Thanks for joining me with these two! It's meant so much. Not sure we need an epi, but I'm still trying to write it, so lemme know if there's something you want to see! Unsure when it would post, but I'm marking this story complete (don't wanna force an epi if I don't feel it.) Shifting my energy back to The Way I Wanted now for those reading!
Oh, also, The Moth is a real event! Google it - it's kinda cool!
Happy New Year. Huge thank you to Paige and May for pre-reading and supporting me in finishing this, and not letting this story rot in my Google Drive document graveyard lol mwah.
23
It's like the host's voice echoes over the speakers.
Bella Swan, Bella Swan, Bella Swan.
I look at Edward.
Alice.
My mom.
One of them had to put my name in, I just don't know who.
"Is there a Bella Swan here?" the host asks now. "I might need to pull another name…"
I'm frozen in shock, but my mom and Alice react for me, creating enough commotion that the audience and host know for a fact that Bella Swan is sitting in this venue and didn't run out the front door.
That's what I want to do, though. The urge to flee is fucking strong, and my stomach clenches with the best, worst nerves.
But then Edward squeezes my hand.
"You don't have to do this," he whispers in my ear, settling my heart a little.
"I don't even have anything prepared," I mumble to him, and that adds a whole new anxiety.
"Yes, you do," he says with intention. "But if you're not ready, I'll go up for you."
The people around us are watching, waiting. Knowing he'd go in place of me even though he said he'd be scared shitless to go up there makes me love him even more.
"No, I'll go…" I agree, but not convincingly.
"You've fucking got this," he insists.
He kisses me, and his gentle but fierce encouragement sends a wave of strength through me. On what feels like shaking legs, I stand from my chair and exit the aisle, making my way toward the stage.
Some people preemptively clap, but it's scattered.
And then it's silent… and fucking awkward.
I take a few steps up to the stage and the host smiles warmly at me, putting me a little more at ease. She sets the microphone back into the stand and wishes me good luck and to have fun.
Ha.
Fun.
What will be fun is if I manage to not vomit.
She leaves the stage and then it's just me. The lights are bright and hot and I'm tense.
"Hi," I say into the mic, looking out into the crowd. From here it looks like every seat is taken. "Full house tonight. Wow." I get a few chuckles. "I'm Bella Swan. Obviously."
My mind goes blank then.
I don't have anything to say.
No personal story to tell.
Nothing prepared.
The audience stares back at me. Some people shift in their seats. My throat is dry and I'm about to tell them I'm sorry and leave the stage, disqualifying myself, but I hear the familiar sound of someone's throat clearing, and I look over to where Edward is sitting in the second row.
He offers an encouraging nod, and mouths, "I love you."
He loves me.
Believes in me.
And he's right—I've fucking got this.
I might not have anything prepared or rehearsed, but I have what's shaped me. So I speak freely about feelings and ideas and grief and love.
I speak from the heart.
"I grew up on Candy Cane Lane. It's not the first thing I always tell people, but someone once told me it should be," I say into the microphone, and I get a few scattered laughs. My eyes meet Edward's, and he smiles a secret smile just for me. "Raise your hand if you're familiar with Candy Cane Lane."
For the most part, a lot of people raise their hands.
"So, for those of you who don't know, it's a street located in the Ravenna Park neighborhood. Every year since 2003, the street has transformed into a winter wonderland. Every house on the curved road decorates for Christmas intensely. I'm talking balls to the wall. Christmas on crack. I remember one year my dad, Charlie, and our neighbor got into a month-long quarrel because my neighbor didn't order an inflatable Santa from a reputable store, and my dad didn't think the quality lived up to his standards."
I get a few more laughs and I grip the microphone.
"Can you imagine that being your biggest beef with someone? Not approving of their inflatable Santa?" More laughs. I ease up. "Anyway. The reason why my dad took it so seriously is because he was the one who started Candy Cane Lane." A couple of people whoop and I say, "I can sign autographs on his behalf after the show."
More of the audience chuckles and I smile.
"My dad used to decorate the outside of our house like he was Clark Griswold's long-lost brother. He'd go all out as if he was working for Santa. And growing up I even thought that for a while. Like, hell yeah, my dad is the man. He works for the big guy. I've totally got an in on automatically being on the nice list." I see a few kids in the audience so instead of spoiling that Santa isn't real I say, "It wasn't until I was ten I learned a certain devastating truth. If you know, you know."
More chuckles, likely from relieved parents that I didn't just ruin the magic of Christmas for their kiddos.
"Eventually, the entire street got into the Christmas spirit. It wasn't just our house that stood out. It became a thing. A super special, albeit quirky thing. It really brought the neighborhood together. And after a few years of being consistent with it, people who didn't live in our neighborhood started to take notice. From December 10th to New Year's Eve our street would be crowded with cars that idled down the road to check out all of the decorations." I pause and swallow. "Some of you have probably driven by in years past. And if you've driven by in the last eight years, you've probably noticed one house no longer participates," I murmur, my chest tightening. "It was eight years ago that I received another devastating truth—my dad was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer."
A hush falls over the room. The audience stays respectfully silent, and I let the moment linger, looking to Edward for strength to keep going.
"You never think that awful, awful disease can touch you. Not me. Not my family. Not my dad. The strongest, most loyal, goofy, and heartwarming man who was—" My voice catches in my throat. "Who was the glue of our family."
My eyes blur but I blink back tears and force myself to take a long breath.
"My sister Alice and I didn't even find out until two months after the diagnosis. And I remember being so… pissed. I was mad at my parents for keeping that from us for those two months because I already felt like I was missing out on time with him. I felt gypped, I guess. Like I would've been less of a little shit during those two months. I would've appreciated him more. I would've helped out more." I pause. "The only reason they ended up telling us was because the diagnosis wasn't good. There wasn't much hope, and the doctors didn't see him making it past nine months."
I hear a few sniffles in the crowd and I can't look over at where my mom and Alice are sitting because if it's either of them who is crying, I will lose it right the fuck here.
"My dad proved them wrong and made it eleven months. So, ha. Fuck you, cancer." My chin trembles. "I will never forget how big of a win that felt like. An extra two months? It doesn't seem like much. And it's not. But it was so much more than we expected." I inhale a shaky breath as some tears slip down my cheeks. "It's extremely difficult to think and talk about that time. Which is why I haven't, until recently."
I look down at the stage and wipe my face before looking out into the crowd again.
"I'm sure any of you who have dealt with grief before understands what it's like. Some days it feels like it just happened. Other days I don't even think about it. And then I feel guilty for forgetting, but also somehow relieved that for a day or two, I wasn't riddled with overwhelming anguish. It's a real mindfuck," I breathe out, laughing a little through my emotion.
More sniffles sound in the crowd but I earn a few soft laughs too as if my words resonate with them.
"The first two years after my father's death, our neighbors kindly tried to help decorate our house. But it was a lot of extra time and money, and people had their own things to deal with. After my sister and I left for college, it was a lot for mom to take on. Even when we tried, it wasn't the same. I couldn't imagine my dad, the man who shunned our neighbor for his shitty inflatable Santa, approving of our decorating skills," I say, and the laughter picks up this time. "Apparently, that gene isn't something that's inherited. But we also stopped because it just… it made us too sad. It hurt too much to imagine doing any of that without him."
I lick my lips and sniffle. "Christmas was his thing. And on December 26th, he started planning for the following Christmas. I'm pretty sure if he could've quit his job to do it full-time he would've."
"He tried," my mom calls out, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. "I wouldn't let him."
Everyone laughs and it's a much-needed moment of comic relief.
"For the last eight years, the outside of our house has been neglected by the Christmas spirit." My eyes find Edward again and he smiles softly. "So imagine my surprise when I showed up at my mom's house last night and saw the place was decorated."
I hear a small gasp from somewhere in the crowd and it makes me smile that anyone listening would be that invested.
"And not like, half-assed decorated. I'm talking balls to the wall the way Charlie effing Swan used to decorate. Lights were stapled all along the house and bordering every window. Santa and his reindeer were on the roof. Inflatables sat in the yard, which was covered in a fresh blanket of real snow. And there was a new addition, too—Santa's sleigh was in the driveway for people to use as a photo op. It honestly rivaled what my dad used to do." I make a somber face, feeling guilty, but it's true. "I knew my dad would approve."
When I see my mom nodding her head, my heart warms.
"Imagine my surprise," I say again, voice softer, "when I found out that the person who decorated the house the way my father used to was none other than Edward, the man I'm in love with."
I receive a few awws from that one. I wasn't even planning on admitting that up here in front of strangers, it just kind of slipped out. But it's the truth.
I keep my gaze locked on Edward now. His face is neutral but intense. Fierce. Vulnerable. Like he's hanging on my every word because he's in love with me, too.
"It was the nicest, most selfless, and romantic thing anyone's ever done for me," I say, then add as an afterthought, "The second and third nicest things anyone has ever done for me was also done by him, too. Are we sensing a theme here?" I ask rhetorically. "He's the best. And I'm pretty certain that one day he's going to outdo himself yet again because that's the kind of person he is. That's the kind of person my dad was, too."
Emotion rises hot in my throat again when Edward offers an encouraging, soft smile.
"My dad encouraged me to believe in the magic of Christmas. And the day he passed, I lost that feeling, I guess. I was convinced moving on and continuing these traditions without him was wrong." I shrug. "But Edward proved to me that doing things you once loved without the person who started them is just another way to honor them. That's what he's been doing for me and my family this last week. Slowly mending little parts of me so I can enjoy the magic of Christmas again and feel a little more whole without my father in my life."
After voicing everything aloud to a room of strangers, I'm suddenly so overwhelmed with appreciation for Edward that I can feel a new wave of tears come on, but I somehow hold them back.
"It won't ever be the same without my dad, but I know he would've loved Edward. And wherever he is, I hope he knows I'm going to be more than okay. We all are." I swallow the lump in my throat and add, "Also, I'm sorry Mom, but we met Dad's match with decorating. Get used to insanely high electric bills in December again." When everyone starts to chuckle I murmur a soft thank you to the audience.
More people clap.
My heart pounds and pounds and pounds.
Now that I'm done, I have no idea how I just did that.
It's like my dad gave me the strength to speak because I finally had a shot up here.
I can't look out at the crowd anymore and I don't want to be on stage while the judges score my monologue. I just rush down the stairs, ready to beeline out of here. I've only made it a few steps off the stage before I see Edward striding toward me.
He scoops me up in a hug and I hold him tightly.
Now that I'm in his arms, I relax.
"Did you submit my name?" I immediately ask after he sets my feet back on the floor.
"No," he says seriously. "I swear I wouldn't do that, especially after I overstepped with your book. Maybe Alice or your mom did."
The host is talking but I don't listen to what she's saying.
"Be honest. How cheesy was it?" I ask him because imposter syndrome is fucking real.
"Not cheesy. You were amazing and honest and vulnerable, and I'm so fucking proud of you, Bella."
His words encourage and relax me and fill me up with so much love.
Over the speaker, we hear the host announce the judges gave me a nearly perfect score of 28 out of 30.
"Whichever judge didn't score you a 10 is gonna get their knees broken after the show," Edward jokes.
"Don't. I selfishly need you to not be in prison."
"I wasn't talking about me. I meant Alice."
I laugh. "Oh yeah, she definitely gives off knee-breaking vibes."
We walk back to our seats hand-in-hand and listen to the last storyteller. Adrenaline still pumps through me, and the curiosity about who put my name in makes it hard to focus on what they're saying. It's not until the very end after the host thanks all of the storytellers and announces I won first place that I'm snapped back to reality.
Pride swells in my chest, embarrassment burning on my cheeks as everyone claps and hollers.
I don't win anything other than bragging rights, but still. It means so fucking much that my story would resonate at all, let alone win.
Edward hooks his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close, pressing a kiss to my temple.
"See?" he whispers. "You're amazing."
For the first time in a long while, I believe it.
The host thanks everyone again, relaying upcoming dates for other storytelling events before wishing everyone a happy holiday.
Overhead music plays and the lights turn on as everyone stands from their seats, slowly dispersing. After we exit the row, my mom, Alice, and Jasper take turns hugging me. Edward's family offers soft smiles and their own words of congratulations, too.
"You're a baller," Jasper compliments.
"And your wife is a meddler," I say, looking at Alice.
"Say what now?" she asks, frowning.
"You submitted my name!" I accuse. "When did you do it? When you were at the bar?"
"Like hell I did," she says, sounding honest. "Just getting you to come here again was a win in my book. I wasn't going to push you to do any more than that."
"Mom?" I ask, and she puts her hands up in defense.
"I wouldn't pressure you to do that, either. Like Alice said, we're just glad you came back, baby."
"Jas?"
He laughs. "Do you think the person who is scared of you the most would interfere like that? I don't have a death wish."
I'm fucking stumped.
"Consider it a Christmas miracle," Edward offers, the corner of his mouth tugging because even he knows how cheesy it sounds.
It makes no sense, but I let it go because what else can I do short of waterboarding them to tell me the truth?
Instead of suggesting a form of torture, I'm about to suggest we go back to my mom's, eat leftovers, and drink prosecco to celebrate when the host approaches us.
She shakes my hand and congratulates me. I sense some hesitancy from her during our interaction, and that whole imposter syndrome starts to kick in again like maybe she doesn't think I deserved to win.
"I have to be honest…" she starts to say, and my stomach sinks. "I didn't actually pull your name tonight."
I'm so fucking confused and can feel the same tension radiating from Edward and my family.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"So, I've only been hosting this show for the last few years, but when I started, the previous host told me that every Christmas show, we call out the name Bella Swan in case she's here. I guess some man emailed her years ago saying he was sick and wanted to attend one more show in December and that one of his last wishes was that he could see his daughter share one of her stories on stage. That year the host called the name Bella Swan and she wasn't in the audience, and they all pretty much figured why." Her frown is sympathetic. "We're all sentimental softies here, so we've honored his request year after year in case she—you—came. I wasn't going to say anything to you because I didn't want to overstep, but your story about your father was so touching, I thought you would want to know." Her smile turns kind. "Congrats again, and Merry Christmas."
My throat burns.
My eyes sting.
The host walks off. Just like that. Like she didn't drop this nugget of information on my family and give us this gift we'd been unknowingly avoiding all of these years.
"Did you know?" I ask my mom, who is already crying.
"No, baby. I didn't," she sniffles, and tears slip down my cheeks.
"It's so something Dad would do," Alice adds, smiling through her tears. I look at Jasper and even he's a little choked up.
"Yeah," I agree with Alice. "Yeah, it—" I can't even talk. I just turn and bury my face in Edward's chest, and he holds me, stroking the back of my hair.
I let myself cry happy tears, sad tears, all the tears. It's cathartic, healing in a way. My heart feels both empty and full, tinged with bittersweet appreciation and love because being called up there tonight wasn't because of a Christmas miracle.
It was because of my dad.