Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or any of its characters. No copyright infringement is intended. If I did own Twilight, I would never do laundry again.

You sit there in your heartache
Waiting on some beautiful boy to
To save you from your old ways
You play forgiveness
Watch him now, here he comes


"F. S. D.," I mumble under my breath. I don't curse in the house unless I'm alone. I reach down and pick up the source of my pain, clenching it tightly in my fist and hopping on one foot while rubbing the pain from the arch of my other foot.

I inhale sharply, preparing to call out for the two knuckleheads who I know are responsible for this. They are constantly leaving this stuff lying around. Why are there so many pieces of this shit?

I exhale shakily, remembering that the knuckleheads are gone. Suddenly, my eyes fill with tears of remorse for thinking of them as knuckleheads. They do have that pesky Y chromosome, which probably means that they will eventually act like idiots at least part of the time, but, for now, they are just my babies.

Why does the house feel so empty without them? Shouldn't I be rejoicing that I have a few days of peace and quiet? A few days where I can do my own thing?

"Get it together, Swan. It's only for eight days." Great. It's been six hours since they left and I'm already talking to myself. Out loud. And crying. Bella Swan does not cry.

Then, looking down at the handful of plastic I am still grasping, and thinking of my solo status in the house for the next few days, I scream at the top of my lungs, "Fuck! Shit! Damn! I fucking hate fucking Legos!"

I cringe as I hear the husky chuckle from the patio door and roll my eyes at the easily identified intruder. It's my back door neighbor. Wait, that sounds gross. It's my neighbor whose house is behind mine and who frequently comes unannounced through my back patio door.

Without even turning around, I ask angrily, "What the fuck are you doing here?"


I whip around to glare at my neighbor, irritation coursing through me at being caught yelling, cursing, and teary.

"Hey, simmer down, Bells. I just thought you might need a little Afternoon Delight to cheer you up. I know how hard this week is for you."

"What?" I screech. Yes, screech. There's no other way to describe the high-pitched sound that comes out of my mouth. I am so great with the snappy comebacks.

"Afternoon Delight, Bella. Take it. It's just for you." Another husky chuckle accompanies this statement. I feel the blush I despise, but for which I'm famous, begin to heat my cheeks.

"Angela, what the hell are you talking about? Did you bring a guy here?" Again with the screeching. I sound like an uptight harpy. Actually, I sound like an uptight harpy's fingernails as she scrapes them down a chalkboard.

Angela shoves a cold metal cup into my hand, laughing. "Well, well, didn't take long for your mind to go straight into the gutter, did it? Seriously, girl, we need to get your body caught up with your mind. In fact, I will make it my personal project for the week." She waggles her eyebrows at me.

"Angela, you may be my best friend, but you are also my employee, and I do not want my employees involved in my sex life. And what the hell is in this cup? Because it smells amazing!"

"I told you. It's Afternoon Delight – in a cup. With a straw. If I had a cute little umbrella, I would have put that in too, because it's so fucking good it deserves to be decorated. Rum, ice cream; that's all you need to know. Drink up, sister, because I have had it with this mopey-ass brattitude you get every summer when your three little monsters disappear for a week. Now, before you get your panties in a twist, you know I don't really think they're monsters. I couldn't love those kids more if they were mine. In fact, if they were mine, I probably wouldn't love them this much, 'cause the best part of being "Auntie Angie" is that I can feed them junk food, take them to do fun stuff and then drop them off back at home. Damn, Bells, slow down on that drink or you'll be drunk before I can tell you about my brilliant plan." I swear she said all of that without taking a breath.

I am only half-listening. I am distracted by the party in my mouth. But I distinctly heard her say I had a brattitude (a word I am sure she picked up from my daughter) and that she had a plan. Angela's plans are never good news for me. And any plan she declares is brilliant is a plan I'm sure should scare the bejeezus out of me.

"Ang, this is the yummiest thing I've had in my mouth forever. Shut it! No comments from you are necessary." I laugh at her when she snaps her mouth shut. "And I think since I'm 33, I'm officially too old to have a 'brattitude'. You've been hanging around Sophie too much if you're picking up the 10-year-olds' slang. One more thing while you're still stunned into silence, I will have nothing to do with any of your brilliant plans. The last time you had a brilliant plan, I got felt up by a 24-year-old who told me not to be ashamed of my body when I wouldn't take my shirt off ten minutes after we met. Remember? I will run naked through the streets before I get sucked into another of your plans from hell."

"Well, there's the snappy girl I love. I knew she was in there somewhere. And the first part of my brilliant plan has already been achieved, so it's too late to back out now. What was that about running through the streets naked? I'm sure we can work that into the plan, if you insist. Operation Get Bella Laid This Week is moving to Objective #2."

"What was Objective #1? Sneak into Bella's house with yummy alcohol?" I smirk.

"Sorta. It was more like distract mopey, control freak Bella with rum and ice cream so that fun Bella can come out to play this week. And by play, I mean let someone play with Lily so you can finally get a little sexual healing and rejoin the party that is life."

"Who's Wiwy?" I ask, with my mouth full of rummy ice cream goodness.

"You know, your Lily." She answers, completely exasperated with me. "Your flower, your secret garden, your jayjay. I just think Lily is a nicer way to talk about her."

Luckily I have swallowed my Afternoon Delight. It would have been spit all over my kitchen counter otherwise.

"I have tried dating, Angela. There just aren't any good ones left out there that aren't old or taken or still living with their mommies. I haven't found one guy in the last two years that I could have an intelligent conversation with AND to whom I was remotely attracted."

"Dating? Did I say dating? No, I said laid. You need some good lovin'. You're beautiful, smart, rich….the right relationship guy will come along eventually for you. For now, you need some fun, no-strings sex so that poor Lily doesn't wither up and die down there. A Sex God to remind you and Lily why we go to the trouble of fixing ourselves up on a daily basis. Seriously, Bella, how long has it been for you two?"

I sigh, then shudder, then sigh again.

"First of all, you are creeping me out by talking about 'Lily' like she's her own person, or one of my multiple personalities or something. Now I'm creeping myself out. Ugh! Second, you know that there hasn't been anyone since Marcus; you ask me almost every week. He's been dead for three years, so you do the math. You are the CFO of my company, so it shouldn't be too difficult for you." I retort, then feel badly for talking to her harshly.

"Snarkella, you are making Objective #2 almost as easy as Objective #1 to achieve. You will be working your way up from snarky to hot and bothered in no time," she laughs. "I know there hasn't been anyone since Marcus and I know exactly how long he's been gone. I also know that you hadn't been sleeping together for awhile even before he got sick. So, what I'm asking is, how long really? How long has it been since Lily has entertained a human visitor?"

"Almost five years, okay?" Oh. I'm screeching again. And crying. And still drinking my Afternoon Delight. I'm definitely going to need another one of these drinks if she's going to keep hounding me about my sex life.

She quickly pulls me into a hug and drags me to the leather sofa. I sniffle loudly, then slurp up the last of my drink.

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry. I just feel like I have to push you to see that you are wasting away here. I mean, I know you are a mom first. I really admire that about you. But the twins are ten and Chase is eight. You have spent the last three years rebuilding their lives since Marcus died, but if you don't start rebuilding your own, I'm afraid you're not going to come back to us. I want to see the light in those big brown eyes again. I want to hear you sing and laugh. Well, maybe not sing," she pauses for effect and for me to join in her chuckling. "I want to hear you make snarky comments. You need some adult fun and this is the perfect week to see what you've been missing. You know your kids are having a great time with your parents at the lake and you have no responsibilities to tie you-"

"Angela, we have negotiations this week. You know that." I interrupt. "Acquiring Vulture Publishing is really important to me, to DiClemente Publishing. It will potentially increase our market share in areas Marcus never dreamed of."

My interruption earns me an exaggerated sigh from Angela. She hates to be interrupted. I know this and did it anyway. Crap! I am falling right into Objective #2. Double crap! Now I'm smirking because I like being snarky. I'd forgotten. Triple crap! How much rum did she put in this drink? I'm starting to feel goooood. Sugar rush plus alcohol buzz equals win for Bella.

"Negotiations won't be going on all night long, but we can find you a Sex God who will," she snarks back.

She hops up from the couch, suddenly excited again. "Now, let's get moving, sister! It's Saturday and we have girls' night in, remember? You said we could all come over to swim in your pool and drink your tequila and I'm holding you to it. I've texted all the regs and they'll be here in three hours, which gives us just enough time to get that margarita machine you have wasting away in your basement fired up and ready for action. I think that poor margarita machine has seen less action than Lily during the last three years."

"That's not true. I've made slushies for the kids in it lots of times!" I'm trying to sound pissed, but that sounds lame, even to me.

"Bella, allow me to draw a comparison. Slushies are to margarita machines as vibrators are to Lilies: Okay once in awhile, but not really what the equipment was created to handle. And definitely not as good as the real thing." She's laughing and backing her way toward the door. "You get the machine ready; I'll do the liquor store run and meet you back here in an hour. Bye!" She slams the door behind her and makes a run for her own house before I can even think of a snappy comeback. Well, I probably wouldn't have thought of a snappy comeback, but that's not the point.

With a sigh, and then a laugh, Lily and I head downstairs to dig out the margarita machine.