10,020Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight, no copyright infringement intended.
Thank you for all the reviews! I haven't responded – I am still trying to get 'into the swing of things' with this one, so I promise, once I am all on track, I'll get around to replying. I'm working on another story as well right now, so just bare with me until I've found my feet. I need to work out some form of schedule between the two so that I can tell people which days I'll be updating, but I'm hoping I can do once a week for each story.
Let's see if I can keep you all with me…
'May-December Romance' - a relationship in which the age difference between the two adults is wide enough to risk social disapproval.
Chapter Two
This was… odd.
He had no profile. And I don't mean that in the 'he hasn't even bothered to fill it in' sense. There was just… nothing. There was no link to filter back to his page. He didn't have a page. He didn't have a screen name. Lord, I couldn't even see a return email address. It was just blank. Not even a 'user unknown', just… nothing.
I was very nearly for just ignoring it, but the title of his email caught my eye.
'A rarity, if ever I saw one.'
Frowning, and more than a little intrigued, I opened it.
And holy crap on a cracker! There were more than fifty typed words staring back at me. In fact, it looked as though he'd written an entire scripture when you compared it against everything else I had received. Scanning the passages briefly, I couldn't pick out any 'daddy's little girl' comments, or a 'come take a ride on my…', or even a 'YOU'RE FREAKIN' HOT!'
It had been a tiresome two weeks.
Was I finally about to catch a break? Was it possible, that somewhere out there, lurking… was a man actually worthy of a conversation? A man who could write a sentence without including words that related to genitalia? I'll be the first to admit, that after my short and somewhat limited experience on this site, I was doubtful.
(*)
To: May to December
Sent: 16 August
Time: 10:17
Dear Isabella.
You may very well have just reaffirmed my faith in the female race. Not a single sentence written about 'wants', or 'demands', or even 'expectations'. What a breath of fresh air, if I may coin a phrase. Are you real? I shall be most disappointed if I find out that I have responded to some pre-teen computer nerd who is making use of his parent's empty basement.
I think yours is, by way of an honest admission, the first… genuine profile I have ever had the pleasure to read. And I have no doubt in my mind that I am, in all likelihood; fighting my way through many, many emails currently sat in your inbox.
Perhaps I should offer up a little bit about myself, seeing as I have you at the disadvantage so far?
My name is Edward, I am thirty-nine years old, and I am… wary of noting where I stay just yet. I would much rather hear your preference of institutions before revealing which of the two cities I live in. What would you rather, Isabella, the Big Apple or the Windy City? Please don't feel apprehensive about answering either way, I may, after all, just be tempted to make a sudden move…
The mention of your love for classic literature has piqued my interest; can I dare to presume that you are hoping to study in this field? Or are you about to surprise me (again) by informing me that you've applied to do Zoology?
I must admit, I have a rather extensive collection of books, though I hardly find the time to read any of them. It seems to be that way with most of my hobbies recently, there just never appears to be enough hours in the day. I tend to keep exceptionally busy with work, and unfortunately, it's taking a toll on my out of hour's time. But when the world isn't flogging me like a workhorse, I enjoy travelling, sailing and have a passion for photography.
You don't seem the type to be all that impressed with talk of materialism, so perhaps a more… academic approach would suit? I attended two Ivy League Colleges, the first of which I gained my degree in environmental studies, and the second, I worked towards a masters in architecture. I began an internship not long after the completion of my final degree at a small firm and quickly made my way 'up the ranks'. I now find myself in a very comfortable position at this point in my life, so it's safe to say the hard work has definitely paid off. Though, I would appreciate a few more holidays.
I can certainly sympathise with your position, Isabella, given that I fought extremely hard to be granted scholarships many years ago, to further my own education. That is not meant to sound patronising, but understanding. It is never easy wading through the unending U-turns that life throws at you, and sadly, it doesn't get any easier the older you get.
I would like very much to hear from you. Consider this one older man… curious.
Yours,
Edward.
P.S. It seems only fair that you should have a picture to match the words.
(*)
Jesus Christ, an intellectual. Surely not?
I scrolled down, suddenly very eager to see him.
I fell off my chair.
No. No way. This was a joke. It had to be. His mention of the geeky, basement nerd shot straight into my head, and I surmised that that just had to be it. Someone was toying with me. Some little blighter had sourced a random picture from an old GQ magazine, and was sat with a dictionary in hand, making themselves sound entirely too good to be true.
People don't get that lucky. I have never been that lucky.
He was… was…words failed me.
He was a beautiful man. Handsome didn't quite cut it. No. This man, this image staring at me from above, was beautiful.
And there I was, a crumpled heap on the floor, needing to pick stale cheerio's out of my hair from this morning's breakfast, because taking the bowl downstairs this morning was naturally too much effort, and fate clearly wished for me to dump the bowl over myself at a later point in the day when I had another 'accident'.
I had a feeling Edward McBeauty Personified would take that email back in a flash if he could catch a glimpse of me in my current state.
I mean, is it natural to look like that? Did some deity I was unaware of have a small group created from a very special, very select gene pool of pure Godliness? Looks like that… couldn't be normal. He was almost… ethereal. And he had contacted me?
Maybe he's blind!
Hmm. That made sense.
Yes. That had to be it. He was blind. A blind man who was perhaps feeling a little cut off from society and in need of some reassurance.
From an eighteen year old female…?
I ignored that thought.
I could take a momentary break from my desperate search to give this beautiful, blind man a little feel good, could I not? Well, I mean, if he really was a man, and not some eleven year old in a damp basement.
I dragged myself back up and hit reply, settling back into my chair and forgetting all about my cheerio hair for the time being.
And just to cover my tracks, I typed in the following title:
'If you're a pre-teen computer nerd who is making use of his parent's empty basement, then shame on you and off to bed! It's late.'
Right. That sorted that.
(*)
Date: 16 August
Time: 21:37
From: May to December
Dear Edward.
Thank you for the email, it was a refreshing read. And I can confirm that I am real, female, and definitely not stuck in a basement with a laptop. Boo for you, huh?
I feel I must correct you on one of your points, because I have stipulated one 'want'. I 'want' my education. Very bad of me, I know. But I am nothing if not determined.
As far as the 'which institution?' goes, I have always leant more towards Columbia in New York. Call me a snob, but it is a genuine Ivy League college, not just considered to be 'as good'. Again, very bad of me.
You presumed correct, I have applied to the English department there to study the subject - it has always been my favourite academic area. I've… flourished somewhat over the years and continued to build on my knowledge of the subject, and it just seems like the right path to take. I couldn't imagine opting to do anything other than English. It wouldn't feel right.
Travelling, sailing and photography? Why Edward, are we one for the expensive hobbies variety? Goodness. Makes my 'reading' contribution sound frightfully dull in comparison.
And no, I'm not generally one for valuing materialism. I remember reading once that a person should have 'everything they need, and a little of what they want'. It must have stuck with me. Having twenty of the same thing in an assortment of varying colours, whilst I'm sure is lovely, is really quite unnecessary.
You did a master's as well? I'm green with envy. Somehow I'm not sure my luck will extend quite that far, but you never know.
Luckily my fight over a scholarship was short lived. They just said 'no'. Maybe I could sue…?
So Edward, you appear far too perfect a being to me. What's the catch? Webbed feet? Spider veins? Third, forth or even a fifth nipple?
I'll await to hear the shocking downfall of your perfection with eager anticipation.
Yours,
Bella.
(*)
I hit send and watched as the 'message delivered' notification promptly shot up. Where it was being delivered to, I had no idea. I'd just have to pray the receiver wasn't an infant. That would certainly crush my already shaky self-esteem. And I would probably go to jail for soliciting with a minor. Not all that appealing, if I'm being honest.
I read through his email one last time. Thirty-nine. A whole twenty-one years my senior. He was my lifetime and a toddler older than me.
But he was interesting. And witty. And clearly had a brain. These were good things.
And my God, if that really was him in the picture, then I'd surely swoon for good. Adonis didn't quite sell him well enough.
He looked his thirty-nine years… and he didn't. He kept himself in shape, and neat, that much was apparent. He was smiling brightly at the camera, hinting towards some deepened lines surrounding the corners of his eyes and mouth. But they were happy lines. The lines of a man who seemingly had a very rich, very fulfilling life.
His smile was the sort that made you want to smile right back. It was just… lovely and it lit up his whole face. His eyes were a striking shade of green; they sparkled brightly in the picture and shone with cheerful purpose. But perhaps the most arresting of his physical traits was his hair. It was the strangest colour. It wasn't brown, or gold, or red. It was a blend of all three, making it appear somewhat… bronzed. Almost as if somebody had taken a pot of copper paint to it. He had it cut to a relatively short length, but even then, there seemed to be an ongoing sense of complete disarray to it. Like… bed hair, that had been styled a little to look rugged. Although even from where I was sat, there was nothing visibly styled about it. I had a feeling Edward's hair was generally just… so.
His skin was smooth and somewhat pale, but not overly so. His complexion was fresh, clean and shaven. All in all, it hurt to look at him. Unleashing that onto the female population just wasn't playing fair.
Sighing, I logged out of my account and clicked off of the window, tapping the button to boot the computer down. I could practically hear it singing its thanks.
I stood and made my way into the bathroom, picking cheerio loops out of my hair as I went. It was hard work being this 'special'.
I climbed into the old, blue tub having switched on the shower, and stood, basking in the hot water. I shampooed twice, shaved and clambered out just as the shower head threatened to unleash a sudden cold bomb right on top of me.
I left my hair to dry naturally, bunny hopped my way into some pyjamas and settled down for the night. I had to be up early in the morning. My shift at Newton's was starting an hour earlier than normal for stock checks. Still, I couldn't complain. Every dime counted at this point.
(*)
My day had been nothing short of a disaster. I had had one snotty customer after another verbally lashing out at me for various things being out of stock, or in the 'wrong' colour, and at one point; I received quite the oral whipping for not selling 'doggie warmers'. That's coats for dogs, to you and I. It had been made abundantly clear, that even as just a simple employee of Newton's; I should have exuded some power over these occurrences and then been able to magic items out of thin air.
I would never be so glad to leave a place behind. I just prayed that my meal ticket out of here hurried along – preferably before I beat a customer to death with a clothes hanger.
I was relieved to find Charlie, my 'father', to all intents and lacklustre purposes, was not at home when I arrived. I managed to make my way in, reheat some left over lasagne and head upstairs without having to see him. That was a point in the 'good day' box, at least. And they do say some mercy's come in small packages. Or perhaps I've just completely invented that and living here with Charlie has finally driven me batty. Who knows.
I checked my phone messages, of which, there were three - one from Angela reminding me of our impending trip to Port Angeles tomorrow afternoon, and two from colleges, reminding me that I still hadn't informed them of my decision. I had the good mind to ring them back and explain that they would have had my decision months ago, had they granted me a scholarship. I held off doing so. They were already being uncommonly patient with me. It seemed as though all three of the universities, despite not offering anything in the way of financial aid, all wanted me. My glowing letters of recommendation and then the submitting of several pieces of my own work were biding me much more time then normally would have been allowed. In fact, I had spoken with each department head from my final three choices, and each one seemed rather eager to gobble me up for themselves. It was something, at least. Now all I had to do was magic up $160,000 for tuition.
The thought was… depressing.
I switched my computer on, knowing it would take roughly seven days to finally come to life, and plopped down into my old desk chair to eat. The mean machine began to wheeze and stutter, clearly not very amused at having been woken up from its slumber. I gave it a quick, supportive pat. I shouldn't have. I think it growled at me.
I had made a small dent in the lasagne by the time I opened up my internet window. I really wasn't feeling very hungry. The stress of the past few weeks, and the uncertainty currently clouding my life, saw me frequently loosing my appetite. And if I wasn't careful, I would soon need to drastically re-toggle the 'weight' part of my profile. I was one missed meal away from looking emaciated.
Groaning, I typed in the dreaded web address. I was instantly assaulted by half naked women. I'm saddened to say that this was the least painful part of the process. With my username and password entered, I hit 'sign in' and felt the shame wash over me yet again. I was going to hell for this. Most definitely.
Forty-three new messages!
Can't wait, I thought sarcastically.
I opened the first.
'Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I just keep walking by sugar lips?'
I began flagging the lot as spam after that. Served them all right.
My breath caught when I noticed a distinctive email sat amongst the rubbish. There was no sender listed, just like his last message, the one from the God. Only this one didn't have a title either. Praying that it wasn't some kind of computer virus ready to strike, I opened it up.
(*)
To: May to December
Sent: 17 August
Time: 16:30
Have I scared you away?
(*)
That was it. That was all that there was. And it made no sense.
Coming out of the email and back to my inbox, I scanned my way through the other messages.
And there it was - the last, or should I say the very first email, right at the bottom. No sender. Just the title.
'No basement nerd this end, I can assure you.'
I clicked 'read' straight away.
(*)
To: May to December
Sent: 16 August
Time: 21:52
Dear Isabella.
You have officially made my day by responding.
I am very pleased to hear you are real, and of the female variety, and not some strange boy in a basement. Music to my ears, I can assure you.
Your determination to continue with your studies is… admirable, at the very least. It is something that is rarely seen anymore, and for that, I can do nothing but hold you in the very highest of regards.
Luck as it would seem, is on my side. I am in New York. It is a very diverting city, I think, should you choose it as your option, you will like it a great deal. Although one thing does concern me, Isabella. You say Columbia is your first choice? Are you not only a matter of weeks away from starting? I'm Columbia bred myself, and am familiar with the school's policies. Unless I am mistaken, the very last deadline for final acceptance was August ninth, was it not?
Ah, you caught me. I do indeed like to indulge in expensive hobbies. It is a guilty pleasure that I have the good fortune to afford. Does that make me 'very bad?'
I hope you decide not to sue. They may very well give in to your demands and you will have no desire, or no need, to continue conversing with me. And what a sad day that will be.
The catch? Hmm. Well, my feet are most definitely not webbed, I have no spider veins to date, and I can assure you, there are just the two nipples. Wouldn't want to be greedy now, would I? And I can assure you, that whilst your comment regarding perfection was very flattering indeed, it is most unwarranted. I am far from perfect. Though I am not stupid enough to list my… bad points. I am enjoying talking to you far too much; I wouldn't want to scare you away.
Yours,
Edward.
(*)
Gosh, his response had been quick last night. I hadn't anticipated that. And there was no mention of any blindness. Perhaps… perhaps that was him.
Could I dare to hope?
I hit reply.
(*)
Date: 17 August
Time: 18:26
From: May to December
Dear Edward.
Apologies for the late reply. I was early to bed last night – I was working all day today and had to be up at an ungodly hour this morning.
Yes, New York has always appealed. I am somewhat of a small fish and have grown up in relatively backwater towns over the years. I suppose you could say I yearn for a bigger pond to swim in.
The last cut off for Columbia was indeed the ninth; however, the head of the English department has shown me a little more leniency. I believe my time will officially be up by the end of the week though. Such is life.
No, I don't think it makes you bad at all. People should always take an active interest in doing the things that they enjoy. And if you can afford it, and your hobbies keep you engaged, then why on earth not?
Alright, consider me swayed. I shall not sue.
I am, as ever, intrigued to hear of these bad points, Edward. And considering you have just talked me out of nabbing a much needed scholarship, I believe I am owed some form of compensation. So c'mon… fess up!
Yours,
Bella
(*)
I left my computer on this time, curious to see if his response would be quite so swift.
Standing, I made my way downstairs to dispose of my dishes, washed them quickly and made myself something to drink. I was pretty much set for the evening; hopefully I wouldn't need to come downstairs again, and I could escape Charlie for another night.
My computer screen was flashing at me when I returned to my bedroom, and I closed my door completely shut. Upon closer inspection, it appeared that Edward was indeed, quick to reply.
(*)
To: May to December
Sent: 17 August
Time: 18:32
What is your surname, Isabella?
(*)
Eh?
I mean… eh?
What did he need my surname for? I didn't know this man, why would he ask such a thing? And so soon? Was that… normal? Surely not.
(*)
Date: 17 August
Time: 18:37
From: May to December
Um, may I ask why you want it, Edward?
(*)
His response was instant. And I mean, I blinked – and there was a new message.
My poor computer, relic that it was, would not be all too pleased with me right now.
(*)
To: May to December
Sent: 17 August
Time: 18:38
My intentions are not bad, Isabella. I can assure you. But I do need your surname.
Mine is Cullen, if it would put you at ease to know it.
(*)
It didn't.
There was no need for this man to want to know that. Wasn't it, I don't know, a bit creepy – him asking?
I stared at the screen for the longest time, frowning. Was this the catch? Was he some mental patient that thrived on making young girls feel uncomfortable, by first luring them in with his wicked charm, and then lunging for the kill?
Sicko.
I wasn't stupid. I read the newspapers. There was always a risk of something like this happening. Had I fallen pray to a predator?
My screen binged again, and I scowled when I 'saw' that it was from him.
Reluctantly, I pulled the email open.
(*)
To: May to December
Sent: 17 August
Time: 18:43
Isabella, believe me, I am not asking to make you feel uncomfortable.
I have connections at Columbia and I just wanted to gain you a little more time, that is all. Someone as bright and as willing to learn as you should not have to sacrifice their future simply because they have fallen through some unfortunate cracks in the education system. I know from past experience, it can be very tiring fighting your way back up. I merely want to help.
I don't however; want to be a source of unease for you. You are certainly under no obligation to tell me, and I won't push for it if you don't want to.
I was simply offering a hand, little fish.
(*)
My eyes began to sting.
Little fish – that was me.
But it wasn't possible. Surely this… this stranger, was a figment of my imagination? I had never had any kind of luck before now, so what was this? A colourful, well timed turn of events? Had fate intervened, and stopped throwing a spanner in my works, only to replace it with…what? A silver spoon? Things like this do not happen to people like me. They just… didn't. The Cinderella story was just that – a story.
But I had three days. Three pathetic days to give them all an answer. And I think I would die a little inside if that answer had to be, 'no, I cannot come and study with you'. My dreams would be flushed away, and for good this time.
People often spoke of 'taking a leap of faith', could I do that? At this point, I didn't really seem to have much to loose. This was it. I had reached the tie breaker.
Steeling myself, I took a deep breath.
Nothing to loose…
(*)
Date: 17 August
Time: 18:48
From: May to December
Swan. My name is Isabella Marie Swan.
(*)
I didn't get an instant response this time. In fact, it all went very quiet for the next hour. And it was the longest hour of my life. I felt like I'd just played my last hand, and I was waiting for the best poker face across from me… to reveal his ace.
My computer dinged.
(*)
To: May to December
Sent: 17 August
Time: 19:56
You have a little time, Miss Swan.
We however, do not. If you're serious about doing this, than I would like to make a suggestion.
I am in Seattle next Monday (23rd) overseeing a new project and I would like to meet. I have a proposition for you.
Google may help to fill in some blanks that I do not have the time to do myself right now.
Yours,
Edward.
(*)
My breath caught.
Holy crow, was I really doing this? Was this really… happening?
Thoughts?
Edward has a proposition... *melts*