sheisourheart: (A Mother's Work.....)
[personal profile] sheisourheart
The first two weeks is all about watching and waiting.

Esme was grateful to Emmett who continued to make everyone laugh, telling jokes and making faces and general keeping the newest place full of merriment, tense but still true. His concern was nonchalant, he knew everything would be fine shortly, and it showed in his antics, and she was grateful for the seconds he'd allow her to caress his cheek thankfully for not letting any of them fall into being too morose.

Rosalie didn't bear too much watching. She was annoyed and bitingly sarcastic, but it was her way. Esme would have been more concerned if she was serene or broken up over any of this. That she asked if anyone had heard from Alice and Jasper even once in each day was a tell tale enough.

Rosalie's irritation didn't lend to the same need with Edward.
The normalcy of her world had been reestablished by this change.
The undoing of every action which ever put her world in danger unmade.

It wasn't ever that simple with her though. Esme was lucky for the seconds she could hold Rosalie's shoulder at times. Rosalie was no one's pet, or to pet. She never would be again. But if Esme caught Rosalie staring too long at her phone cover or the new piano in the corner of the living room. As though her uncanny, cold gaze could procure her siblings to her. Put everything right without words or actions.

It was enough. It had to be. Because everything was waiting now.
Rosalie hadn't been the one to know much waiting after her first years.





They were waiting for Alice to call.

When she could, to update them about how they were doing. Watching the phone calls, listening to how the house pauses collectively when anyone asks if they can speak to Jasper to. And even if it's rare, the cushioned sense like a breath finally releasing when the whisper of his voice, even cushioned by electronics and thousands of miles, whispers words across their new house.



They were waiting for Edward to arrive.

Who answered no one's calls and messages as much as hers or Carlisle's, and even those were starting to become less than every time now. Who refused to let anyone talk about what he'd decided or how he was dealing with besides fine. Or exactly when he would appear in Ithaca.





And Carlisle.

Carlisle who waited in predicate pause most of all. A thing the children hadn't yet begun to notice, but she saw it. In the way he would look out a window. Or put off choosing a new hospital for now. Or the way, when she appeared behind him when he was reading and kissed his hair, he tilted his head against her throat and shoulder, the way his fingers curled into hers over his shoulder.


The whinging of ice in every longer silent pause.
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sheisourheart

February 2011

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