“I’m never moving again,” I said to Esme as I unpacked our kitchen. “What crack were we smoking when decided to up and leave Sherryville?”
“A litany of bullshit that made you feel unsafe and sad,” she answered sagely, washing the dishes. “Moving sucks. Believe me, I know. Try moving from a 3,000 square foot house to a 2,000 square foot townhome. I’m grateful for downsizing, but getting rid of all that stuff? Rosalie and Emmett got practically a new house full of furniture out of the deal.”
“Don’t forget Ren and Jacob. Theylovedyour dining room set,” I giggled.
“And the bedroom set and the china,” Esme smirked. “I’m glad that everything has its place now. But, like you, I’m never moving again. The next move will be to the grave.”
“Which won’t be for a long time,” I quipped.
“I want to see my grandbabies walk down the aisle. All of them,” she said wistfully. “I’ll be wearing a diaper and drooling, but I’ll be there.”
“Stop it!” I laughed.
Esme and I had formed a very close relationship once Edward and I made the decision to move. She stepped in for the mother that I lost. She was also my confidante when I struggled at being a single parent as Edward traveled between Chicago and Sherryville. Our bond was closer than what I had with my own mother or even Sue, who I consider to be my mom for all intents and purposes. However, Esme just radiated ‘mom’ and she was there when I had my breakdowns, when Marie, Lizzie or David had their tantrums and was justthere.