Amara's stomach betrayed her before anything else did, growling loud enough to echo in the quiet Swan house. She groaned, dragging herself into the kitchen like a prisoner heading to the gallows.
One peek into the fridge, and she froze.
Eggs. A six-pack of beer. Half a bottle of ketchup. Something that might have been cheese… once upon a time in another century.
She leaned against the door, deadpan. "Well. Looks like the food pyramid here is alcohol, cholesterol, and salmonella. Excellent."
The pantry wasn't much better—dusty cereal, canned soup, and jerky. It was survival food, technically, if she didn't mind losing her will to live after three meals.
"No wonder Charlie looks like he eats at the diner every other night," she muttered, cracking the last eggs into a pan. The result was a sad excuse for an omelet, which she shoveled down while promising herself she wouldn't die of scurvy before the Cullens showed up.
Decision made. Grocery shopping, it was.
The Audi keys jingled in her hand, smug and shiny, as if Rob himself had chosen this car just to gloat. She slid into the leather seat, sighed at how smooth and comfortable it was, and muttered, "Okay, I'll admit it, this beats Bella's death-trap truck. But still… shady Rob strikes again."
Problem: she had no clue where the grocery store was.
She stared out at the endless trees, rain pattering against the windshield. "Right. Given a car, no GPS, and not even a map. Perfect setup for me to end up in Oregon."
Still, she drove. And strangely enough, her hands seemed to turn the wheel at the right moments, guiding her past misty stretches of highway and dripping evergreens. Her Luck Blessing was clearly at work, and she couldn't even be mad about it.
Forks was exactly as gloomy as she remembered from the movie rain-heavy, cloud-smothered, and perpetually damp. She passed the little diner Charlie and Bella would one day eat at, and for a second, she almost laughed.
"Well, that seals it. I'm officially living in a fanfiction of my afterlife."
The grocery store parking lot was busier than expected. As she pulled in, heads actually turned.
Of course they did.
Stepping out of her sleek car in designer black jeans, a gold-accented top, and boots that belonged on a runway, Amara might as well have descended from another planet. Rain caught in her hair, making it glisten like she'd planned it, not like she'd just survived Forks humidity.
People openly gawked. A couple whispered.
"Great. I'm not even enrolled at Forks High yet, and I've already been upgraded to the town's new celebrity. Fabulous."
Cart in hand, she made her way inside.
Shopping turned into its own private comedy show.
Vegetables went in first. "Charlie's going to think I've joined a cult."
Chicken and beef followed. "Congratulations, Amara, you're now the Swan family's private chef."
Milk, bread, cereal, coffee, and eggs. "Actual food groups revolutionary."
She hesitated, then tossed a few snack packs and hot chocolate into the cart.
"Fine. For future danger magnet I deserves cocoa she can have it too. It might be the only comfort she gets after finding out her crush sparkles in the sunlight."
At checkout, she glanced at the total and nearly choked.
"Wait. That's it? That's the price for all this? Are you kidding me? Future me was paying triple for half this cart. Inflation really is the final boss of humanity."
For a moment, she considered buying out the entire store, becoming Forks' food queen before the apocalypse of rising prices. But she restrained herself, settling for enough to feed herself and Charlie. Bella was a problem for next month.
The drive home was just as miraculously smooth Luck Blessing again, making sure she didn't end up hopelessly lost in the woods. She parked, carried the bags inside, and started stocking the fridge and pantry.
By the time she finished, the kitchen actually looked like humans lived there, not two bachelors competing to see who could survive longest on beer and toast.
Amara wiped her hands on her jeans and gave the stocked shelves a smug once-over.
"Step one to surviving Forks: feed yourself before the monsters do."
She leaned back against the counter, listening to the rain drumming against the roof, and smirked to herself.
"Take that, shady Rob. I might be stuck in vampire territory, but at least I won't starve."
Amara slumped into the kitchen chair, finally letting herself breathe. Her eyes drifted to the phone on the counter—her "new" 2004 model.
"Ah, technology from the Stone Age," she muttered, picking it up. Tiny screen, no touch, barely even a camera that wasn't sad. No Spotify playlists, no Instagram scroll, no notifications to distract her from her human misery. Only one thing it could do: call.
Her finger hovered over the contact list. Charlie. That was it. No friends, no old world group chats, no memes.
"Great. Fun times in Forks. If I want entertainment, I have to watch Bella and sparkling Edward being… gross. God help me."
She scrolled through the menu one-handed, muttering sarcastically, "Whoever designed phones in 2004 clearly hated fun. At least I can call the one responsible adult around here without needing a secret decoder ring."
A sigh escaped her lips as she set the phone down. "Guess it's real-life survival now—grocery stocking, cooking… and dodging vampires. Who needs apps when you've got sparkle drama?"
She let her gaze wander around the kitchen, now fully stocked with groceries. For a moment, she felt a small thrill of accomplishment. She'd tamed the chaos, fed the house, and maybe kept Charlie from accidentally starving himself. That should have been enough to feel proud.
And then it hit her.
Edward Cullen.
The sparkling, shiny, unnervingly perfect vampire whose mind-reading ability could turn her sarcasm into an open book.
"Wait. Crap. Crap crap crap…" Amara muttered, flopping her head into her hands. "Did I just forgot the main problem of that 'sparkle drama' vampire is ? Did I really just call him a glitter-coated menace in my own kitchen?"
She could practically feel it the invisible eyes, the mental probes. If he were anywhere near, he'd know exactly what she was thinking. Every snide thought about him, every sarcastic little jab, all laid bare like a unicorn in a spotlight.
Her fingers tightened around her empty coffee mug. "Okay, stay calm, Amara. You've got this. Whenever you're near him, just think… normal things. Like weather. Or broccoli. Or… yeah, unicorns. Definitely unicorns. He'll probably think you're obsessed with mythical creatures. Huh huh. Take that, sparkle."
She shot a glance at the window, half expecting to see pale skin glinting through the trees, sunlight bouncing off impossible angles, his eyes locked onto her like he already knew her thoughts. A shiver ran down her spine.
Her mind refused to stay serious for long. "Stupid sparkling menace. Can't wait to see you try to psychoanalyze me. Oh, yes, tell me more about what you think of my inner unicorn thoughts, sir. Please enlighten me."
Amara leaned back in her chair, sipping the lukewarm juice she'd poured earlier, muttering under her breath. "Honestly, I should probably start carrying a mental umbrella or something. You know, to keep the sparkles out."
Despite herself, a small smirk tugged at her lips. She might be stuck in Forks, she might be surrounded by vampires and werewolves, and she might be limited to a 2004 phone for all her communication needs. But at least she still had her sarcasm. And that, she decided, was worth every glittery, mind-reading menace lurking in the trees.
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