Place and Time

A/N: Sorry I went missing. We had some upsets. We had to put down our dear old doggy, and I didn't feel like writing. Then I burned my hand badly and couldn't write. We moved our son back to SoCal, and I got too busy to write. Then Hubby's health concerns flared, and I was too distracted to write. Now he's okay, and we're taking off on a road trip to see our daughter in Seattle. Since she's part-inspiration for this fic, I couldn't not write. So here I am. :)

C-4: Online and Afield

I'm up early Thursday morning, having breakfast with Dad before he leaves for work. If he's going to ply me with bacon and eggs so I'll spend more time with him, I'm not putting up a fight. I've missed him too.

Once he's out the door with Rose's wedding RSVP in hand, I make quick work of the dishes, and head back upstairs. After a quick shower, I get dressed for the day and settle in with my laptop to start my apartment hunt.

Like Dad suggested, I'm searching listings in central Seattle since I don't know where I'll find a job. I don't want to be stuck in traffic on the I-5 every day, commuting from one end of the Seattle sprawl to the other for work, but half that distance would be manageable.

Apartments in and near downtown are more expensive than I'd expected, and I consider downgrading my search to cheaper studio apartments. But after looking at photos of several, I scratch that idea. I really want a place with multiple rooms, not a cramped room serving multiple functions. Thankfully, I've stockpiled a decent savings until a regular income kicks in, and I have Dad's neighbor, Mrs. Cope, to thank for much of that.

Shelly Cope has been the office manager at Forks Medical Center for as long as I can remember. In the summer after my sophomore year of high school, the medical center was in the process of going paperless, switching to a new computerized system. All prior patient medical records had to be scanned into the system, which wasn't difficult, but was very time-consuming. The doctors and staff were swamped, implementing and learning the new system while keeping up with regular duties and patient visits. So when Shelly asked if I was interested in a part-time job, helping to scan medical records into the computer, I said yes.

When I graduated from high school two years later, everything had long since been updated in the computer, but Shelly had kept me on, pitching in after school with routine medical office clerical work. The staff was like family to me by then, and when I had to quit to move to Phoenix for college, they threw me a goodbye party. They sent me off with cards and a few small gifts, and Shelly gave me a glowing letter of recommendation. That letter helped me get a similar job at Southwest Medical Center in Phoenix, where I continued working right up until my internship.

I guess you could say I'm unintentionally thrifty, because I've managed to save most of what I've earned. I've never been much of a shopper and living with Mom and Phil while attending ASU, I had few expenses. Now, I have my own money to use on my own place and buy my own things to furnish it. Which is kind of exciting.

But first, I have to find my own place, so onward with the apartment search…

*O*

By the time Dad comes home from work, I'm nearly cross-eyed from staring at the computer all day. Over a dinner of leftover spaghetti, salad, and garlic bread, I give him the rundown of my online hunting expedition.

"I found fifteen apartments for us to check out this weekend. Most are in or near downtown between Pioneer Park and Pike Place Market or up in First Hill, closer to the freeway."

"They have parking?" Dad asks around a bite of salad.

I nod. "Guaranteed and secure," I quote from what I read online.

"Good. I'll sleep better at night. How's the rent?"

"They're kind of pricey in those areas. The cheapest was $1,500 a month for a studio, but prices went up to over $2,500 for a one-bedroom. Parking is another $200 to $300 on top of that."

Dad's forkful of spaghetti has stalled out halfway to his open mouth. His thick eyebrows pull together in a frown as he sets his fork down.

"You going to be able to afford that, Bells?"

"If I get a full-time position. But if that takes a while, or if I wind up having to take a part-time position temporarily, I've got my savings to fall back on."

His frown deepens. "I don't want you using up your savings."

"I don't either, Dad. And I won't. If worse comes to worst, I'll find medical office work again. Or I could branch out to coffee shops—they're on every corner in Seattle, right?"

"So it seems." He rolls his eyes. He can't abide what he refers to as five-dollar-whoop-dee-doo coffee. "But don't sell yourself short, kiddo. You're smart, and I'm sure you'll find the right job pretty quick. Anywhere you apply would be lucky to have you."

"You have to say that—you're my father."

"No, I mean it. They'll see your records and know you're a hard worker."

I smile, hoping he's right.

*O*

On Friday, I'm holed up in my room once again. I've updated my resume, organized my letters of recommendation, and started combing through job listings. Now I'm beginning to fill out applications online but I won't send them off until I have a Seattle address to accompany them.

In the middle of my umpteenth application, I hear Dad calling me. I wonder what he's doing home, until I notice the time. It's already after five freaking o'clock!

Stiff from sitting so long, I get up, stretch, and almost trip on my way to the hall. I feel lightheaded and suddenly starving. I didn't eat lunch, nor have I given a single thought to dinner.

"I'm up here, Dad!" I call out as I head downstairs. "I didn't realize it was so late. I spent the day working on job applications and completely lost track of time."

He looks up and smiles as he sets the mail on the counter. "You hungry, kiddo? I was thinking we could go to Pacific Pizza or call in an order to Home Slice Take 'n Bake. Either one sound good?"

"A Home Slice pizza sounds awesome."

"What do you want on it?"

"The usual. Everything but anchovy."

"That's my girl. I'll call it in and get changed to go pick it up."

"Okay. I'll make a salad, set the table, and heat up the oven."

"Like a well-oiled machine," Dad observes, already punching Home Slice's number into his cell from memory. "Tonight, we need to figure out a plan of attack for Seattle tomorrow," he tells me as he puts the phone to his ear. "I'd like to get an early start."

"Yeah, sure."

He nods as he starts speaking into the phone, placing our order.

*O*

The weekend in Seattle is hectic. Our apartment hunt begins with a couple places in the industrial district. From there, we drive into downtown, have lunch at Pike Place, and then check out a few apartments nearby. Afterwards, we drive to see a few others near Pioneer Park and a bit farther north.

In each building, we are given a tour of the amenities before being shown the actual apartments for rent. We see common rooms which can be reserved for parties, like big kitchens and dining areas, and movie and sports event viewing rooms with large TVs. Some buildings include gyms and a few have roof-top decks.

While Dad asks the leasing agent questions about security and costs, I jot down notes on printouts I made at home home and take photos or videos of the actual apartments.

By late-afternoon, we're dragging, and my head is swimming with all I've seen. I spot a coffee shop on the corner and suggest we grab a cup. Dad is agreeable—as long as he can have "normal" coffee. Over a drip coffee for him and a latte for me, we take inventory of the eight apartments we've checked out so far.

The two cheapest apartments were in areas that Dad deems too seedy, and I'm in agreement when he nixes them. The next building looked right into CenturyLink Field, and though Dad's eyes lit up at the prospect of watching the Seahawks play from my potential living room, the available units were overly pricey, so that's a no-go. Two apartment buildings near the University of Washington appeared to be meccas for college students, and I don't want to feel like I'm living in a dorm at this point. The remaining three apartments were my best bets, but they all had drawbacks. One had a nice view but very little closet or kitchen storage space. The other two had more storage space but looked directly into the windows of buildings opposite them, and I don't want to feel like I'm living in a fishbowl or looking into one.

"I'm getting discouraged," I tell Dad. "Maybe I'm being too picky."

"No, you're not, Bells. You just haven't found the right place. But we still have more to see, and we can always expand the search tomorrow before heading home, if necessary. Looks like there's a lot out there."

"Yeah, you're right." We've seen numerous signs on street corners for nearby apartment buildings with available units to rent.

Dad looks at his watch. "We've got time for a couple more before the leasing offices close for the day. Where to next?"

I shuffle through my remaining printouts. "Up to First Hill."

First Hill is a quiet mix of tall residential buildings, medical buildings, and hospitals on tree-lined streets. Apartment building number nine has all the ambience of a cell block, so Dad and I quickly move on to building number ten—another tall building that's right next to a park.

The leasing agent who greets us is a tall young woman, probably around my own age. She wants to show us the amenities first—just like every other agent we've met with today—and Dad sighs audibly. He's over the amenities tours, like I am. They're a nice added bonus, but I won't be living in the amenities.

"If it's okay, Angela, we'd really like to see the apartments first," Dad says.

"Sure. We can do that first if you'd prefer," she says brightly. Pressing the call button at the elevator bank, she gives us a warm, understanding smile. "I get the feeling it's been a long day."

"It has," I answer, and there's something about her friendly demeanor that invites me to explain. "We drove four hours to get to here from the Olympic Peninsula this morning and have been pounding the pavement ever since. We're already seen nine other apartments, but nothing has quite hit the mark."

"Apartment hunts can really be overwhelming," she says as she motions us into the elevator. "Why don't you tell me what you did and didn't like in the apartments you've seen so far?"

She presses the button for the sixteenth floor, and as we ascend, I give her a quick rundown.

When the doors open, she gestures for us to follow her. "The good thing is, you now know exactly what you want. And the great thing is…" Her dark eyes twinkle through her retro glasses as she looks back at me. "I think we might have just what you're looking for. I can show you three different models, but I think this one might be the best match, based on your preferences." She stops to unlock a door and waves us inside.

The apartment is bright and airy. The kitchen, just off to the left, is small but has plenty of drawers and cupboards. A wide pillar between the kitchen and living room conceals ductwork, Angela explains, but opening a door on the kitchen side of the pillar, she shows me a narrow pantry also housed in the pillar.

"What a smart idea," I tell her.

"Isn't it? It's obviously for food storage, but I keep small kitchen appliances in mine."

"So you live here in the building?" I ask.

She nods, smiling. "I do. Same floorplan. I just love it here at The Elysian," she enthuses. "I've worked here for five months but just moved in two months ago. The short commute to work is awesome." I laugh at her comment and she grins back at me.

As we continue on, Dad asks Angela a few questions while I begin exploring, jotting down notes, and taking photos.

The living room has a sweeping, unobstructed view of the city and enough space for separate sitting and dining areas. The bedroom has the same great view and surprisingly, a glass door to a balcony overlooking the park next door. The balcony is tiny—barely big enough for a chair and small side table—but it's the only one we've seen today. A walk-in closet is another nice surprise. The bathroom, just opposite the bedroom, has a full-sized bathtub, and again, everything looks new. Opening a closet next to the bathroom, I find a stacked washer and dryer.

"This place has everything!" I tell Angela.

"I had a feeling you'd think so," she laughs.

As we head back out to the living room, I give Dad a look that says, this is perfect, and I want it. Judging by his responding expression, he's already figured that much out.

Checking his watch, he asks, "Do we still have time to tour the amenities, Angela?"

"Of course!"

On the way up in the elevator, she mentions that the residents are mostly young professionals, both singles and couples. "The Elysian also offers monthly mixers for its residents," she adds. "It's a great opportunity to meet and socialize and get to know your neighbors."

"That's a nice plus," I tell her.

On the thirtieth floor, she shows us a variety of common rooms: sitting areas, some with gas fireplaces, a mini movie theater, a large kitchen and dining area roomy enough to seat twelve. There's even a gym with an expansive view to the southeast and Mount Rainier in the distance. Outside, a rooftop deck has barbecue grills and seating areas partitioned off from one another with planters of flowers, grasses, and bushes. The views are incredible in all directions. I think we're higher than the Space Needle.

There's not a single thing I don't love about this place. Even though the monthly rent is near the upper end of my price range, I know I want to live here, and I tell Dad and Angela as much.

By the time we head back down to the leasing office, it's already closing time. Angela says she doesn't mind staying to finalize things, but Dad asks if we can just come back in the morning.

"Sure, that's fine," she says. "I'm off tomorrow, but my associate, Peter, will be happy to help you with the paperwork."

We make an appointment to meet Peter at ten-thirty, and then Angela hands each of us her card. "If you think of any further questions or concerns this evening, don't hesitate to call."

We thank her and she shakes our hands.

"It was nice meeting you both. I hope to see you around, Bella."

"Thanks, Angela. I hope so, too."

*O*

"I wanted you to have the chance to sleep on it before committing," Dad tells me once we're outside and on our way to our hotel. "If you change your mind, we can always cancel the appointment with Peter and see some other places."

"Yeah. That's probably the smart thing to do."

But as the evening wears on and we discuss my options over dinner and afterwards, I'm only more convinced I'm making right choice. I can tell Dad likes the place too. He's impressed with the security measures, like the key and fob entries to the building, elevator bank, and gated garage, as well as the lobby's daytime concierge and nighttime security guard.

At night, I have a hard time falling asleep. Instead, I lie awake, imagining myself living on my own in that apartment, with my own imaginary belongings.

*O*

After breakfast the next morning, we meet with Peter to go over the lease and fill out paperwork. Dad has to co-sign, but once I'm gainfully employed and on my own financial feet, we'll be able to take him off the lease. When it comes time to pony up the first and last month's rent, Dad adamantly refuses to let me pay with my own money.

"Let me take care of this, Bella. You can be in charge of all the other months' rent. Besides, you're going to have to spend money to fill that apartment up with something besides air to sit in and sleep in. Consider this my investment in your future. Just promise me you'll have a chair available when I come visit. I'm too old to sit on the floor."

"Okay, okay," I laugh, finally giving in. "Thank you for investing in me, then. And I promise you won't have to sit on the floor."

We wrap things up with Peter and he hands me a folder of resident information along with a diagram of my apartment's floorplan with exact dimensions for each room. "That might come in handy for furnishing the place," he says, nodding at the sheet. "Thursday, you can come by any time after nine to pick up your key."

"Great. Thank you."

"My pleasure."

*O*

On the drive back to Forks in the afternoon, I'm absolutely giddy. I have my own place. My own awesome, adulty place where I can live my own adulty life, doing adulty things. Provided I find an adulty job, of course.

Dad mentions a few things I can take from home to help furnish my apartment, but for the most part, I'll have to buy new—or used. I start making mental lists of things I'll need, and finally decide to begin jotting down notes in my phone.

Just as we're passing through Port Angeles, my phone rings in my hand. It's a Seattle number, and I worry Peter discovered some issue with the lease agreement.

Turning the volume down on the radio, I answer the call. "Hello?"

"Hello, Bella?" It's not Peter. It's a woman's voice.

"Yes?" I respond.

There's a slight hesitation. "It's Rose. Rosalie Hale."

"Oh my gosh. Rose?!" I look at Dad in shock.

"Don't mind me," he murmurs.

"Yeah, it's me…" Rose is saying, and I can hear a catch in her voice. "Bella, I am so, so sorry. I was such a pigheaded bitch to you." Her blunt words are so typically Rose, and I laugh despite my own sudden tears.

"It's really good to hear your voice, Rose."

A/N: So there's that.