense? Not much of a talker.”
Her father snorts. “Oof. Must be tough for you, Chatty Cathy.” Maria slaps him in the shoulder.
“They don’t seem to be very popular around town, the Cullens,” Maria says quietly after a few moments of content munching. “Is there a story there or?”
Her father sighs, his own frustration shining through. “You know how people ‘round here are, honey,” he says simply.
Maria frowns. “That’s not very fair on them, though. They seem like good people.”
The chief looks at her gently, and leans over to quickly kiss the top of her head before she has the chance to duck. “No, it ain’t fair, sweetheart,” he sighs again. “People in this town just love to jump on anything fresh or new. It’ll die down in a couple’a weeks,” he reassures her.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Yeah. So, how was your day? Get a lot of customers this time of year?”
As Maria recounts the admittedly very meagre events of her day, her mind can’t help but wonder back to her last customer of the day, and the way she’d stormed out of the store. Maybe Rosalie got freaked out by Maria acknowledging her behaviour, weird though it was, and felt cornered. Maybe she does have a good reason to return to the shop, time and time again. It’s not like Rosalie’s hurting anyone, except for maybe Maria’s sanity as she wracks her brain to make sense of the other girl.
A girl who has never even spoken to her. Maria hasn’t ever heard Rosalie’s voice, she suddenly realises. Admittedly, that is a little weird considering how often they see each other. At least they’d be starting school together in a week or so. Even Rosalie Cullen must demean herself at some point in such a setting, if only to answer a teacher’s question.
Maria finds herself even more excited for senior year than she has all of high school.