A/N: I've wanted to write an Esme fic for a really long time. You never really got to know her as a person in the books. She was a "mother-figure" to Edward. I like to think that before she was turned Esme was a sassy tomboy :D
Who knew that falling out of a tree could hurt so much? Because it did. It hurt like a bitch.
My mother was throwing a fit and was practically to the point of pulling her own hair out. The rest of the neighborhood kids had ran for their poor little lives when they saw (or heard) her coming. I was lying on my back, staring up at the pale blue sky while she wept uncontrollably.
"My lovely Esme!" she cried. "What happened?"
My father was there too, looking down at me with his usual condescending attitude. I felt sick. If he knew I was climbing trees he would skin my alive.
"I was having a tea party," I lied. Very poorly I might add. I was sixteen and wouldn't touch a tea party with a ten foot pole. "One of the girls got pis…angry because I accidentally spilled tea all over her dress. She attacked me, Papa. It was horribly macabre."
I sighed dramatically.
"Can you sit up?" Father asked. Either he bought the story, or didn't want to know the truth. I reckoned the latter.
"I'm afraid not," I said. My mother started crying into my apron, getting it all unpleasant with her snot. "I might be permanently attached to the ground."
My mother sobbed harder. I winced.
"Let's get you in the car," my father sighed. He scooped my up into his arms while my mother held onto my dress. She was probably afraid that if she let go I would float away like a child's balloon. God I would love that.
The car was rotten. I wished we could get a new one. It smelled like a decaying old body. Father laid me down in the backseat trying to be careful with my shattered leg. The pain was overwhelming, but I wasn't going to start crying like my mother. What would the boys think if they saw me?
Esme Platt was a crybaby that's what.
I had made a reputation around here for being the best at everything. Best at spitting the farthest, best at running, best at pig wresting…you name it and I would probably be superlative at it.
My parents wished I could be the best at mothering-type things. I couldn't knit, cook, clean, be hospitable or get up before noon. I thought I was pretty well off without all this dumb lady junk.
"I can't believe we have to drive all the way out to the city to see a doctor," my mother was saying. She had stopped crying and moved on to her favorite thing of all: complaining.
"Dr. Taverns is away on a family emergency," my father explained as patiently as he could. He didn't like people talking while he drove. I knew this from experience.
"Well this is an emergency!" my mother exclaimed. "Esme could be dying for all we know!"
"Her leg is broken," my father said through his teeth. "Calm down, Sara. For God's sake."
When I first saw the hospital it scared me a little. I only visited Columbus when we went to see my grandparents. My mother hated big cites. They were dangerous, loud and frightening. According to her urbanization was the worst thing that ever happened to this country
I swallowed my fear and instead focused on the situation at hand. I had a broken leg. It hurt very badly. My mother was having an episode.
The doctor attending to my leg was handsome. He was so handsome I almost upchucked when I saw him for the first time. I immediately regretted not brushing my hair that morning. It had bits of leaves and twigs stuck in it. I must have looked like an unruly hooligan.
For shame, Esme Platt.
My mother, on noticing the handsome doctor, gave me a look that clearly said: How are you going to fetch a husband like this if you look like that, Esme Platt?
"Is she going to be alright, Dr. Cullen?" my father said.
Esme Cullen. How delightful.
I was so preoccupied with handsome Dr. Cullen touching my leg that I didn't hear a word he said about my condition. After Dr. Cullen was finished with talking to my father and calming down to my mother, he turned to me.
"You're going to be fine, Miss Platt," he said, flashing me a smile. I wanted to take his smile and keep it in a jar like a firefly. "You didn't break your leg at all. Just a harmless sprain."
The handsome Dr. Cullen was talking to me like I was a little girl. Next thing you know he'd be offering me a sucker. A sucker for a sucker.
"That's good to know, Doctor," I said trying with all my might to be womanly. I batted my eyelashes like those floozies in town who liked men almost as much as I liked climbing trees. "Who knew where I would be without you."
"You'd be dead," my father said. "Stupid girl."
I blushed. Damn that man.
Dr. Cullen smiled again. My stomach did a somersault.
Before I could say or do anything stupid and ruin my chances of ever having babies, my mother grabbed my arm and helped me off the cot. "Thank you, Dr. Cullen."
Yes thank you, Dr. Cullen. Thank you very much.