A Warm and Welcome Hug

Bella

"Babe, have you seen my tie?" Edward calls. "I swear I left it on the sink, but it's not there."

I sigh.

"I swear, if your head wasn't permanently attached to your body, you'd probably lose that too." I try to slip into my shoes but it's impossible. "You took it to the laundry room when you went to grab our shirts, so check there. And then come tie my shoes for me."

I can hear him laughing.

"Edward, let's have a baby. It'll be great," he mocks. "You got yourself into this mess, woman. Figure it out."

I'm about to tell him that this will be the last kid he'll father after I give him a vasectomy via a rusty butter knife and yours truly when the front door opens.

"Bella?"

"Having a mid-pregnancy crisis in the living room."

My in-laws enter the living room cautiously.

Along with my inability to bend over, this kid has also gifted me with wicked mood swings.

Everyone fears me and my random emotions. I fear me and my random emotions.

They're terrifying.

"Oh, dear," Esme coos.

She drops her giant Barney bag of supplies and kneels down in front of me.

You'd think I'd be embarrassed that my mother-in-law is helping me put my shoes on, but I'm way past that.

"She's been up all night in her craft room," Carlisle warns. "Where's my son?"

"Down the hall, mocking the fact that he impregnated me with a giant. Feel free to slap him around, maybe kick him in his junk for me, yeah?"

Carlisle just chuckles and leaves the room.

Esme stands and pulls me to my feet.

"Come take a look at all my hard work."

She starts pulling items out of her bottomless bag. Cookies, bows, pins, and stickers. Various embroidered patches and barrettes.

Esme Cullen does not joke when it comes to these events.

"Everything looks great, Es."

"That's not all." She claps her hands excitedly. "I extended your tutu so it'll fit."

Cue the feelings and the tears.

"I know I'm fat. You don't have to tell me."

"Oh, Bells. No."

Edward rushes into the room.

"Babe, you are not fat. The baby is just really healthy," he assures me.

I fling my arms around his neck and sob.

Carlisle tells us that we've got to go if we want to get good spots.

Everything is packed away, including a fold-out chair, just in case I get fatigued.

We Cullens take the Pride March very seriously.

"Let's do this."

It all started a couple of years after Edward and I got married.

It happened at the annual Christmas party that Esme throws every year.

Carlisle's brother and sister-in-law showed up early, followed by their daughter, Tanya, and her friend, Irina.

We were all mingling when Tanya proposed a toast and gave us the exciting news.

She was a lesbian and utterly in love with her best friend and fiancée.

Esme burst into tears at the prospect of planning a wedding to top mine.

Carlisle broke out the expensive champagne.

Tanya's parents, Carmen and Eleazar, caused a scene—not one in celebration of the impending nuptials and their daughter's extreme happiness.

Ugly words were spewed.

Carlisle ended up punching his brother in the face.

The party ended on a sour note with Tanya cut out of her parents' lives.

It was our job to support her. Our job to ensure that she deserves nothing but happiness.

Esme planned a spectacular wedding, and Carlisle proudly walked his niece down the aisle.

Esme saw an article in the paper about women sitting on the sidelines of Pride marches, offering warm hugs to the marchers who lost their mothers.

The following year, we stood on the sidelines of our first Pride march, handing out hugs of our own and support to those who needed it the most.

The orphans.

The ones whose family couldn't hang.

The entire Cullen family shows up for the march because, in some cases, it isn't just the moms who abandon the people who choose to love who they love.

We proudly fill in for the lost moms, the dads, the brothers, and the sisters.

We make sure to spread love loud enough to drown out the hateful hecklers who stand behind the gates with their megaphones and bible verses.

Esme hands out her little gift bags while Carlisle, ever the doctor, passes around prophylactics.

I can't bake for shit, and Edward is in computer programming, so we just give great hugs.

This year is a little different.

Some hate behind the barricades separating the supporters and the prejudice is directed toward me and my unborn baby.

Accusations that my impure thoughts will infect a defenseless child's beliefs.

That I'll be a terrible mother for brainwashing the innocent life I should never have been blessed with.

It almost comes to blows between the bigot and my father-in-law until an understanding security guard moves the agitators down a bit.

And then the best part starts.

The march begins, and we smother our love onto others.

Tears are shed on both sides of the barricade.

People from all walks of life find their way to us and revel in our embraces. For some, it's a quick squeeze, but others hold on for a second longer.

It's the second kind that breaks my heart.

I give them my business card and wipe away their tears.

I work at a government-run health facility alongside Carlisle. He covers the physical, and I cover the mental. We offer a shoulder to cry on and free health care.

We receive many thanks as people pass by, and so many hands touch my delicate bump, congratulating me.

"This kid is lucky to have such understanding and supportive parents," a man painted all the colors of the rainbow says.

Colorful powder rains down on us, mixing with tears and sweat from all the excitement.

At some point, I do get tired, and I'm grateful for the chair Edward insisted on.

Esme and I trade jobs.

She hands out hugs full of that motherly love that can't be replaced.

I pass out bags filled with her homemade goods.

Hands are squeezed through the bars, and bottles of water from Carlisle's massive cooler are greatly appreciated.

All too soon, the day comes to a close.

We meet with Irina and Tanya for a late dinner and share their excitement that their second round of in vitro was successful.

Our little one will have a pretty special kid with two incredible moms to grow up with.

We all separate to our respective houses and will meet back up the following morning to plan for the next march.

Because we're nothing if not supportive and proud.

One love.

"Ignore all hatred and criticism. Live for what you create, and die protecting it." - Lady Gaga