Title: Merry and Bright

Summary: This Christmas, everything would be washed in light and bright. Everything on the outside would glitter until she could remember how to shine for herself.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Pairing: Edward/Bella

Rating: T

Author's Note: I've been away for awhile. I'm sorry. (I haven't abandoned the Broomstick Train, but it's been a rough 2017. For a lot of people I know. Here's to hoping 2018 is better.) This isn't betaed. I checked for errors, but it's more than likely I've missed a bunch. Sorry!

I've been watching too much of the Hallmark Channel. So there's this. Merry Christmas! Happy Hanukkah! Happy Kwanzaa! Or just a general, I hope life is wonderful for you this December. A very happy holiday season to you and yours.

It was cold and the air sparkled and twinkled around them. They held hands and watched as the fireworks exploded. The beginning of a new year, the best year to come. The silence crackled and sizzled. It was a roar when they kissed and wished each other a happy new year.

It was hot and the heat from the car door radiated against her back. The truck's bed was loaded with boxes and the chair she couldn't leave behind. Everything else was staying. Bella Cullen didn't want it. The silence was tense now. It throbbed like a sore tooth as she juggled her keys and looked down the street, not at him, not at their apartment.

The divorce papers were signed. She trusted him to send them in. He was the one who asked for the divorce after all, the one who spoke up and said what they were both wondering anyway. But she wouldn't have asked, would have stayed silent forever if it meant she could have clung to that long ago January dream in July.

She opened her car door and he cleared his throat. Glancing over her shoulder, she raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to speak.

"So this is it?" Edward asked.

"Yep," she said.

"You don't want anything else?"

Oh, but she did, she thought. She wanted the Sunday mornings when it rained and the scent of coffee filled their apartment. She wanted the late nights when they whispered in the dark and watched the moonlight slide across the floor. She wanted the pets he promised; the stuffed animal he gave her when their schedules were too busy to keep a real one alive. It was sitting on the chair in their, now his, bedroom, under his clothes, its stupid doggy face grinning at the place where she wasn't anymore. Instead, she said, "No, I'm good. If you find any clothes, you can just ship them."

"You're really going back to your dad's?"

She shook her hair back from her face and looked down the road again and then back at him. "Yeah."

"But there's nothing there," he protested.

She raised an eyebrow and eased a hip onto her car's seat. "Well, I can't afford to stay here and there's not much to hold me here. So, yeah, I'm going home."

He flinched and she felt badly for a second. He had offered her alimony, but even with it, her job as a substitute teacher wouldn't get her far in this market. Anyway, it was time. There was a job and her dad waiting for her. At that moment, as the July sun shined lemon yellow and the car exhaust and the city smells baked in it, she thought of the trees and the mountains, her dad and the rivers, the sound of the water as it rushed over the rocks. She slid her other hip on the seat and pressed her foot against the brake pedal. She pulled the door shut and leaned her on the steering wheel. "Well," she said.

He nodded. "Yeah."

She nodded, too. "See ya, I guess." She waved and started the engine. She was gone almost before he finished saying good-bye. In her rearview mirror, she watched him walk back into the apartment. He didn't watch her drive away. She focused on the road before her. The endless black line bringing her back home.

The air was cold and damp. Her nose tingled as she wrapped a strand of lights around a tree branch in her father's yard. Over, under, around, around, around. A trail of white lights followed her as she ducked and bobbed around the branches. It wasn't the winter wonderland she'd pictured, but it was getting there. And this year, getting there was what mattered the most to her.

She stood up straight and surveyed her work, wiping her nose with a tissue. The air tasted like snow and she smiled at the thought of it. If she tried hard enough, she could almost feel that spark that preceded the magic she used to feel. It was an ember now, but maybe, if she smiled enough, baked enough, she'd remember how to fan it. Picking up the strands of lights, she got back to work.

Sometimes, when Bella thought about it, which did every time she saw a sweater she didn't buy him or a thing in the grocery store that she used to get but didn't like to eat, she had to remind herself that they were both to blame. His hours were long; his job was stressful. But then she remembered that she didn't say anything to him about how lonely she felt. Or about anything at all after awhile. Sure, a pet would have been more work, but she had been a substitute teacher, she could have taken care of it. And on the days she didn't want to watch football, she could have told him about a local fair she saw, but she didn't. When he pulled away, she disappeared. She had to remind herself: it was both of them.

And then, some days like the day she wrapped presents and none of them were for him, she had to remind herself that it might have been both their faults, but it was her sole responsibility to make herself reappear. She put on holiday music, curled ribbons, and stuck bows on packages. She rearranged the ornaments on the Christmas tree and lay beneath its branches to look at the lights. She snapped a photo and posted it to Instagram and captioned it "Christmas magic.' Hoping that this year, the magic would make her better. That it would do what time, so far, had not.

Christmas balls hung from silky ribbons over the bar and garlands framed the windows. She stepped inside, letting the warmth wash over her as she stomped the snow from her shoes. She scanned the room, looking for the table of her friends and trying to avoid the eyes of the people who were not her friends. Her group, her island of best friends since her high school days, was in the corner near the window and they greeted her loudly when she sat down.

Immediately presents appeared in front of her and she sorted through her bag, checking name tags before plopping gifts down in front of her friends. They gathered the paper scraps and oohed and ahhed over each other's newest treasures. A new makeup palette, a magazine subscription, a delicate pair of earrings that glittered in the flickering candlelight from the table. She smiled over a picture of the four of them and playfully grabbed at a stationary set that Alice got.

Around them, the people in the restaurant hummed and laughed and silverware and glasses clinked. Christmas standards played softly in the background. Every once in awhile, cold air rushed into the room as someone entered. It tickled the back of her neck, sending shivers down her spine as the door shut softly behind each new patron.

Over a second glass of wine, which hit her hard enough to know she needed to call an Uber, Rosalie asked her how she was holding up. "The holidays and all."

Bella shrugged. "I'm okay." And she meant it. She was okay, not great, not good, but okay. "It's been a little rocky but I'm getting there."

Angie patted her hand. "You're so strong," she cooed, clearly feeling her second glass of wine, too.

Bella raised an eyebrow. "Strong or emotionally dead inside?" she asked on a half-laugh.

"But what happened there?" Alice scrunched her eyebrows. "I mean, I know, because you texted all of us, but what happened?"

"I don't know." She trailed her finger around the rim of her wineglass and shrugged again. "I just – we just." She paused. "It's like we ghosted on each other while still living together."

Rosalie frowned. "It must have been more than that?"

"I don't think so." She took a sip of wine. "I honestly didn't realize how unhappy I was until the day he told me he wanted a divorce. And the suddenly, it was all I could see. I spent the first month back here realizing I'd barely breathed the last six months for fear of ruining everything. Anyway, it's getting better. I'm getting better."

She turned her attention to Angie. "Enough of me. How are things with the new guy? Coffee Shop Guy?"

Angie smiled and chattered on about her second date. Her third date was already on the calendar and she wondered if she needed to buy him a present. They tossed ideas about for an impersonal personal gift, laughing as the suggestions got more and more ridiculous.

She was still laughing when she hugged them good-bye and stumble-climbed into the backseat of the Uber driver's car. She was smiling when she got home and the first snowflakes began to fall. She was crying when she saw the goofy-grinning stuffed dog sitting on the porch, a red ribbon tied around its neck. And a note apologizing for how long it took him to come home pinned on its chest.

A cold front swept in that night. The windows rattled and the wind shrieked through cracks and crevices. She slept soundly, her face pressed into the furry neck of the stuffed dog.

A snowball hit her window in the morning. She woke at the heavy thud and saw the snow sliding down the glass. Rubbing her eyes, she pushed the covers back and wandered over to the window, expecting to see the neighbor's kids in her yard. She'd been the victim of their bad aim before.

Edward was standing in her yard, testing the weight of a new snowball in his hand. He bent down to scoop up more snow and packed the snowball a little more.

"You'll break the window if you throw that," she called out as she pushed the window open. "Or my nose," she added, just in case he was tempted to throw it anyway.

"It's a cute nose. I wouldn't want to risk it," he said, putting the snowball down and backing away from it with his arms over his head. "I'm unarmed."

She smiled in spite of herself. "What do you want? And why couldn't you knock?"

"To talk and because it wasn't as fun." He nodded at the snow-covered lawn. "Come take a walk?"

She looked out over the yard and down at him. His nose and ears were turning red in the cold and snow dusted his dark jacket. She remembered all the times in high school when she did just that, throwing on the clothes closest to her hands, not wanting to waste a second with the boy who picked her out of everyone else in the whole world. She nodded now. "Give me a second to change," she told the man who was standing in her yard when he could be standing anywhere else in the whole world. She grabbed clothes and ran to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

There were still snowflakes in the air as they walked down her street to the little park at the end of it. The flakes drifted around them before settling in her hair and his. He handed her a cup of coffee that he'd had in his car, light and sweet, to take the edge off the cold. He sipped his as they strolled in silence to a picnic table.

"Bella," he said. He was always the first to speak and she wondered, now, if he resented it or if he couldn't stand the silence.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry," he told her. "For a lot of things."

She blinked at him. "Me too," she said slowly. "For a lot of things, too." She bit her lip. "I'm also sorry for always making you talk first."

"You don't?" he said, his voice rising at the end to make it sound like a question.

"I do," she disagreed. "It was always on you to speak up. Heck, I even made you ask for the divorce. I was a big chicken."

"You weren't." He sighed. "I was just as big of a coward." He brushed the snow off a bench and they sat down, facing the playground, quiet and still in the early morning snow.

"What happened?" she asked, echoing Alice's question.

"I saw you last night," he blurted out. "At the restaurant with your friends."

"You were there? I didn't see you." She frowned. "Why didn't I see you?"

"I didn't come in. I was walking by to meet up with my brother and his friends. But I saw you through the window. You looked good. You looked happy."

"I'm not." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "I'm getting better, though."

"That's good. I'm glad for you."

"Are you happy?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Not yet, I don't think."

"Why not? Is work okay?"

"Work is the only thing that is okay."

"Well, what else happened?" she asked.

"Well," he drawled the word out. "I just got divorced, so that sucked."

She smiled a little. "I know. I was there."

"Why didn't you take the dog?"

"Waffles?"

"I'm not hungry, but thanks."

"No, I mean, I named the dog Waffles." She shrugged. "I don't know." She took a long drink of her coffee. "I think I didn't want the reminder of everything. Not like it was a bad memory but it reminded me of how badly I failed at something I wanted to be so good at."

"I didn't realize you'd left him. He was buried under clothes and when I finally dug him out," he smiled sheepishly, "I was really angry that you'd left him."

She nodded. "I guess I get that." She stood up and brushed off her jeans. "I'm getting cold."

"I'll walk you home."

"When do you head back?" she asked.

"When I'm finished here, I guess," he answered vaguely. "Through the holidays."

"Your parents must be thrilled."

"They are."

Their gloved hands bumped and she pulled hers away. He grabbed it and looped it around his elbow. They walked back in silence, quiet and soft, as the snow fell around them, quiet and soft.

Monday was the last day of school before the holiday break. She questioned the wisdom of the school board's decisions and played movies all day long. The kids were bouncy and noisy, but she made no effort to quiet them. She was just as anxious for the break.

After lunch, the children's excitement hovered near riotous and she wished she could give them an earlier early dismissal. She reached into her desk to search for ibuprofen and pulled out a candy cane with antlers and googly eyes. Frowning, she flipped open the card tied around its neck and saw familiar handwriting. "A present for the teacher. To make her smile."

Her lower lip trembled. Pulling out her phone, she texted a number she hadn't used since the summer. "Thank you."

His reply was quick. "You're welcome."

It wasn't much, but it was more than there had been. She stared at the reindeer candy cane and smiled.

His mother was in the grocery store when school let out. Bella contemplated skipping the store when she saw Esme's car in the parking lot but decided she could be an adult.

Aisle after aisle, she pushed the shopping cart through the store, half-dreading, half-wanting. When she finally saw her former mother-in-law, her nerves were frayed and tingling.

"Bella!" Esme exclaimed. "How are you?"

"Esme, hi. I'm good. How are you?"

Esme smiled. "All my chicks, well, almost all, are back in the nest and it's the holidays. It's so very close to perfect."

"I saw Edward," Bella confessed.

"I know." Esme's smile grew. She patted Bella's hand. "Hopefully I'll see you again before Christmas?"

"Christmas?"

Esme patted Bella's hand, then pulled her in for a hug. "You've been family since you were fifteen years old. This is a bump, not a fork in the road."

Bella blinked. "But we got divorced."

"Bump," Esme repeated. "Not a fork."

At home, she pulled the candy cane out of her purse and stared at it. Its googly eyes stared back at her. She bopped the poufy red nose before hanging it on the Christmas tree.

Sitting on the couch, she rested her chin on her knees and watched the outside world. She remembered the days before the divorce when the person she wanted to see most had become the owner of the footsteps she dreaded hearing at the end of the day. When the quiet of one person in the room became the silence of two people who didn't know how to break it. She was shocked to realize that she had been waiting to hear his boots on her porch and that she was disappointed when she didn't.

It was cookie baking day. The windows were fogged from the heat of the oven and the kitchen smelled like vanilla and sugar and the holidays. Her hands were coated in frosting as she piped the last of it onto the last bare cookie. Surveying the array of cutout cookies, she put her hands on her hips and considered. He always spoke first, she reminded herself. Be brave.

The cookie tin had a bright red bow, not unlike the ribbon around Waffles' neck and a simple note. "For you. Because." She left it on the porch when no one answered her knock.

He sent her a picture of the empty tin and a frowning face. She laughed as a video of him shaking the empty container came through next. "Thank you," he texted.

She sent him a smiley face emoji. Packing up the rest of the cookies, she hummed under her breath, smiling the whole time.

She ticked off the last person on her gift list and rewarded herself with coffee and a cookie. She sat in the coffee shop and watched the people around her. Like her, they were burdened down with packages and shopping bags. Some looked happy, others looked stressed, and she wondered how she looked to them.

Her phone beeped and a text appeared on the screen. Pressing the home button, she answered his text with her location. His reply was immediate. "Great. Need coffee. See you in a minute." She quickly rearranged her bags so the one with his present in it couldn't be seen.

If she'd asked the woman next to her how she looked at that moment, the woman would have said, "Happy."

Coffee stretched into dinner. The sky was clear and the stars were high in the sky when he walked her to her car. She opened the door and deposited the bags in the cab of the truck. "Thank you for dinner." She brushed a strand of hair off her face. He reached up to help her, his thumb grazing over her cheek bone.

Be brave, she told herself. Reaching up, she kissed his cheek before dropping back on her heels.

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her gently on the lips.

She smiled up at him when he pulled away. "I was half-afraid," she confessed. She stopped and bit her lip, unsure if she should continue. If would it ruin the delicate happiness of the evening.

"Half-afraid of what?"

She hitched a shoulder. "That when I saw you, or maybe your mom, I'd hear about how you were dating some wonderful woman. I'd have to listen to stories about great she was and how what happened between us was sad but also for the best."

"What happened to us?" he asked this time.

"It's kind of late and really cold to have this talk now."

"Yeah," he agreed, but pressed on. "What happened?"

"I don't know. I could ask you the same thing. It wasn't just me, you know." Tired, angry tears pressed against the back of her eyes. "God, I'm tired." She wiped at her eyes with mitten-covered hands.

"Hey," he said. "I know that. I know I was to blame too. I could see you were unhappy. I felt guilty and I worked harder so I wouldn't have to see it."

"No," she disagreed, looking down at her feet. "I was too afraid to say anything. Afraid you'd leave. So I didn't and we both left. But I'm trying. I'm trying to be brave." She glanced up at him.

"You are." He ran a hand through his hair. "You left before I said the words. You just… You were there and you did everything to make me happy, but you were gone. The thing that made me happiest was you. And I made you so unhappy that you just went away."

She sniffled. The cold and the conversation made her nose run and she patted her pockets for a tissue. "I missed you," she said. "Back when we were married and now that we aren't."

"Me too." He smiled a little. "Hey, Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"I met this amazing woman. One day, I hope she loves me as much as I love her."

She hugged him tightly, nuzzling her face in his neck. "Always."

Outside, the wind howled at the corners of the house. It shook snow from the branches and made the outdoor decorations spin madly in its wake. She sat on the couch and listened to the bluster, her hands wrapped around a warm mug. "I missed this," she murmured, as she watched the flames in the fireplace snap and pop. A log cracked and sent a shower of sparks up the chimney.

"What?" he asked. He was lying on the couch, his head on her lap. Her dad had grunted when he saw them, but hugged Edward before heading up the stairs to bed.

"You. The quiet when things were good and I just had you." She twirled a lock of his hair around her finger.

"Hmm," he agreed on hum. He bussed her palm and closed his eyes. She gazed at the tree as its ornaments caught the light from the fireplace. Everything sparkled. Everything shined. And in the quiet, the ember inside her twinkled and chimed.

The End

Happy everything to all of you!