"You push and you pull and struggle with the knot, It's tying you up while you're fadin'" Nikki Costa - Push and Pullin
29th April 2009
Four weeks. Four weeks of appointments she'd missed. Four weeks of appointments and countless phone calls gone unanswered. Four weeks of appointments, countless phone calls and even when I'd driven to her house, she'd refused me entrance. I'd tried calling Edward after she'd made excuses for the third week in a row, but he was out of town for some conference and wouldn't be back till this Friday.
It wasn't that I was worried that she was a danger to herself; I didn't see that as a possibility. It was more the way she'd left, I'd never seen her so rattled. I tried to stop her, but she was surprisingly faster on her feet than I thought. It didn't help that Dad's dim-witted secretary got in my road as I was attempting to get out the front door, asking what the hell was Mrs. Masen's problem and standing between me and the exit. I'd politely told her it was none of her business and went to move past her, she'd copied my movement and if I hadn't had been brought up knowing it was wrong to hit a woman, she would have found herself shoved none too gently against the wall.
When I finally got past her, it was only to see Bella reversing her car in the pouring rain and ignoring my attempts to call her back. I'd never expected a reaction like the one she had inside. The meaning behind what she saw in the painting floored me. I knew there was something in her past that she wanted to hide from; some pain that she internalized and never talked about for fear of what it would really mean to explore it thoroughly.
Maybe Dad was right, maybe I should pass her case on. Maybe I wasn't equipped to handle all of Bella's problems. What did I really know? Addictions, yes. Loss and bereavement, I could say I had some experience. The look on Bella's face, though, as she relived those moments with her brother… I don't even think she realized that she was saying the words out loud. That her voice and tone changed depending on from whose point of view she was telling the story. It was a little frightening but at the same time, revealed a lot more of Bella's past than I had ever imagined was there.
Is that why I felt such a strong pull toward her? Were our pasts, different yet similar in some ways what made her, although unattainable… something I couldn't help but want? I tried and tried to keep this just professional. I tried to tell myself that with each and every new stone that we overturned in her past that it was just the familiar that made her interesting. She was absolutely stunning on the outside, and the inside that I glimpsed whenever she actually let me in was just as beautiful, if not more so. Not only that, it was the way she made me feel. The fact that I continued to let my defenses down around her when I knew I shouldn't. Yet down they would fall without my consent each and every time.
Healing Bella was turning out to be more work than I had originally planned and it was revealing things about myself that I had thought were left in my past. Apparently I was wrong, but I could handle it all… couldn't I?
Maybe it was time for me to talk to someone about all of this. At least I wouldn't have to go far to find my answers.
~**~
"Mom? Dad?" I called out after letting myself in the back door, walking through the French doors from the deck and into the kitchen. I grabbed a shiny red apple from the same wire basket I remembered from my childhood and took a bite, heading into the family room from where I thought I heard a muted reply.
"Jasper, baby is that you?" I rolled my eyes as I came around the corner finding Momma knee deep in multicolored papers, photographs, ribbons and some extremely weird looking scissors.
I leaned against the doorframe and took in the sight of the mother I'd missed during most of my childhood, yet whenever I saw her she always made me feel at home. She used the back of her hand to push back a few stray caramel colored hairs from over her familiar blue eyes. Familiar in one sense because the shape and full lashes were so like mine, but the color inside them was a lot deeper. Her apricot blushed lips formed a wide smile over the same perfect white teeth that were identical to mine right down to the little gap between the front two.
"Momma? Are you scrapbooking my baby photos again? I thought we discussed that three books is really enough?" I asked, barely containing the grin that was threatening to escape across my face.
The freckles that were normally nothing but a mere dusting across Mom's nose and cheeks were highlighted by the blush that formed against her skin.
"Jasper James Whitlock Cullen you were my first baby, you are still my baby no matter how many years have passed, and if I choose to cut out shapes and stick little beads and things around adorable photos of you in your first cowboy hat and boots riding that crazy old dog, Socks, around the front yard, it's my right as a mother to do so!" she scolded, sounding a little like she meant the words she was saying but the twinkle in her eyes said otherwise.
I bit my lip to keep from laughing as at the end of her mini rant she had moved her hands onto her hips and managed to get the sticky tape roll stuck on the end of one finger, now also stuck to the fine fuzz on her lilac mohair sweater.
"Now, I know that Maria raised you with better manners than to just stand around and watch a lady instead of offering her a hand up. Do not make me call her and tell her you have forgotten how to behave like a gentleman and offer to pay for her to fly up here and give you a little recap." I shivered at the thought, even if it was an empty threat on her part. I rolled my eyes, rocking my body forward from where I'd been leaning and stepped around the mass of "work" that Mom had been doing and bent down to give her my hand.
"Sorry, Momma," I said, amusing myself with just how southern those two words came out, a reflection of the similar accent my mother had somehow never lost even after living here in Seattle for the past twenty something years.
She giggled, taking my hand and wrapping her arms around my waist, which was the only thing she could reach considering the difference in my height and hers. "Don't you 'Momma' me and think it'll cover everything, Jasper. Playing up your southern roots might work with the ladies but it doesn't work on me." She paused, squeezing my sides hard, I chuckled and felt her lean back, raising her eyes to mine. "Well, at least not all the time. Now, how's about you give your Momma some sugar?" she asked, twisting her head to the side and offering me her cheek.
I virtually bent in half to place a quick kiss on her cheek, stepping to the side and offered her my arm, which she slipped hers through. "I've got some fresh baked Pecan Pie that I whipped up last night. If Carlisle hasn't sniffed it out yet you should be able to have a slice of with some buttermilk ice-cream in the freezer."
My stomach growled loudly at the thought. There was nothing like my mother's cooking. She chuckled, the soft brown waves shaking around her shoulders from the action as we walked back toward the kitchen. Once we entered the room, she nodded at the breakfast bar for me to take a seat. I pulled out the white high backed wooden stool and sat hooking the heel of my boots on the bar at the bottom. I watched as Mom opened the cupboard door, taking out a bowl and moved around the kitchen getting out the ingredients. I swiveled back and forth, idly tracing the black lines in the marble counter top as she scooped out two perfect mounds of creamy goodness on top of what was one sizeable piece of pie. My mouth began to water as she pulled out one of the top drawers, taking out a long silver desert spoon and placing the bowl in front of me.
I looked up into her warm, heart shaped face and smiled widely, which she returned holding the spoon out for me to take. My smile a "thank you", hers a "you're welcome" as I took the utensil from her, my fingertips brushing lightly against hers. Sometimes, lack of conversation was a good thing.
Mom leaned against the bench opposite me and as I scooped the caramel and nut filled goodness into my mouth I felt her appraising eyes looking me over. I tried to ignore it, concentrating on the pie and ice cream that really wasn't appropriate for eleven am... but when it came to food - and good food - I wasn't one to turn it down. Yet still I felt her knowing eyes taking me in. I could virtually feel them as she looked over the mess that was my golden curls, knotted and whipped into a frenzy from the ride here. I watched her fingers twitch on the bench top as she surveyed the faded olive t-shirt I had on under my old tan bomber jacket, knowing that she most likely wanted to straighten the collar that I knew had somehow got tucked underneath my shirt. I shifted a little uneasily in my dark brown slacks when I heard a long sigh that she tried to hide as breathing out.
I lifted my eyes from my bowl and met hers with a quirk of my brow.
She shook her head, sighing louder this time and walked around the island, stopping to pull herself up on the stool beside me. I continued eating, figuring she was either waiting for me to finish to start talking about whatever it was she wanted me to talk about, or she was just biding her time to say what she wanted to say anyway.
I didn't have to wait long.
A minute passed and I could feel her fingertips in my hair, easing out the knots and untangling the mess of curls around the shell of my ear. I found myself leaning into her touch as she combed her fingers through my hair, the soft pads of her fingertips and nails scratching idly over my scalp. She sighed again, clucking her tongue and that's when I knew she was waiting for me to start.
"So… where's Dad today, isn't Wednesday his day off?" I asked, focusing on cleaning the last possible crumb of ice-cream and biscuit goodness from the shiny spoon.
"It is, he's off playing indoor golf or something with Caius and Aro I think. He should be back sometime this afternoon."
Again with the pause, why is it mother's just have this way of making you talk?
I cleared my throat, placing my now ever so clean spoon back in the bowl. "Oh. That's good. I guess I can call him later." Not that I wanted to, I was fairly certain that if I didn't talk to Dad soon I'd probably lose the urge to and this jumble of what if's inside me would go on. Then again, I had a good idea of what his answers would be, and I didn't like the sound of those either.
Another sigh, and the tips of her fingers were toying with the curls at the nape of my neck. I turned, wrapping my hand around her wrist and flipping her hand over. With my forefinger, I traced the heavy lines that covered her palm.
"Jasper, sweetheart. What's troubling you?"
Her voice was soft and there was something in her tone that I knew meant I wouldn't be able to just leave without giving her something. It was my turn to let out a long breath and collect my thoughts to word the swirling thoughts in my head and heart into some tangible sentence.
"I think I've gotten in a little too deep, Momma," I whispered, concentrating on the path my fingers were taking and not looking up into the concerned eyes I knew were trained on me at this moment.
"I think I care a little too much. Or maybe not enough. I'm just…"
"You're confused, I can see that. You're not sleeping, the purple around your eyes says that and you're wearing your jacket that –"
"Yeah, I know who gave me this jacket. I'm not here to talk about that, Momma." I paused, realizing my short tone probably wouldn't go down well. Silence lay between us and she pulled her hand from mine, moving slowly rub up and down my back instead, l leaned into her side, resting my head on her shoulder and breathed in the familiar smell of baked goods and sandalwood that always reminded me of her.
"I'm sorry, baby. You just look so, defeated. Is it something at work? Are you doing okay with your patients?"
"Yes and no. I've got this one patient, she reminds me so much of me, well the old me. We had kind of a breakthrough a few weeks back, but she hasn't been back since. She opened up about something and well, I'm not sure I'm ready for this, Momma. I know why Dad thought I would be, I know why Dad thought she'd be a great first case for me but… I think I've gotten too close. She won't answer my calls, she's missed four weeks of her appointments and… I don't know," I huffed, finding myself chewing my bottom lip, a trait I'd picked up from Bella that I'd seen her do whenever she was nervous or upset.
Why did I let her affect me so much?
"Oh, Jasper. Out of both of my children, you have always had the bigger heart. Do you remember back when you were, I don't know, I think Rose was seven so you would have been four or five maybe? Anyway, she'd been playing with that horrid Royce boy while we were all at that church picnic that summer. He pulled on her pigtails one too many times and Rose ran back up from near the creek, bawling her eyes out. You got so angry that someone had made her cry, I can still see you now, stomping your little foot, your curls flicking about your head and your hands balled up into fists." She began chuckling, and so did I remembering that exact moment with a strange amount of clarity considering my age at the time.
Good memories, though, of all three of us together back then were few and far between so it wasn't really a surprise that my mind recalled that day.
"Yes, and I think I got quite the beating when I got home after that. I don't think Father was very impressed that I ran down to the river bank and gave the mayor's son a black eye and a busted lip." The laughter between us died down a little, mentioning Father around my Mom, even after being separated for over two decades, he still brought sadness to her eyes.
It took me an extra minute, lost in my own memories of that day, for me to realize Mom's hand had stopped rubbing at my back and that she was still silent. I moved from her side and when I looked up, she'd turned her head to face the window, and I could see a few tear track marks down her cheek. I internally scolded myself, I'd come here looking for guidance and all I'd done so far was remind my Mom of a past she'd sooner forget. It was my turn to wrap my arm around her, pulling her small frame to my side.
The hand that she hadn't already raised to her face to wipe her cheek patted my chest. "Oh it's okay, Jasper. I'm just being silly," she said, her voice cracking over a few words detracting from her ability to sound strong.
"It's okay, Momma. You left eventually, right? You're the clever one that got out."
She sniffled, nodding her head against me. "That day was what did it, you know? He took that switch to you, and I couldn't stay a minute longer. As soon as James passed out on the lounge I grabbed what I could and put you and Rose in the car and drove. I was so afraid he was going to wake up and force Maria into telling him where we were. That's why I ordered her from the house. I didn't even stop to sleep the whole drive to your Aunt Vera's, all I could think of was the bruises on your skin and the fact that I didn't keep you safe that day. I was fine while he was taking it out on me, but you... no, I should have taken you both out of there a lot earlier."
"But you did leave, Momma." I leaned back, tipping her face up to mine and wiping her tears away with my thumb. She looked so lost and sad, after all these years it still affected her, even with the life she had now, that we all had now.
"And you gave us a great life here, you found Carlisle and he's always loved you, worshipped you even. Even when I was being an ass I could see that, no matter what I said to him." A smile lit her face, probably remembering the countless arguments I'd gotten into with Dad when I turned fourteen. Arguments that led me to moving back south, and a whole world of bad decisions that could have been saved if I had not been the angry young man that I was back then.
"I should never have let you go."
I took a deep breath, knowing that she still blamed herself for the pain I'd ended up causing myself and others hurt me now just as much as it did when she'd found me five years ago.
"It was my decision, they were all my decisions and I can only try to not make them again, Momma. I've got you and Dad and Rosie and that's all I need. It could have all just as easily have happened if I hadn't gone back to live with that man. It's not like drugs and women weren't available here like they were back in Texas."
"Yes well, if you were here, you wouldn't have been able to –"
"Stop that right now, Momma. You can't live in a world of maybes and shoulda, woulda, coulda's. What's done is done and I'm paying for it and making up for it every day." I put my hands on her shoulders and gave her my sternest look. She nodded her head, taking a breath that caught in her throat and yet again I was left feeling like I had five years ago, but in a totally different place. At least now I could see what my actions had done to her, and try to never, ever fall back into that hole again.
"So now I've got some spare time up my sleeve until Dad gets home. Just how many naked baby photos have you found this time and how fast can those little old lady feet move to stop me from getting rid of them?" I teased, walking slowly backward around Mom and heading back to the family room.
She giggled, "Jasper, you lay one hand on those photographs and I'll make sure that pecan pie stays right here and the batch of oatmeal cookies I had wrapped ready to drop at your office will stay in the cupboard!" Mom moved toward me and I laughed, and started halfheartedly jogging, happy to put a smile on her face even if it came with a threat of taking away my favorite foods.
~**~ ~**~
I'd spent the rest of the afternoon with Mom, using those weird pinking shears, getting tape and glitter all over myself as she forced me to help create page upon page of "cute baby Jasper memories". For someone who was never that into crafts, I had no idea where this scrapbooking obsession came from. If I had to pick one reason, it would have to be Rose.
When she'd had little Henry two years ago she'd started plying me and my parents with baby photos. After Mom went down to Tennessee to stay with Rose and Emmett for a few weeks, she'd returned with this new intent to capture every moment of our past in colored ribbon and button finery. Em's Mom and sisters were really into it, and seeing as my Mom had to stay with them as Em and Rose only had a two bedroom apartment, I daresay that's where the craft bug bit her.
I'd waited till five and Dad still wasn't back, he'd rung and told Mom he wouldn't be home for dinner so being the good southern son that I was, I took my Momma out on a early dinner date. Who'd have thought taking someone out other than a woman I had an interest in getting into my bed would actually be fun? We took Mom's gold Jaguar XK and headed to this little place I'd heard a lot about, Art at The Table. I managed to get a table with short notice and we sat down after having a few martinis. It was nice spending time with just Mom. I hadn't done that in awhile and the banter and laughs flowed easily as I ate my Lobster Mushroom Pizza and Mom tucked into the Halibut and Roasted Eggplant.
I drove her back to the house and didn't go inside to speak to Dad, even though he was home. My issues with Bella were far from the front of my mind and could be dealt with another time. Not now when I was actually feeling good for the first time in days, weeks even.
The next few days passed with me not so constantly checking my phone and messages for anyone in particular. I did an oil change on my bike. I took a trip to Target and bought a few knick knacks for my house that I really didn't need, but succumbed to like anyone that walks into the death trap that is that store, finding myself walking out with things I hadn't even gone in there for.
By Friday, I felt almost back to normal. I figured that Edward would be home this weekend, Bella wouldn't able to stop me from getting in touch with him and then we could work something out for the following week. I went for a run in the afternoon after a long session of yoga with Louise and promised to come over later for a jamming session with Jack and the boys now that they were home from touring for a week.
I'd just pulled my clothes off and started the shower, keen to wash the sweat and grime from my body when I heard the phone downstairs. I pulled back on my sweats and my old college ball shirt and managed to grab the cordless on the fifth ring. My heart raced for another reason apart from the physical action of making it down the stairs in under a minute. No one else rang me this late, not on the house phone anyway.
"Bella?" I asked out of breath, hoping she'd finally decided to talk to me again.
"Jasper?"
I sighed, not Bella.
"Hey, Alice. To what do I owe the pleasure of hearing your voice so soon?" I wandered over to the French doors, pulling one open and stepping outside into the cool night. The sky was clear for a change and the stars twinkled brightly in there ebony background.
"What, can't a girl just ring to check on her friend? A close friend at that?" I could almost picture her winding one of the short pieces of black hair at the side of her face around her finger. That move never failed to have me groaning and bending her over the nearest surface whenever she was near. She was too damn cute for her own good.
I chuckled, "Yes, I suppose you can. But you don't, usually. I saw you what, a few weeks ago? Didn't I satisfy all your needs then, my little pixie?" I teased in return, two could play at the flirting over the phone game.
"Over a month ago, Jazzy and yes, you certainly did scratch all my itches. I'm not calling about that. I just, I had a feeling you might need me, and you know me and my feelings. So here I am, calling from, oh hold on I need to look out the window." She paused and I walked over to swing chair I had setup out of the weather. I listened to the sounds of what I gathered were curtains moving and then busy street noises filled my ears.
"I think, I think I'm in Dubai. I could be wrong. I've been flying in and out of places for the last four days so often, I don't know whether I'm coming or going."
"I hope they're looking after you, Ali, and that you're looking after yourself. Can't have my favorite girl breaking down in some place she doesn't know. How would I come rescue you?" I teased, lifting my feet up onto the bench, pushing off from the ground so the chair started rocking slowly, almost soothingly.
Her tinkling laughter echoed down the phone line, "Your favorite girl, huh? So why did you call me Bella when you answered, then?"
Fuck. Shit. I was kind of hoping she wouldn't pick up on that.
I cleared my throat, trying to quickly think of a cover story.
"Um, oh. You see," I stuttered.
"It's okay, Jasper. It's all part of our arrangement. You see who you want to see and I see who I want to see and if we can, when we can, we help each other out. It was the way you answered that had me a little worried."
"Oh."
"Don't worry about it, Jazz. How are you doing anyway? I feel like we haven't touched base in forever!" I was ever so grateful for the subject change, but still none too sure on how to answer this question either.
I'm fine but I'm semi obsessing over one of my patients in whom I see so many parallels to my own fucked up past that I just want to wrap her in my arms until she's whole?
Or…
I recently spent an afternoon doing the girliest thing imaginable and I'm officially back into the Momma's Boy books with the amount of glue and glitter I inhaled while doing so?
"I'm good. Everything's great here. The house is good, I'm thinking of getting someone in to re-polish the floors and maybe take a look at retiling the bathroom upstairs but, yeah, I'm good."
GREAT job at covering there Jasper. *insert the slow clapping*
Jeez, even my inner monologue is failing me right now.
"Good, huh?" I could virtually hear the eye roll in her words. That and the look, the look I so vividly remembered from when I had previously refused to talk about things in my life that were a jumble. The look that actually had me opening up when I never was able or wanted to.
"Yes, can't a guy just be 'good'? Would you prefer fine, great, fantastic, extraordinary?" I found myself biting back which really wasn't a good idea with how tenacious she could be given just an inch of information to play with.
I got up off the swing and headed indoors, the night chill having found its way through the thin cotton of my clothing. The silence between us was a becoming uncomfortable as I walked into the kitchen and pulled out an oatmeal cookie from the jar Mom had given me. I'd just taken a bite when Alice started speaking again, softly.
"So, how are you really, Jazzy?"
I stayed silent. Looking at nothing in particular, yet my eyes were still searching for something. My free hand ran through my curls, getting tangled in the sweaty mess my late afternoon run had left.
"Jazz. Is it all getting too much for you? Is it making you want-"
"No!" I cut her off. "No, never. I'm done with that. I'll never go back. I couldn't do that Ali. Not to me, not to you, not to all the people I care about." Jesus, did she really think it was this bad? Was I reacting in a way that would make her think I'd want to revisit that part of my life?
"Good. I mean, I hated to ask that Jasper but I wouldn't be me if I didn't ask. And I'd expect the same from you, you know. If the tables were turned." She sighed in what was most likely relief.
"I know. Thanks, Ali. You mean the world to me, and just the fact that you asked is enough."
We were both quiet for a moment, the worry behind the words we'd spoken hanging heavily in the air.
"So, what are you going to do?" she asked, timidly.
"I don't know. I really..."
Bzzz... bzzz...
"Um hold on babe, that's the door. Probably the pizza I ordered."
My bare feet made little noise as I padded across the wooden floor. I grabbed my wallet off the side table and opened the door, already pulling the money out with one hand and tucking the phone under my right ear.
"Hi."
Definitely not the pizza.
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