Calls for Christmas

Chapter Four

One Year Later/Christmas Eve

I had cut down a live tree this year, so that if Edward asked I could tell him. I doubted I could stand that bitter sorrow he had expressed last year a second time. I needed him to be happy, because his happiness constituted my own joy. It was almost ironic how he could still influence me from the other side of the country. New York City seemed a world away from my own tiny residence in Forks, but he still seemed capable of reaching out across space and time to pull at the strings of my heart.

“Edward,” I whimpered sadly without bothering to stop the onslaught of pain that enveloped me. I had given myself up to the misery this year. A small part of me rationalized that it was still only on Christmas Eve, but in reality I simply didn’t care anymore. My yearning for Edward had become an unbearable, physical ache, and after a year of shoving it down, I had to give myself up to the agony.

I shivered from my spot on the sofa and curled my body closer in on itself. It was below zero degrees outside and my heater was broken. Presently I was wrapped up in two thick afghans, but even they didn’t suffice. To add to my oh so joyous night, I’d angrily slammed my fist into the wall next to the thermostat when I made the unfortunate ‘no heat’ discovery. Now my fingers were bruised and aching.

All it did was tear my heart up a little more as I imagined Edward’s amused chuckle if he’d seen me do it.

Is this what it had come to then? My pathetic excuse for a life centered around a single day of the year, and I clung to the hope of Edward’s voice with boundless anticipation, bordering on obsession. I knew it was dangerous, but I couldn’t bring myself to let go of the last small part of him that belonged to me.

I began to meander reverently through the copy of Romeo and Juliet in my lap, careful not to twist my bruised fist. It had a worn cover and several pages were doggy-eared; it was well loved. I slowly opened to the very first page in the book, knowing exactly what I would find. Brushing my eyelids to prevent tears, I read the inscription: