Chapter 2: Tale II : Prince Charming On Call
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 12
JASPER'S POV
Ever heard of something called the art of procrastination? Well, let me tell you, I, Jasper Hadrian Whitlock, am the Jedi Master in the subtle and not so subtle art of procrastination.
It's early evening on a glorious Friday and I'm, typically, in my somewhat chaotic room. To be more specific, I'm sitting comfortably in an office chair before a battalion of schoolbooks adorning almost every conceivable surface and corner of my desk in mid-yawn. What, did y'all think I was actually studying? Trust me, there's no way I'm planning on cracking a schoolbook open and studying any time soon. The horde has its purpose, providing me with a means of escape.
Although I mainly use my schoolbooks for the sake of appearances, they do serve another purpose—making me look like I am studying. This is a necessary measure I take, in case my momma decides to pop her great blonde head, big curls and all, through my door. She often checks in on me unannounced, under the guise of bringing me a snack to help stimulate my deteriorating brain cells and keep me nourished.
Needless to say, Momma never knocks. Give a guy a warning, you know? It is a downright grievance at times. Anyway, I'm in the process of clearing a space on my desk to prop up my feet and truly get comfortable for a nap, which is proving to be quite a Jenga challenge. Upon creating little mountains of cluster and clearing just the right amount of space upon my desktop, I finally have enough legroom to prop my feet up and get comfy.
Feet now propped on the desk's ledge, I cross them at the ankles and grab a book for good measure. Cracking the book open in the middle, I lean back on my chair, and balance the book like a tent over my nose, casting my entire face into blissful shadow. (Or the spine might have 'creaked open' in the process, whichever is preferable. Just pointing out the lack of use the book got at my hands. A moth, or two, might have fluttered out even, though I wasn't really paying attention.)
This is the life… Even if it smells funny.
You see, I'm sort of an insomniac. This is exactly why, during the brief instances when sleep pays me a visit and my eyes do grow heavy, like now, I tend to oblige and take a nap for as long as sleep might take me under! Treasuring the respite unconsciousness offers is one of my favorite pastimes, since the chance to do so doesn't come by me as easily as it does for others.
Napping makes me not moody. As a result, if I may say so, lack of moodiness makes me a very happy and amiable Jasper to be around, and that's a good thing for anyone who might get caught in the crossfire of a temperamental me. As of right now I'm running on three hours of sleep, feeling irritable, and well on my way to being moody since school let out, so I dearly need this nap!
Though, it so happens that my plan is interrupted while I'm in the process of wiggling my scrawny little ass further into my yielding desk chair and getting all comfy to snore the rest of my evening away, by none other than my very own momma.
"Jasper Hadrian Whitlock!" My momma's shout reaches me from downstairs as she continues, saying, "Get yourself down here this instant!"
"Wha–" Coming to I exclaim, consequently hitting the floor hard with a startled groan.
"Everything okay up there?" My momma's concerned voice inquires.
"Yes, Momma!" I call back, sighing, and rising to my feet, all the while nursing my sore buttocks. There will be no Jazz-nap today, I sadly realize. "Comin'!"
"Just try and make it down here today," Momma emphasizes, "please!"
"I'll be right there!"
Thinking I've been caught red-handed in my, almost, ninja-like art of procrastination, I proceed with caution. All the while trying not to look like a dog with its tail between its legs. My momma is what I consider a 'busybody' and more often than not likes to get on my case for just about everything under the sun. Do y'all know, she still reminds me to take a shower, like, every day?
Wait… maybe I shouldn't really be complaining about that one… it comes in handy at times.
Okay, so I'll be honest with y'all and myself. Often, you'll find that since I'm a growing young man with nothing but a black hole for a stomach and thoughts of food running rampant around my head twenty-four-seven, I can sometimes forget that I have to shower, every damned day— really, it just happens. Don't ask me how, but it does.
No drama but…
Oh, the woes of being a young man!
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Descending the stairs at a snail's pace, I catch sight of my mother's head-full of blonde curls and brace myself for a tongue lashing. Taking a breath, I take the last step and muse, here goes nothing...
"Yes, Rosalie?" I jokingly sneer. Crossing my fingers behind my back, I bite my lip and hope that my cheeky disposition will see me through the worse of whatever is to come. With wide eyes, I watch as my momma's hand whips through the air like a fast-moving white cobra, coming my way, and know that I won't be able to react in time to avoid the moment of doom.
"Momma!" I exclaim in protest as her palm makes contact with the back of my head. As Momma fixes me with her blue, yellow gaze, I try to avoid groveling and instead turn my efforts into nursing the tender spot she just slapped, pouting for sympathy.
"Don't you 'Momma' me!" She warns and gives me a stern look, which I can't avoid and is devoid of empathy. "You deserved it," she justifies.
In answer, I nod. Like always, this particular look of hers renders me to this meek version of my usual suave self. Making me want to cower and beg her for leniency. Parley? Very manly of me, I know. But, hell hath no fury like a momma scorned.
What? Y'all are saying that's not how the saying goes? Well, I could have sworn…
"The nerve of you, addressin' your momma like that…" Momma scuffs, eying me in a way that makes me fidget like I'm five again. "You honestly thought you could get away with it?"
"I'm not sure," I mutter and shrug, grimacing slightly with embarrassment.
"Unbelievable." An unnerving pause ensues. I fidget. She adds, "You have another thing comin', young man, if you still think you can talk to me like that and live to tell the tale." By now, I feel like my momma's towering way over me and I'm ten sizes too small. "I do think I've raised you better than that…"
Basically, I have no choice but to nip this in the bod and interrupt whatever words may come next, before Momma gets to the part where she decides on whether or not she'll ground me for the greater part of my yet unlived life. Better to be safe than sorry, I always say.
"No, ma'am. Sorry," I say apologetically, pouting some more, and effectively interrupting my momma's ranting before it gets the better of her. Momma's eyes soften then, and I offer her a tentative smile, silently asking if all is forgiven.
"As long as you don't forget your manners and who your momma is the next time you try to get cheeky with me," Momma warns, "I think I can overlook it this once."
"I won't," I promise. And I'm forgiven. Just. Like. That. My momma is the BEST, seriously. And not just because she is my mom. Though there is no shame in my being a momma's boy, as far as I'm concerned. So long as nobody's looking and no one finds out it's a no harm no foul free for all. Not that I would really care, I think everyone knows by now how much of a big Momma's Boy I am. And at this point in my life, I don't think they care.
Then again, the guys find it too much of an embarrassing subject to approach and leave it alone. On the other hand, the girls just think that being as close as I am to my momma adds to my appeal, which in turn makes me all that more Charming in their eyes. Girls befuddle me. Actually, no, they plain out scare the living daylights out of me. I just don't get them. Apparently being raised by a woman who is just as scary as any other girl, but less of a mystery in some ways at least, doesn't offer me any enlightening insight into solving the mysteries of the female mind.
"Good."
"Does this mean I'm still your number one man?" I tease, hugging Momma tight as she chuckles.
"Of course, you are." She eyes me suspiciously.
"What?" I ask self-consciously. Yup, I've been caught. For sure. Or so I thought…
"What did you do?"
Momma's words throw me off and she has this look in her eyes, the one that promises a world of pain once she finds out what she needs to nail me to the cross, no matter the means. When she does figure it out, and she will, she'll be ruthless to a fault. But I'm not too worried, yet.
Still, I bet she's got a plan of execution in which she'll have full use of the arsenal of tricks she has up her sleeve, since she wants to make me confess. But no matter, right now I'm feeling pretty stubborn, which entitles me to pretty tight lips. There's no way I'm going to spill any beans that don't need to be spilled and rat myself out too soon.
And so, the guessing game begins…
"Nothing?" I shrug, trying to think of anything I might have done that she could possibly find out about and come up with nothing. Surprisingly, I've been a picture-perfect angel this week… So many things cross through my mind, but nothing stands out. Maybe she took a look under my bed and finally found the burnt, moldy half-eaten grilled cheese that I have yet to trash? I just keep forgetting to toss it, though. This happens at least thrice a week, which is three times too many that I have to feed and fend for myself. I can't cook to save my life, if y'all hadn't figured that one out.
"Are you sure?" she presses as I continue to think.
Unless, was it something I had done last week? Now that I think about it, thanks to Emmett, I had been a little devil last week and gotten myself into a bit of trouble alongside him. Okay, I give! It wasn't anything I didn't want to do. After a little convincing and cajoling on Emmett's part, I did end up becoming his willing accomplice… And so, we ended up playing a few pranks too many and got ourselves a day's worth of detention.
However, thinking back on it, none of the things we'd done were noteworthy enough to make it onto the St. Cullen student rumor mill and out to the streets of Phoenix for all the gossipy mother's with nothing to do but run their mouths could keep the retelling alive, which would only then suffice to explain how my marauding ways even reached my momma's ears at the garage.
You can press for more info all you want, Momma, but my lips are sealed.
"Yeah," I shrug again, showing her that I have no idea what she's getting at with the indifference of my action. Unless she's willing to provide me with some details and hard proof evidence, I have the right to remain silent.
"Is that so?" We've been through this before, many times. I've seen her play both the bad and good cop way too many times now to expose anything she might or might not already know anything about or give in without putting up a good fight. Until I've gathered enough Intel, it's best to keep my trap shut. I have rights, y' know? "Then how come the Phoenix Chief of Police is ringing our phone?"
BOOM! Goes the dynamite—more like an atomic bomb…
Did she seriously just say that the Phoenix Chief of Police is on the phone?
"I don't know," I whisper, freaking out! I chalk. Wait, maybe all my smoke and stink bombs at school are finally catching up to me? Would the school even do something like call the cops on a prankster? I sure hope not. I'll kill Emmett myself if that's the case. Then, I'll really have something worthy of being thrown into juvie for.
"Jasper," she sighs, "I really hope you're being honest with me." I nod mechanically. "Good." Momma gives me a searching look, accepting the truth and sincerity I hope I'm exuding. "You know how I feel about surprises, right?"
"Yes, ma'am," I mumble.
"Go on then," Momma urges. Pushing me in the direction of the kitchen and seeing the obvious question in my eyes, she adds, "He's still holding on the other line" –I stop walking, practically stumbling over my feet as Momma confirms my fears– "and wants to have a word with you."
"No, Momma, please," I plead, shaking my head in horror and outright refusal. "Why can't you talk to him?"
"Because the Chief specifically asked to speak with you," she tells me, matter of fact. "Now, find those manners that I know you have ingrained somewhere up in that brain of yours, because I taught them to you, and go pick up that phone."
"B-but…"
"Right. Now," she insists. Pressing a firm palm to my back, Mamma pushes me onward in the direction of the kitchen once again. How come my momma's betraying me now, when I need her? Whatever happened to all that nonsense that people always say in these situations, the whole 'blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh' and 'through thick and thin' thing… isn't that how it's supposed to be between mother and son? Not according to my mother, apparently.
"But, did he at least say what he wanted with me?" I ask, grasping at straws, and stubbornly dig the backs of my heels into the carpet in my feeble attempt to delay the inevitable.
"Nope!" She practically sings. I scowl. Then she proceeds to unceremoniously slap my ass for emphasis, ordering, "Move it, Whitlock!"
"I'm goin', I'm goin'!" At this point, trying to protest is pointless.
"Common," she chuckles, "pick up those feet, young man!"
"Traitor…" I grumble under my breath.
"What was that?" There goes that arched brow…
I can't believe she's enjoying this!
"Nothing!" I 'pick up' my feet and walk a little faster than a snail's pace…
"That's what I thought." I roll my eyes, thankful that my back is to her. "It's impolite to keep people waiting," Momma reminds me. "Especially when they've gone through the trouble of callin' on you."
"Yes ma'am."
"That's a good boy," Momma teases. I sigh. I know when I've lost both the war and the battle. Today just so happens to be one of those days. And thus, the score for today shows; Momma: 1, Jasper: 0.
Feeling like my world is about to come to an end and that my legs are made of lead, I pick up the phone hesitantly. God, my hands are sweaty, profusely so. Taking another breath for courage I then exhale slowly and press on the hold button to get the Chief off hold.
"Yea'llo?" I pray that's respectful enough a greeting by the Chief's standard and glance over at my momma for approval. Amused, she nods, smiles brazenly, walks up to me, and ruffles the top of my faux hawk fade into an even messier mess than usual.
"Good evening young man." Comes the gruff reply on the other end of the line but I'm slightly distracted trying to fend off Momma and her teasing. "I am the Phoenix Chief of Police," the Chief informs me, clearing his throat just as I scowl and bat Momma's hand away for the third time. However, she only sticks her tongue out at me and takes my impudence as an invitation to nudge the back of my head instead. "Name's Charlie Swan, but you can call me Sir."
Very mature, Momma, I think sourly and give her the stink eye, shooing her away with a flutter of my hand. Ignoring me, Momma takes a seat at the head of the dining table across from me. I roll my eyes at her. At least she's behaving now.
Still, I vow, I'll get back at you for this. Just you wait…
"Jasper Hadrian Whitlock at your service," I reply, focusing on the call once again, and nervously add, "Sir?"
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FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 12
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CHIEF CHARLIE SWAN'S POV
"Well, Renée, I looked into that boy's file," I tell my ex-wife, feeling none too happy about my fruitless findings.
"Charles Swan, you didn't!" Renée gasps.
"That's Chief Swan to you," I sputter, feeling my cheeks warm to a ruddy flush. I feel a twinge of guilt, just not enough to make me regret my decision to have the boy investigated. "I did, too. It was necessary, Renée."
"Oh, I'm sure it was…" she retorts sarcastically and, taking a seat, makes herself at home.
"This is my daughter we are talking about here," I try justifying, shooting daggers at Renée. "I needed to make sure that this boy wasn't some kind of creep that approached my little girl with every intention of taking advantage of her and started putting all these ideas in her head."
"She's my daughter too, you know?" Renée protests, completely dismissing all the dangers I just pointed out to her.
"Our daughter," I amend, pacing.
"And our daughter said she was the one to approach him, Charles Swan," Renée makes a point of reminding me.
"I'm sure," I scoff. "How much do you want to bet that he asked her to tell us that?"
"If you say so, Charlie," Renée sighs, condescendingly. She's done disputing this with me. "And what did you find in his records?"
"Nothing," I admit begrudgingly. This is a challenge she's throwing at me and it rubs me the wrong way, but I am determined to remain unaffected. She stares at me, waiting for something else that I might add. I don't.
"What then?" She proceeds to ask, "Is he one of the most wanted pedophiles you've been assigning your deputies to be on the lookout for lately?"
"No, he's not a pedophile. He's clean," I sigh. "Just a regular boy after all." Much to my unsatisfied and undeniable chagrin, and it did not help that his merits just kept getting better.
"Of course he is. The way Bella tells it, he sounds very kind." I roll my eyes but say nothing, silently fuming. "What else?"
"The boy just turned fourteen, in fact, less than a month ago."
"And?" she presses.
"And he's currently on scholarship at St. Cullen's, attending his first year of high school," I inform her reluctantly.
"St. Cullen?" Renée frowns thoughtfully, trying to recall where she'd heard the name before. "You mean that private preparatory school with a college entrance level? The one James and Charlotte attend?"
"The very same," I confirm.
"Well, what do you know?" Renée looks pensive as she says, "Looks like he's a smart one then, to be able to attend such a prestigious school on a schoolarship.."
"Top of the crop smart, apparently." Honestly, did he have to be a kid and be smart too? The top ten of his class smart? "Also, he has no criminal record to speak of." Yet, I add and remind myself mentally.
"All that trouble for nothing…" Renée tells me, glancing sideways at me.
"I needed my peace of mind," I explain again and she clicks her tongue at me. I hate it when she does that. It's like she's belittling me, or something.
"You know, Charlie, Bella thinks he's Prince Charming." Renée's smiling and giggling like a schoolgirl, so very amused. "Did she tell you? She swears he is."
"Yeah," I say, feeling bemused. Watching Renée being like this, I have a flashback of the past to when our world was still right, she was mine, and we were happy with Bella on the way. "Thanks to all those faerie tales you fill her head with."
Renée looks at me and catching my eye, winks at me. She knows me well enough to know that there's no real scorn behind my words. I scoff at her, feeling embarrassed by how well she still knows me. It irritates me slightly that being around her like this makes me yearn for the past. Because that can only mean she still has a hold on me, just like Sue's been telling me lately.
"It's healthy for a growing, young girl to believe she's a princess, Charlie," Renée refutes quietly, pleasantly, and with a charming smile showing me a glimpse of the woman I once fell in love with. "It builds up her self-esteem."
"I'll say…" I sigh, straying away from those thoughts. It's been nearly four years now since our divorce, but we still keep in contact and see each other on a biweekly basis for the sake of our only daughter. Only for Bella's sake. The only thing the two of us can ever agree on is that we want our daughter to have as much of a stable family interaction as possible, considering our situation.
"Right?" she chuckles. "Approaching an older boy and asking him to show up to her birthday party as none other than Prince Charming!" Again, Renée giggles and her face glows jovially, and seemingly juvenile. "I wonder, what exactly did she say to him to make him agree to even contemplate the idea?"
"I don't know… And you are so proud of her…" I grumble on unintelligibly. Unsure of how I should feel, but knowing that I felt nothing but concern for my only daughter. Even if her mother doesn't, I know I need to protect our Bella from the horrors this world has to offer.
Maybe the best thing for my daughter is not to be with her mother… Renée's always been too volatile. Surely that's not the kind of environment a young girl should be growing up in? Shaking my head, I try to dismiss the thought and try to focus on my ex-wife once again.
Another time…
"I wonder…" Renée trails off with that mysterious sparkle that I once adored shining in her eyes. I shake my head; I know that look and it means trouble. She's probably planning another one of her ploys. "He must be terribly handsome for her to proclaim him to be some Prince Charming, don't you think?"
"Renée!" I groan in protest, cheeks flaming. The woman still has no boundaries, still so shameless!
"Oh, posh, Charles, don't be such a whiner," Renée shushes, making me sputter. "But honestly, what are you going to do?" She turns her gaze on me once again and her eyes, for a change, are serious. "Bella really wants this "Prince" Jasper to be her Prince Charming for her birthday, Charlie."
"Trust me, I know." No need to remind me, that's why we're even having this conversation! "Honestly, I don't know Renée," I sigh.
"It's just, she looked pretty determined about it too…" Renée grimaces sympathetically.
"She's always determined, our little girl." I can't help but chuckle. "I just don't feel comfortable inviting a total stranger into our home to celebrate our daughter's special day."
"Think you can disappoint her like that?" she asks softly, motioning for me to stop my pacing and take a seat before I make her dizzy with my worrying.
"I really don't want to disappoint our little girl," I admit. Sighing again, I sink onto the sofa opposite her. "She's never asked for anything before, so we don't have any kind of reference for handling this. I, for one, don't know how to say no to her." I look to Renée then and notice her watching me intently and thinking, brows knitted in concentration. "What do you suggest? She is your daughter too."
"Of course she is." She smiles mischievously. "Where's that piece of stationery paper she gave us, the one with all his contact information written down?"
"I was afraid you would say that." And wondering why you hadn't brought it up.
"Hand it over, Chief," Renée orders, flexing her fingers at me, palm up.
I grumble unhappily, all the while reluctantly searching my pockets for my wallet. Look inside, I find the piece of paper and hand it over. "Do you honestly think inviting someone we don't know anything about our daughter's eighth birthday is a good idea, Renée?"
"No, I don't," Renée admits with a devil-may-care shrug. "But I do know we're going to have our hands full tomorrow with the birthday party. We'll have a lot to deal with, what with all those screaming, running, and jumping kids to look after. Let's not add our daughter's unhappiness to the equation here," she reasons, "Dealing with a very disappointed eight-year-old on her birthday is not the way to make it memorable for her."
"You are right," I acknowledge. "I want to protect her but I can't shelter her forever…"
"Besides, we have enough information about him to know that at least he's still a child and hasn't committed any criminal offenses, yet," –Renée smirks at me as she says this, but her words are delicate– "all thanks to her great daddy, the Phoenix Chief of Police, and his handy background checking accessibility."
"Okay, let's invite him over," I give. "I still have my gun if he tries anything funny on my baby girl."
"Now hold your horses Chief," Renée chuckles. "Call first and save the evil backup planning for later. And if it serves as any consolation, be happy that you are agreeing to this. I was going to let you be the one to tell Bella why her Prince Charming couldn't come to her ball."
"Oh, how magnanimous of you," I say sarcastically. "Thank you."
"No need to thank me yet, Charlie. I just didn't want you to be at the end of her 'I hate you Daddy!' so early on in the parenting game…" she says airily. "You've got at least another seven years before we get to cross that bridge."
"Yeah, we want to avoid that bridge at all cost," I grumble. Just the thought of my own daughter telling me she hates me has me cringing. I hope that day never comes, I pray. "Why don't you go pick Bella up?" I suggest forcefully.
"How come?" She fixes me with the eye. My hands go up in surrender.
"Hear me out now, Renée," I pacify, "before you go jumping to conclusions here…"
"Go on, I'm listening..." Pitter-patter go her nails on the armrest, a sure sign that she is impatiently waiting to chew me out if my response is unsatisfactory in any form.
I gulp.
"What I was trying to say is, while you pick Bella up from school, I'll call the kid and then fill you in as to how it goes later," I explain carefully. "There. Satisfied now?"
"Perhaps." Still, she fixes me with a suspicious glare before standing, gathering her purse and keys, and making her way to the front door with a final warning. "You better be telling the truth, Charles Swan, or else, you'll be dealing with Bella's tantrum all by yourself tomorrow, no matter how much you beg me to take over."
"I promise." I nod, finding her terms reasonable enough. "Cross my heart and hope to die and all that nonsense." I smile innocently.
"Good," Renée says, satisfied at last.
"Good," I agree with a feeble smile.
One last warning glare and she closes the door behind her, leaving me with the heinous task I do not want to follow through with. My conscience reminds me that I'd promised and that I'm doing this for my precious Bella. With another frustrated sigh, I run a frantic hand through my hair, pick up the phone, glance at the phone number scribbled on the piece of paper, and dial the boy's home number.
Here goes nothing…
With bated breath, I wait and listen; one ring, two rings, three rings, and–
"Hello, Whitlock-Hale residence, Rosalie speakin'!" A young-sounding female voice greets in a singsong manner and with a hint of a barely-there Southern drawl.
Good evening Madam," I greet and clear my throat. "Sorry for disturbing you but my name's Charlie Swan and I'm the Phoenix Chief of Police."
"Good evenin', Chief Swan," Rosalie greets back, pleasant enough. "It's no trouble at all. How can I help you this fine evenin' sir?" She asks cautiously, guarded.
"I was wondering if there is anyone by the name of," I glance at the boy's name scribbled on the paper and read, "Jasper Whitlock at your residence?"
"That would be my son," Rosalie answers hesitantly. I'm surprised, she sounds very young, at least on the phone.
"May I please have a word with him?" I ask and I'm met with silence. "Mrs. Whitlock?"
"Miss Hale," Rosalie corrects. This remark momentarily confuses me and I guess Mrs. Whitlock understands because she clarifies, saying, "It's Miss Hale, not Mrs. Whitlock, Chief Swan."
"My apologies, Miss Hale," I readily correct.
"Easy mistake, it's not a problem," Miss Hale answers dismissively. "Now, I need to ask, is my son in any trouble?" Ah… now I understand. I smile; making people nervous comes in handy sometimes. "He's never been in any kind of trouble before, I make sure of that, and I've raised him better than that but–"
"No, no, Miss Hale," I assure her, interrupting her ranting. I'm a little disappointed though, seems like his own mother is labeling him a 'good boy'.
"Oh, good," She sighs and chuckles with relief. "For a moment there, you had me scared to death! He's a very good kid, y' know? And apart from the practical jokes that every teenage boy pulls, he's an angel," Miss Hale boasts, like the proud mother she seems to be. "So I was about to tell you as much and point out that maybe, probably, you had the wrong Jasper. But then again, his name is not that common these days..." Rosalie rambles on, relieved.
"My apologies, once again, Miss Hale." I chuckle with her.
"No, no, not at all," Miss Hale assures me. "Let me call him down for you."
"I would appreciate that."
"Hold one moment, please," Miss Hale says and excuses herself. I hear a definite beep at the other end of the line that tells me Miss Hale has put me on hold and I wait. About ten minutes pass before there's any sound on the other line and following another beep I hear a hesitant voice on the other end of the receiver speak up.
"Yea'llo," The voice nervously greets with a minimal hint of that same drawl in which Miss Hale spoke ebbing through in his nervousness. It sounds young and masculine, probably still going through puberty changes.
"Good evening young man," I replied gruffly. "I am the Phoenix Chief of Police. Name's Charlie Swan but you can call me Sir."
"Jasper Hadrian Whitlock at your service," the boy replies and nervously. I chuckle silently as, after an uncertain pause, Jasper adds, "Sir?"
"Jasper," I say, "I believe you met my daughter yesterday, is that correct?" I can hear his small, sharp intake of breath through the receiver. He is surprised, the conversation probably not heading in the direction he originally thought.
"Y-yes," Jasper stutters and I smile, I like the kid already. He's honest. "I met her at the mall, Bella, right? I hope you don't mind my call her that, Sir? She asked me to call her that and I…" He sure is his mother's son all right, the both of them seem to have the same tendency of rambling on when they don't know how to react. Proving my point, Jasper rambles on further, saying, "She's a bit strong-headed that one, if you don't mind me saying. I mean no disrespect, Sir…"
"Not to worry, son," I interrupt. "I know my daughter. Bella, she's the one."
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FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 12
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JASPER'S POV
Since the heavens granted me a great honor in allowing me to become my momma's one and only son, I consider myself as being one of the lucky ones. Regardless of the details revolving around the chain of events that lead to my conception and the fact that my birth wasn't what anyone would consider ideal, I strongly believe that I got the better end of a sticky deal.
You see, I am the product of an unwanted pregnancy due to rape. Because of me my momma had to endure through the loss of her family's support when she needed it most. And yet, my momma still finds it within her not to blame me for the constant reminder my existence provides of that tragedy in which she was made into a victim. Instead, somehow, she loves and cherishes me, embraces me as her son.
According to Momma, having her family eventually turn their backs on her and abandoning their only daughter along with their unborn grandchild gave her that tenacious backbone she now has. Because though she sought justice for what had been done to her soon after some of the shock of the violence she endured wore off and she found out that she was pregnant with me, Momma had no advocates on her side.
Instead, her family wouldn't hear any of it, chagrined with the humiliation their daughter had brought upon the family, and simply tried to bury the problem by pretending that nothing had happened. Going as far as asking their teenage daughter not to ruin the family's reputation and pressuring her into further defiling her body, presenting abortion as the only alternative to fully erase the 'problem' and move on. Only, Momma couldn't just 'move on' like her family wanted her to.
Though I'm aware of this and have seen proof of her love for me on a multitude of occasions throughout my life, there's always a twinge of uncertainty prickling at the back of my mind and it continuously feeds my doubts. It is like a living thing that writhes within me, making me believe that a Mother's love has an expiration date and that I shouldn't believe her saccharine words. Because no matter how many times my momma tells me otherwise and tries to reassure me of her encompassing love for me, I should finally see the truths for lies.
Like father, like son—this one idiom haunts my every waking moment since I learned about my tainted parentage. A guillotine hangs over my head, since. An inevitable oppression that tells me that one day I'll wake up to find myself distorted of the person I thought I was and become a monster that thinks and act like he does, like my father. Once that happens, Momma will look at me with the same haunted look she gets when she has a nightmare about Father, and she won't be able to love me anymore...
Constantly, I question where the lines between love and hate might get blurred. Especially when we fight and don't speak to each other for weeks. That's when the dark thoughts take hold and I start to consider the unthinkable, that my own mamma resents me, one way or another, for the life she's been dealt. This terrifying thought sporadically takes hold of my rational mind before creeping its way into my heart and feeding my cognizance along its crevices with another lethal dosage of the same insecurities that long ago have taken root where light fails to reach.
Yet, when I once gathered all my courage and gave voice to these particulars about my fears, Momma nearly grounded me for life for even thinking 'about something so absurd'. Of course, after nearly having a conniption, she set me straight right on the spot by reminding me of everything we've been through in our fourteen years together once she calmed down.
With her kind and patient words Momma managed to placate my rationality and intellect, making it so that I couldn't even argue otherwise with her reasoning. In her wisdom showing me that the possibility of my fears ever being anywhere near accurate just wouldn't and couldn't be at all possible because I am my Momma's son. Then, she proceeded to let me know that I'm the only man she'll ever have room for in her life and heart, 'don't I ever forget it'.
Needless to say, she made a pretty convincing statement.
While growing up, it has baffled me to see, know, and experience the kind of woman she's become despite hers and my circumstances. To me she's Wonder Woman, the best woman mechanic around town one minute and the next, she's just your average woman all wrapped up into one amazing, hot-blooded momma package. But like any other, my momma tends to cry when she's been hurt and gets mad, she even becomes impossible to deal with when all her cravings bring the worse out of her during that time of the month all women suffer through.
Momma's endured it all for me, her son, over the years; the condemning looks, the jabs at her self-esteem, the judging glares, the trashing and bashing, and the jealous whispers sharpened with cruelty. But my momma endures through it all, shielding me and making sure I remain unscathed through the worse of the brunt. All without losing her hardheaded will to strive for the things she wants to achieve, even during the times when she thought she wouldn't make it happen for us, and giving up would have been easier.
Y'all guessed it, my momma is the person I admire most in this unjust world. In fact, the word "admiration" doesn't fully cover the feelings that my momma evokes whenever I find myself thinking about her and everything she's done and endured in the process of navigating life as a teenage mother. Over the years, through her example I've come to learn and appreciate what it means to have a strong will.
In part, I think that's what makes us two such a strong family. Resilience. Relying only on each other and a few privileged works for us just fine. At the end of the day, it'll still be Momma and me against the world. We've both come a long way heedlessly, since Momma didn't allow us to become another statistic on the teen pregnancy charts. After all, she's the woman who shaped me into the young man I am today and I'm beyond proud to let anyone who might be willing to listen that I am Rosalie Hale's son.
Even if I often fail to see that there might be a higher purpose to my birth, I like to believe that I'm at least the sole reason why Rosalie Hale became a Mother. My momma. That's enough for me. It has to be. Ever since she gave birth to me at the tender age of fourteen, Momma's been my provider and she's been incessantly working toward being the best mother she can be all on her own.
Therefore, I say my mother deserves more than my admiration. I'm too proud of her. Too humbled by the honor and privilege of getting to call her my momma. I wouldn't change her for anything. And, yes, you can say Mother's Day is a big deal around here, especially for me. Again, I'm a sentimental fool, I'll admit to it proudly.
To this day, I still don't know how she does it all. Raising me, keeping up with me and everything life throws her way, and still be the hot momma everyone stares at and lusts over when she drops me off at school.
Yes, I have eyes and ears, so I know that my momma is considered hot by the entire male population, teachers included, and hated by every jealous female in existence. To my utter horror she is especially popular among my friends and stars in many of their wet dreams... Something I only know because she's all the guys talk about while we get changed in the locker room and there are just some things that can never be unheard.
For the most part, I'm overly protective of my momma. Especially when someone gets too disrespectful or descriptive while talking about her in front of me. Most of their comments are enough to make me want to cover my ears before they fall off with the suggestive or repulsive things that come out of their mouths and shudder with disgust soon after fixing them a new one. Honestly, I've come to learn that people have no sense of decency sometimes and I've got more than my share of scars to prove it.
Little acquired trophies that mark a timetable here and there across my otherwise unmarred skin, the perfect canvas to the pearly patchwork of a disillusioned childhood and painful memories of growing up as the son of a once teenage mother. Day to day, each little mutilation I have to stare at in the mirror reminds me that I can't let myself forget that I could be the one inflicting similar scars in another and it serves to keep me striving, to make me better.
But more importantly, that I'm not alone in this. I might be wearing my scars on my skin but Momma wears hers on her soul—I've spied them a handful of times. Because of this, not a day goes by that I don't remember how I came to be or the sacrifices my Momma's made in order to make up for all the 'shortcomings' that litter our lives because she, at fourteen years of age, decided that I'm worth loving.
Starting with the absence of a father that I never felt or noticed until a 'friend' made a comment on it during Parent's Day when I was six, completely humiliating my momma. She'd been twenty years old at the time and I'd earned my first trophy for her—a thin little line over my left eyebrow that bled more than it should have.
Yet, to spare my momma from her guilt, from that day onward I made a conscious effort to keep a positive outlook on life and often make sure to let her know that she is everything to me; Mother, Father, Sister…. Everything. Even when I finally learned the truth behind the reason for my lack of a father at age twelve, I remained uninterested in regards to him and didn't even ask for his name. However, I made the grave mistake of asking after my grandparents.
To this day, nothing has ever topped the nervousness and despair I felt when I learned who I truly am—the good, the bad, the ugly, and the miraculous. However, though this phone call can't quite compare to the heaviness of that conversation, I have to say that I'm inclined to believe it takes second place on my list of unpleasant experiences.
Simply because I've never felt more awkward in my life over a phone call. As if to attest this, my treacherous body has me sweating bullets, while I ramble and stutter all over the place as I realize that I'm not in trouble for anything unlawful, except talking to the Phoenix's Chief of Police daughter. I gulp. Of all things, how come that chatty little girl failed to mention that her poppa is the Phoenix Chief of Police?
To make matters worse, my momma is following my every move from her seat at the head of the dining table with a bemused and curious expression coloring her features. On a happy note, I'm not in serious trouble with the law or my momma at least. That is, if the Chief doesn't get to me first, I might get to live another day. Or is it too early to scratch law-breaking off the table?
"Son, you are not in any kind of trouble, I just want a word with you," The Chief assures me, putting me out of my misery. Feeling relieved at having this one matter clarified, I sigh. "I just have a favor to ask…"
I hesitate, understanding where this conversation might be heading. Trying to broach the subject as nonchalantly as possible, I lean back against the kitchen counter and cradle the phone on the nook of my shoulder so I can crack the tension of the last fifteen minutes out on my knuckles so I can finally start to relax.
"Is this about your daughter's upcoming birthday party?" I question and I can hear Chief Swan grumbling something unintelligible in the background. Deciding not to push the man, I remain patient and wait until he is ready to speak up again on his own terms. Instinctively, I can sense that doing so is the right and sensible thing to do in this bizarre situation.
"Yes," Chief Swan finally admits through gritted teeth. Touchy subject, I guess. "She insisted on having you invited."
"Oh." I cringe.
"It's what my daughter wants, and my daughter will get what she wants for her birthday," the Chief continues, "even if I have my reservations about it…"
"I-I-I see, Sir…"
"You will be coming to her birthday party, right?" Chief Swan asks me forcefully and I swear I hear the underlying foundations of a threat adding an edge behind each word. "You will attend and present yourself as Prince Charming, right?" I cringe again as the Chief repeats himself, and this time, I can picture a malicious grin forming on his featureless face.
"Yes, Sir, of course," I agree. "My schedule is all open for tomorrow, nothin' in the near horizon but your daughter's birthday party."
"Terrific."
It sure doesn't sound like it, I digress.
"Just to make sure, so I'm no party crasher." I chuckle nervously. "This is you invitin' me to your daughter's birthday party, right, Sir?" Please say no… just, say no… Please?
"It is, Jasper," Chief Swan says, sounding pleasant for once. "My daughter will be thrilled to have you there, so don't disappoint her."
Or you'll hunt me down and probably put a bullet through my head, got it, I add mentally. I, too, can read between the lines.
"I wouldn't dream of it, Sir," I promise.
"Excellent!"
Fearing for my life, I make a mental note to check out what kind of guns policemen carry around these days the moment I get off the phone with the Chief. And while at it, I'll make sure to find a picture of the Chief and memorize his face. Also, it can't hurt none to find out at what speed bullets travel, and more importantly I want to know what chances a fourteen-year-old boy has of surviving a bullet wound, if any.
Just to be on the safe side.
"What time would you like me there, Sir?" I hedge. "And what's the address of the place the party is being held tomorrow?"
"One o'clock sharp, son," Chief Swan informs me. "Now, as for the address… Do you have paper and pen to write down the directions?" I answer to the affirmative as soon as Momma provided me with some. "Good. The address is…"
"Got it, Paradise Valley…" Writing down the address and all the directions the Chief gives me on how to get to his house from where I live, I take careful measures in making sure that my handwriting is legible enough for my momma to later decipher. On the other hand, though I really want to ask, I can't work up the nerve to ask the Chief how he knows my location. So instead, I say, "Thank you Chief Swan."
Given that he's the Phoenix Chief of Police, I content myself with assuming that it's part of his job description to know these sorts of things. Also, I'm terribly glad and thankful that the Chief didn't personally come to my doorsteps and deliver the invitation. Therefore, I decide to forgo curiosity for the evening. Shocking, I know.
"Also," the Chief says, interrupting my thoughts. "Jasper, son?"
"Yes, Chief Swan?"
"Why don't you dress the part, you know, and make everyone believe that you are the real Prince Charming?" Chief Swan asks me, and I almost choke on my own spit, groaning internally. The dreaded request!
"Um…" I open my mouth to refuse but my tongue has either gone to sleep or completely forgotten how to work in my favor.
"Since everyone at this party will be dressing the part, I can't have you refuse." I can hear the mirth falling off in chunks from the tone of the Chief's voice as he informs me of this little detail. Given the horrorstruck marring my features, I'm so very glad Chief Swan can't see my face right now.
He can't, right? I sure hope so. Getting slightly paranoid, I glance out the kitchen window as furtively as I can manage… I see nothing out of the ordinary. Just the trees, cars parked on the streets, some kids playing, and our trashcan. But that doesn't mean anything in this time and age of technology, I think darkly.
What's wrong? Mamma mouths, coming to stand by me as she registers my obvious panic. I shake my head at her and whisper a feeble 'Later' away from the phone's mouthpiece.
"Will do, Chief, Sir," I agree reluctantly, seeing no other way out and sounding much calmer than I feel. Once she hears, Momma's gonna have a ball with this plot twist. The thought nearly makes me groan aloud and I all but bite my tongue to keep it in check. I almost dread asking but I probe, "Anything else?
"No," the Chief replies, to my relief. "That about covers it all… Unless you have any other questions for me?"
"Sir, can my momma accompany me?" I ask after a moment of deliberating. "Actually, if I'm to follow through on your request, there might be four of us total."
"Four?" Mamma queries. I shrug, irritating her.
"Certainly, that won't be a problem," the Chief accepts. "Preferable, even."
"Thank you, Chief, and good evenin'," I bid, ready to be over with my mortification and dive into the next portion of it—explaining everything that went on to my momma who is nearly bursting with questions.
"Not so fast son," the Chief interjects. I sigh silently. What now? "Remember, I know where you live." One last threat that sounds much too cheery and does the intended job of making me fear for my safety in the hours and days to come.
"I will see you and your daughter tomorrow, at one o'clock sharp, you can count on it, Sir!" I promise, the lump on my throat making speech rather uncomfortable.
"Much better, son," The Chief says with a smile in his voice. "Good evening to you and your mother, Jasper."
"G' evening to you too, Chief," I bid in turn, finally hanging up the phone and ending the most terrifying call of my life, and hopefully my last. My nerves won't work the same ever again, I'm certain.
"So…" My momma trails off. Breathing in oxygenated-courage, I turn to face her with a solemn look in my eyes. "Anything you want to tell me?"
"I don't know what you mean," I stall and stare at her dubiously.
"Were you…" Trailing off, Momma gapes. "Were you messin' around with the Chief's daughter?" My eyes go as wide as saucers… The conclusions my momma jumps to! I am aghast! "Is he now going to be coming after you with his gun?"
Exasperated, I literally slam my palm against my forehead.
"Momma!" I protest with a groan. She goes into a fit of laughter. "First of all, I'm not old enough to be doing any of that." –At my admission, I blush furiously– "Secondly, we've talked about that and y' know I would talk to you before, y' know, doin' that..." I trail off, my mortification reaching new heights. Clearing my throat, I continue, "Thirdly, Momma, Bella's eight! Or she's about to be anyway, and besides, she's the little girl from the mall."
"Ok, ok, I get it!" At last, she understands. I had told her all about the episode at the mall, since, as I'd guessed, Emmett just had to tell our entire family about what he overheard. "Sorry son," she manages between chuckles. I glare at her, not at all finding my situation comical. "So, the Phoenix's Chief of Police is Bella's father, is he?" I nod. "And he actually called to invite you to his little girl's birthday?" Momma asks dubiously. Again, I nod. "Well, lucky you."
No, not really… Reluctantly, I nod.
"You are invited too," I point out, but this new bit of information only makes my momma grin even wider now. That's right, now she gets to enjoy my suffering first hand and for free. I scowl. She's enjoying this too much, my suffering.
"Prince Jasper," My momma says, sighing in that dreamy, scary way that only girls do and looks off into the distance with a mocking faraway look in her eyes. I click my tongue at her impatiently.
"Momma!" I protest, heavily pouting. "This ain't funny."
"Now my son, I will have to disagree with you on this one," she proclaims, ruffling the top of my faux hawk fade and kissing my forehead. "Since I'm assuming she's one of the four coming along, do excuse me because I can't wait to tell your Aunt Alice…" She chuckles maliciously and snatches the phone out of my unsuspecting hand, that familiar evil glint making a dreaded appearance.
Uh-oh… Oh… Oh, no…
"Momma, you wouldn't?" I whine, aghast.
"You'll need to dress the part now, wouldn't you?" She tells me, right brow arched and hands on her hips. She has me there. Hating the reminder, I groan. "I'll take that as a yes then!" she chirps gleefully.
"B-but..." I stutter, trying to find something with which to stall this next catastrophe. Finding nothing, I stop breathing and furiously shake my head. "Momma, don't just yet!" I plead desperately.
"Well," she says, clapping her hands and ignoring me, "we are pressed for time and in need of your Aunt's services…"
Horrified, I watch as the seams of my pride begin to unravel, unfolding before me like one great calamity I no longer have any power to stop. Everything seems to slow down to a crawl as my momma turns on her heel, walks out of the kitchen with the phone in hand, hits the power button on the dial pad, dials, places the receiver on her ear, and listens as the dial tone is replaced with a ring—one ring, two rings, three rings and…
"Hey Alice! Get over here right now!" Momma says, glancing over her shoulder at me as I take an involuntary step in her direction. "Yes, this is an emergency! Believe me, when you hear what just happened to Jasper–"
"Nooooooooooooooooooo!" I hear myself scream and launch at Momma.
Okay, okay, I'll admit it. That's obviously not what happened but it is what I wanted to do. Anything would work, really, if it puts a stop to the tragedy my life's about to turn into. Because, so far, for reasons unbeknownst to me, Emmett's been keeping his trap shut at school about yesterday's fiasco, but I'm sure that once this blows over, he won't be able to keep it up much longer.
I am so royally doomed. Get it? Prince Charming… Oh, forget it.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
VR_Brito
VR_Brito There, a nice, long chapter to reward my first few readers and my first two reviewers, 08ASHB for understanding that some cliches are necessary and MaaaaaarsSep for your encouragement. This author really appreciates it!
Until the next chapter my lovelies,
Amaterasu Kinesi
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Ranking 
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