A promise is a promise. But it is a bit short :)
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight.
"My baby has a girlfriend," my Mom gushed, wrapping her hands around my arm and squeezing tightly. "She's a looker, too, Eddie."
I wanted to groan, but I didn't. Instead, I shot a look at my Dad over Mom's shoulder. "She's not my girlfriend."
Another squeeze reverberated through my bicep. "Yet."
I groaned then. "Mom."
"Pumpkin, I don't know why you're being shy about it. I heard you call her your little Baby Ruth," she cooed.
My Dad had absolutely no decency. He laughed.
"I call her Baby Ruth. Not my little Baby Ruth," I explained to the woman who had both given me birth and passed along her musical genetics to me. I loved my Mom a lot, but she had no verbal filter and didn't believe that there were lines she could cross. She still pinched my butt cheeks when I did something to annoy her, but I liked to think that I took it like a man.
She rolled her eyes at me. "Details," Mom huffed. "Don't be a poor sport. Tell me all about her."
Another groan as we approached the restaurant doors. "I don't want to talk about it."
But I did.
I didn't have anyone else to talk to about Bella Swan. Without even admitting anything to Jasper, he'd give me this I-told-you-so look the moment I mentioned her name. God forbid I said it in front of Felix or Emmett, they'd start laughing like pre-pubescent girls. The problem was that this was all so confusing for me. I'd always liked Bella. As a friend. Then a pretty friend. Then a really pretty friend that made me laugh more than anyone. And then as the prettiest friend who made me happier than anyone else I'd met. Ever.
It wasn't until I woke up one morning early on in our trip to Australia that I caught her switching bowls of cereal with Riley because he complained it tasted stale, that I realized I was in love with her. My Baby Ruth.
Like Jasper had told me, it was inevitable. It was like she was meant to be mine. Everything about Bella Swan sucked me in. Her big laugh, her laid-back attitude, her sense of humor, and her heart. She wasn't selfish or self-conscious. She wasn't insecure with herself. And she was kind of a bitch at times. But she was the best thing to ever come into my life. At least that's what I thought, not that I would ever say that aloud. Much less to my Mom.
Mom sighed loudly, letting go of my arm when we sat at a table in the back of the restaurant. "You're no fun, just like your sister."
"Aww, Mom. It's just—"
She waved her hand in my face, already opening up the menu in front of her. "It's fine, baby. I already know you're in love with the girl," she murmured, eyes glued to the script on the laminated paper. "Don't be an idiot though. You take that nice girl and you keep her. I don't ever want to see that clown called It ever again."
I groaned for the third time.
"Carly, these kids of mine think I'm an old fool. I carried their little tubby bodies around in me for nine months and they think I don't know them—"
My Dad and I just looked at each other and laughed.