Full Description: Alice always knows when to give a guy "the speech"-right after the initial romantic rush, but before anything gets too serious. She's had her fair share of boyfriends, and she's learned all there is to learn from here mother, who's currently working on husband number five. So why is it that Alice can't seem to dump Jasper? It can't be that he's messy and disorganized. And it certainly isn't that he's a musician-just like Alice's father, a man she never knew because he left before she was born. Could it be that Alice's romantic rules to live don't apply anymore??

Disclaimer: I don't own the story line-it's from a book I read- or the characters-Stephanie Meyer does.

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The name of this song if "This Lullaby." At this point, I've heard it about a million times. Approximately.

All my life I've been told about how my father wrote it the day I was born. He was on the road somewhere in Texas, already split from my mom. The story goes that he got word of birth, sat down with his guitar, and just came up with it. He'd been writing music all his life, but in the end it would be the only song he was known for.

Now, the song was playing overhead as I sat in a plastic chair at the hospital, in the first week of June. It was warm, everything was blooming, and summer was practically here. This meant, of course, that it was time for my mother to get married again.

This was her fourth time, fifth if you include my father. I chose not to. But they were, in her eyes, married. She takes on husbands the way other people change their hair color: out of boredom, listlessness, or just feeling that this next one will fix everything once and for all. Back when I was younger, when I asked about my dad and how they'd met, when I was actually still curious, she'd just sigh, waving her hand, and say, "Oh, Alice, it was the seventies. You know."

My mother always thinks I know everything. But she's wrong. All I knew about the seventies was what I'd learned in school and from the History Channel: Vietnam, President Carter, disco. And all I knew about my father was "This Lullaby." My father may be gone, but the song goes on. Eventually it will outlive me.

It was in the middle of the second chorus that You Found Me by The Fray when Carlisle stuck his head out of his office and saw me. "Alice, honey, sorry you had to wait. Come on in."

I got up and followed him. In eight days, Carlisle would become my stepfather, joining a not-so-exclusive group. He and my mother met right here in this hospital, when we came in to get my brother from a check-up.

"So, Alice" Carlisle said as we sat down, him in the big swiveling leather chair behind the desk, me in the not very comfortable chair opposite. I looked around the room to see what was hanging in here. There was a picture of him and my mom on there first date, a scholarship, and a lot more that I couldn't read.

Now, Carlisle shifted in his seat, adjusting his tie. He looked very young, but he was in his early 30's now. And he adored my mother, God help him. "What do you need from me today?"

"Okay" I said, reaching into my back pocket for the list I'd brought "I double-checked with the tux place and they're expecting you this week for the final fitting. The rehearsal dinner list is pretty much set a seventy-five, and the caterer will need a check for the rest of the deposit by Monday"

"Fine" he opened a drawer and pulled out the leather binder where he kept his checkbook, then reached into his jacket pocket for a pen "how much for the caterer?"

I glanced down at my paper, swallowed, and said "Five thousand"

He nodded and started writing. To Carlisle, five thousand bucks was hardly any money at all. This wedding itself was setting him back a good twenty, and that didn't seem to faze him either. Add to it the renovation that had been done on our house so we could all live together like on happy family, the debt he was forgiving on my brother's truck and just the day-to-day maintenance of living with my mother. But then again, this was his first wedding, first marriage. He was a rookie. My family however had long been of pro status.

He ripped out the check, slid it across the desk, and smiled "what else?" he asked me.

I looked down at my list again "okay, just the band, I think. The people at the reception hall were asking-"

"It's under control" he said, waving his hand "they'll be there. Tell your mother not to worry."

I smiled at this, because he expected me to, but we both knew she wasn't worrying at all about the wedding. She'd picked out her dress, decided on flowers, and then pushed the rest off on me, claiming she needed absolutely every free second to work on her latest design for a new house that was just built.

Most people put off my mother's erratic behavior to the fact that she is a designer, as if that explained everything. To me that was just an excuse. I mean, brain surgeons can be crazy too, but no on says it's all right. Unfortunately for my mother, I am alone in this opinion.

"…is so soon!" Carlisle said, tapping his finger on the calendar "can you believe it?"

"No" I said, wondering what the first part of his sentence had been. I added "it's just amazing"

He smiled at me, and then glanced back down at the calendar, where now I saw the wedding day, June 12, was circled several times in different colors of makers. I guess you couldn't blame him for being excited. For the last fifteen years he'd lived alone in a condo right off the highway. Now, in nine days, he would get not only my mother, Esme, but also, in a package deal, my brother Emmett and me. And he was happy about it. It was amazing.

Just then the intercom on his desk buzzed, loudly, and a man's voice came on "Carlisle, Kelly has a patient waiting. Should I send them in?"

Carlisle glanced at me, then pushed down the button and said "Sure. Give me five seconds"

He stood up, fixing his tie. "Hate to push you out, but-"

"I'm done" I told him tucking the list back in my pocket

"I really appreciate all you're doing for us, Alice" he said as he walked around the desk. He put one hand on my shoulder, Dad-style, and I tried not to remember all the stepfathers before him that had done the same thing, carrying the same meaning. They all thought they were permanent too.

"No problem" I said as he moved his hand and opened the door for me. Waiting for us out in the hallway was a nurse standing with a girl, who looked like she was at least 18 or 19. She was clutching her phone in one hand while a tissue was in her other hand. I noticed her eyes were all puffy and red.

"Carlisle" the nurse said "this is Kelly, and we're trying to tell her that everything is going to work out fine"

Kelly looked like she was going to burst out in tears again as she looked nervously from Carlisle to me, then back to Carlisle "I just-" she sputtered

"Kelly, Kelly" Carlisle said soothingly "let's just all sit down for a minute and talk about what we can do. Okay?"

"Okay" Kelly said, somewhat uncertainly, and started into Carlisle's office. As she passed she glanced at me nervously.

"Alice" Carlisle said quietly "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Okay" I told him, and then watched as Kelly made her way inside.

"Now Kelly" said Carlisle, sitting in his chair. The door closing on them, and I could barely see them now "what can I do to make you happy?"

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I was halfway across the hallway when I remembered that my mother had asked me to please remind Carlisle about cocktails tonight.

I turned around and walked back down the hallway to Carlisle's office. The door was still closed, and I could hear voices murmuring behind it.

The clock on the opposite wall was the school kind, with big black numbers and a wobbly second hand. It was already one fifteen. The day after my high school graduation and here I was, not beach bound or sleeping off a hangover like everyone else. I was running wedding errands, like a paid employee, while my mother lay in her king-size bed.

And that was all it took to feel it. That slow, simmering burn in my stomach that I always felt when I let myself see how far the scale had tipped in her favor. I crossed one leg over the other and closed my eyes, pressing my fingers into the arms of my chair. Just a few weeks of this, I told myself, and I'm gone.

Just then, someone plopped down hard into the chair on my left, knocking me sideways into the wall. I hit my elbow on the molding there, right in the funny bone, which sent a tingly zap all the way up to my fingers. And suddenly, just like that, I was pissed. It's amazing how all it takes is on shove to make you furious.

"What the hell" I said, pushing off the wall, ready to take off the head of whatever stupid doctor had decided to get cozy with me. My elbow was still buzzing, and I could feel a hot flush creeping up my neck.

I turned my head and saw it wasn't a doctor at all. It was a guy with honey blonde curly hair, around my age, wearing a black T-shirt. And for some reason he was smiling.

"Hey there" he said cheerfully" how's it going?"

"What is your problem?" I snapped, rubbing my elbow

"Problem?"

"You just slammed me into the wall, asshole"

He blinked "Goodness" he finally said "Such language"

I just looked at him.

"The thing is" he said, as if we were discussing the weather or world politics "I saw you out in the hallway. I was over in the waiting room?"

I was sure I was glaring at him. But he kept talking.

"I just thought to myself, all of a sudden, that we had something in common. A natural chemistry, if you will. And I had a feeling that something big was going to happen. To both of us. That we were meant to be together."

"You got all this" I said, clarifying "sitting in the waiting room?"

"You didn't feel it?" he asked

"No. I did, however, feel you slamming me into the wall" I said

"That" he said lowering his voice and leaning closer to me "was an accident. An oversight. Just an unfortunate result of the enthusiasm I felt knowing I was about to talk to you"

I just looked at him. Overhead, the speakers were now playing Love Song by Sara Bareilles. Perfect timing. Not.

"Go away" I told him

He smiled again, running a hand through his hair.

"You know what?" he said pointing up at the speaker "from now on, forever"- pointed up again "this will be our song"

"Oh, Jesus" I said, and right then I was saved, as Carlisle's office door swung open and Kelly, led by the nurse came out. She was holding a yellow folder that held a lot of papers in it. She looked tired and like she had been crying the whole time.

I stood up, and the guy beside me leapt to his feet "wait, I only want-"

"Carlisle?" I called out, ignoring him.

"Just take this" the guy said, grabbing my hand. He turned it palm up before I could even react, and pulled a pen out of his back pocket, then proceeded-I am not joking-to write a name and phone number in the space between my thumb and forefinger.

"You are insane" I said jerking my hand back, which caused the last digits to smear and knock the pen out of his hand. It clattered to the floor, rolling under a nearby gumball machine.

"Yo, Romeo!" someone yelled from the waiting room, and there was a burst of laugher "Come on man, let's go!"

I looked up at him, still shocked. Talk about not respecting a person's boundaries.

He glanced behind him, and then back at me "I'll see you soon" he said grinning at me

"Like hell" I replied, but then he was already going, dodging the truck and minivan in the parking lot. From the window I could see a beat-up white van that was idling the curb. The back door flung open and he climbed in. then the door slammed, the horn beeped, and the van chugged out of the lot, bumping its muffler on the way out.

I looked down at my hand, where in black ink was scrawled 788-46somethingsomething, with one word beneath it. God, his handwriting was sloppy. A big J, a smear on the last letter. Jasper.

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When I got home, the first thing I noticed was the music. Classical, soaring, filling the house with wailing oboes and flowing violins. Then, the small of my mom's favorite candle, vanilla. On the floor were crumbled papers leading to the design room.

Thank God, I though. She's designing again.

I dropped my keys on the table by the door and bent down, picking up on balled-up piece of paper by my feet, then un-crumbled it as I walked toward the kitchen. My mother was very superstitious about her work, and only worked with certain tools and paper. To my mom, designing the inside of people's houses for them is professional as she likes to call it.

I continued picking up discarded papers as I walked, balling them into my hand. The music and got louder as I walked into the kitchen, where my brother, Emmett, was ironing a shirt on the kitchen table.

"Hey" he said as he put some m&m in his mouth. The iron hissed as he picked it up, and then smoothed it over the edge of the collar of the shirt, pressing down hard.

"How long's she been at it?" I asked, pulling out the trash can from under the sink and dumping the papers into it.

He shrugged, letting the steam hiss out and stretching his fingers "A couple hours now, I guess"

I glanced past him, through the dining room to the sun porch, where I could see my mother sitting on a chair, a candle beside her, drawing away. It was always weird to watch her.

I sat down at the table and flipped through a stack of mail by the fruit bowl as Emmett turned the shirt over, nudging the iron slowly around one cuff. He was a really slow ironer, to the point that more than once I'd just jerked it away, unable to stand how long it took him to do just the collar.

"Bid night tonight?" I asked him. He was leaning close to the shirt now, really focusing on the front pocket.

"Rosalie's having a dinner party" he said "It's smart casual"

"Smart casual?"

"It means" he said slowly, still concentrating "no jeans, but not quite a sport jacket event either, ties optional. That kind of thing"

I rolled my eyes. Six months ago, my brother wouldn't have been able to define smart much less casual. Ten months earlier, on his twenty-first birthday, Emmett had gotten busted at a party selling pot. It wasn't his first brush with the law, by any means: during high school he'd racked up a few breaking and entering, one DWI, and one possession of a controlled substance. But the party bust did him in, and he did jail time. Only three months, but it scared him enough to shape up and get a job at the local Jiffy Lube, where he'd met Rosalie brought her BMW M3 convertible in for a mile check-up.

Rosalie was what my mother called "a piece of work" which meant she wasn't scared of either of us and didn't care if we knew it. She was a tall girl with blonde hair, whip smart and had done more with my brother in six months than we'd ever managed in twenty-one years.

Now Emmett lifted the shirt off the table and held it up, shaking it slightly "what do you think?"

"Looks okay" I said "you missed a big crease on the right sleeve, though"

He glanced down at it, then sighed "this is so freaking hard" he said, putting it back on the table "I don't see why people bother"

"I don't see why you bother" I said "since when do you need to be wrinkle free, anyway? You used to consider wearing pants dressing up"

"Cute" he said, making a face at me "you wouldn't understand, anyway"

"Yeah, right. Excuse me, Eggbert, I keep forgetting you're the smart one"

He straightened the shirt, not looking at me "what I mean" he said slowly "is that you'd just have to know what it's like to want to do something nice for somebody else. Out of consideration. Out of love"

"Oh, Jesus" I said

"Exactly" he picked up the shirt again. The wrinkle was still there, not that I was going to point it out now "that's exactly what I'm talking about. Compassion. Relationships. Two thing you are sadly, and sorely, lacking"

"I am the queen of relationships" I said "and hello, I just spent the entire morning planning our mother's wedding. That is so freaking compassionate of me"

"you" he said, folding the shirt neatly over one arm "have yet to experience any kind of serious commitment-"

"What?"

"-and you have bitched and moaned so much about the wedding I'd hardly call that compassionate"

I just stood there, staring at him. There was no reasoning with him lately. It was like he'd been brainwashed by some religion cult "who are you?" I asked him

"All I'm saying" he replied, quietly "is that I'm really happy. And I wish you could be happy too. Like this"

"I am happy" I snapped, and I meant it, although it sounded bitter just because I was pissed off "I am" I repeated in a more level voice.

He reached over and patted my shoulder "I'll see you later" he said, turning and heading out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his room. I watched him go and realized I was clenching my teeth, something I found myself doing too often lately.

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