Hey guys! I'm so sorry for the MAJOR delay in this update! I had the worst writer's block, and I'm really not sure how long I'm going to be able to continue this story. The muse just isn't as powerful as it was when I first started. The chapters might be really sporadic until the flame really lights, and I hope it does.

Thanks to everyone who subscribed despite my lack of replies! This chapter is shorter, and it's been sitting on my computer, unfinished, since I wrote the last chapter. I just finished it now, and I may begin work on the next one tomorrow.

Again, not my characters, just my plot. =D Thank you, Stephenie Meyer. Enjoy!

Knocking Edward over had possibly been one of the most humiliating experiences in my life. I knew I hadn't been thinking clearly (or much at all), but I knocked someone over. How could I have even missed him? He was tall and was pretty damn not-missable in my opinion.

Watching him leave almost made my heart ache. I had hurt him, and he was leaving because he thought he was imposing. I'd knocked him over with my truck! Still, I didn't think it would be right to keep him if he had somewhere to be, so I let him go with the promise of seeing him around. It was a ridiculous promise. I never saw anybody around unless they went to the soup kitchen I volunteered at. The only people who I regularly saw there were Angela and the few other people who volunteered.

Seeing him go left me feeling lonely all over again. I hadn't realized it in the hour or so he had been there, but just the presence of someone sitting next to me on the couch and watching TV made me feel more at ease. Edward never pressed for conversation and the silence between us was far from awkward.

I did have several things to do; mainly laundry, dishes, some extra cleaning. Any cleaning I ever did was extra. There was hardly ever a speck of dust anywhere around my house. Angela always teased me about it whenever she came over. She said it seemed like my house kept getting newer as opposed to older, and it was hard to disagree.

The phone ringing startled me out of the almost trance-like state I had fallen into, my sense all waking up at once. I rushed to grab the phone after the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Bells."

Oh. Just Charlie.

I had never gotten used to calling him 'dad'. My mom's new husband only ever treated me like family, and although Charlie was the biological father I had known all my life, I spent more time around my mother referring to him as Charlie than around him calling him dad. Once I got to be sixteen I got sick of trying to feel comfortable forming the word whenever I was around him. After a short argument (which was really just us talking in short, awkward sentences) he finally said I could just call him Charlie, claiming he would have been fine with that all along.

"Hey, Charlie."

Awkward silences were never hard to come by when it came to Charlie and I.

"So, what's up?"

"Nothin'. I just wanted to see how you were."

"Ah."

I looked down at my nails with intense curiosity, wondering when I had chipped the pale pink polish and debating whether or not to paint them again. It would kill ten to fifteen minutes of my time. Maybe it was worth doing just to have something to occupy myself.

"So?"

I blinked a few times.

"So, what?"

"How are you?"

"Oh. I'm fine."

He sighed on the other end, and I could only guess why. Sure, I hadn't spent every day of my teenage life with him, but he was my dad. I took after him in every respect when it came to my attitude. I would always avoid telling people if my day had gone any way but perfectly.

"Bella, come on. I know you better than that."

It was my turn to sigh, chewing at my thumbnail.

"Well, I'm fine."

"I call you every week, and you always say the same thing."

He called me every week? I never noticed it before. The fact that Charlie called the same day I went to therapy never really clicked in my mind.

"Well, I'm fine, Charlie."

He didn't say anything, and neither did I. Most of the long distance phone charges we had racked up were probably filled with silence on both ends, and it almost made me chuckle to think about it. Only Charlie and I could get sixty dollars extra on a phone bill for not talking.

"I should get going. Watching the game at Billy's tonight."

Billy was Jacob's dad. Charlie always said that just because Jacob was an asshole, it didn't mean his dad was the same way. And he was right. Billy was one of the people that called from time to time to check on me, ask if I'd gotten a job I actually liked. He always joked with me, and for some reason, his jokes made me chuckle every time, no matter how pathetic they were.

Billy was also my source of information whenever I wanted to know about Jacob. I almost never did, but on the rare occasion I would call Billy up, and he would answer any of my questions. He never brought his son up otherwise.

"Tell him I say hi."

"Will do, Bells. Talk to you later?"

"Yeah. Seeya."

We both hung up without really saying goodbye.

Rather than just go to bed like I would have liked to, I fixed myself a frozen lasagna and curled up on the couch in the living room to watch a movie. By the end of it I really wouldn't have been able to tell anybody who the characters were or what the basic plot line was, but it had definitely beat laying in bed for two hours and waiting for sleep to come.

I set my alarm clock before crawling into bed that night. The next day was a Wednesday, the day I always went and volunteered at the soup kitchen. If I just didn't show up one week, Rose would be sure to come to my house and drag me out by the hair. It wasn't so much that she didn't like volunteering there as her determination to get me to go to the soup kitchen once a week.

The alarm woke me up with some annoying radio show the next morning, and I was quick to reach over and switch it off. I went robotically about my morning routine, fixing myself a rather large and very black cup of coffee before getting into my truck.

The soup kitchen was probably the one place I would always feel moderately happy at. With everybody welcoming you inside it was hard not to set aside whatever problems you had at the moment and enjoy yourself. And that was what I always did.

I pulled into the parking lot, my coffee already about halfway finished. Rose's bright red convertible was already parked and empty, and I could only assume that she would bug me about being late the second I saw her. I was really only late by Rose's standards; anybody who wasn't at least ten minutes early was twenty minutes late in her opinion.

I was met by the familiar smell of turkey and mashed potatoes the second I stepped inside. I went to the back room to deposit my coat, purse, and nearly empty coffee cup, before going out to the kitchen. Rose was mashing a large pot of potatoes, and several others were either getting trays of turkey out of the oven or mixing gravy. Wednesday was always 'thanksgiving' at the soup kitchen.

"You're late," Rose greeted me with the second I stepped up beside her.

"I'm only late because you got here before I did."

"You should be showing up here before I do."

I still couldn't fathom how someone who took an hour longer than I did to get ready managed to get anywhere at least half an hour before I did.

"Some people can't wake up at five o'clock in the morning."

Rose just rolled her eyes and shook her head, flicking a bit of hair back that hadn't managed to stay in the messy bun she'd pulled it up into.

"That's a bullshit excuse. Get me the butter."

I nodded and went to one of the refrigerators, grabbing half a stick of butter and bringing it back to Rose.

Rose was the only person who had only treated me like a baby for about a month. Most people still walked on eggshells around me, but Rose took it all in stride. She treated me just the same as if Jacob and I had never gotten divorced, except for the fact that she didn't bring him up in day to day conversation. Rose didn't take bullshit from anybody.

Her attitude was always sort of refreshing. It was nice to have at least one person who wasn't trying to make sure that I was okay constantly. She was the one person who didn't have me on suicide watch. She always got me through the long hours before the soup kitchen actually opened up, and when it finally did at eight o'clock, I was smiling brightly and earnestly at everyone there.

For some reason, volunteering at the soup kitchen always seemed to distract me. Every week, without fail, the soup kitchen helped me get my mind off of what was going on in my life. Seeing so many smiling people who were grateful to just have food, one of the basic necessities in life, made me realize I wasn't in such a shitty situation.

And then my three hours of volunteer work would be over and I would go back to my house to curl up on the couch with Ben and Jerry.

The first hour at the soup kitchen passed uneventfully. I filled up people's trays with mashed potatoes and gravy before sending them to get their turkey. I cleaned up a spilled tray and got an even bigger one for someone. I laughed when one of the men coming in to be served proceeded to do an Elvis Presley impression in his seat while trying to eat at the same time.

And that's when I saw him.

Edward was walking to the same table as Elvis, grinning and laughing when the man attempted to sing Jailhouse Rock without choking or spitting out too much food. For a moment in all the chaos I thought he was a new volunteer, but that thought quickly disappeared when I noticed the blue tray in his hands, filled with mashed potatoes, gravy, and turkey.