The office smelled like paper and cleaner again.
Mame sat in the chair beside Charlie, hands folded neatly in his lap, watching the receptionist type with the focused intensity of someone who had processed a thousand students and would process a thousand more without remembering a single face.
Except today, she paused.
"Alright," she said, adjusting her glasses. "Full name?"
Charlie glanced at Mame.
"Mame Swan," Mame said clearly.
The words felt solid when he spoke them. Not borrowed. Not temporary.
The receptionist typed it in.
This time, the computer did not beep.
It accepted the entry quietly, like it had been waiting for it all along.
"There we go," she said. "That fixes the record conflict."
Charlie exhaled under his breath.
She continued typing, flipping through screens with practiced ease. "Enrollment finalized. He'll start in September with the rest of the term."
Mame nodded. "Okay."
"You can pick up your books and class schedule now," she added, sliding a printed packet across the counter. "No need to wait."
Mame took it carefully.
Inside were names of classes. Periods. Room numbers. Teachers he had not met yet. It felt strange seeing his name printed there.
Mame Swan
Real. Official.
The receptionist smiled. "Welcome to Forks High."
"Thank you," Mame said sincerely.
Outside, the rain had eased again, leaving the pavement dark and reflective. They walked to the cruiser in comfortable silence, the packet tucked safely under Mame's arm.
Once they were inside, Charlie started the engine and pulled onto the road.
"School's not just about showing up," Charlie said after a moment. "Study hard. Not just training your body."
Mame smiled. "Of course."
Charlie glanced at him. "I mean it."
"I know," Mame replied. "I'll read the books before school starts. I want to be ready."
Charlie nodded, satisfied.
"And," Mame added lightly, "I don't want to let the Swan name down."
Charlie nearly missed the turn.
He shot Mame a look. "Don't start."
Mame laughed quietly. "Too late."
Charlie shook his head, embarrassed despite himself. "You're putting way too much weight on that."
"Maybe," Mame said. "But it matters to me."
Charlie grunted. "Just don't get any teachers calling me."
"No promises," Mame said with a straight face.
That earned him a snort.
When they got home, Mame set the books on his desk and stacked them neatly. He ran his fingers over the spines, already planning what to read first.
This was not power.
This was preparation.
Downstairs, Charlie moved around the kitchen, the sounds familiar now. Normal.
Mame sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the schedule one more time.
September felt close.
Not like a threat.
Like a beginning.
And this time, when he saw his name on the page, it did not feel like something he was trying to grow into.
It felt like something he already was.
The days settled into a rhythm.
Morning runs through damp streets.Training in the garage.Reading in the evenings.Quiet meals.
Normal, in a way Mame was still getting used to.
It had been a few weeks of that routine when Charlie came home later than usual one evening. Mame noticed it immediately. Not the time, but the way Charlie moved. Slower. Jacket still on. Keys set down a little too carefully.
Troubled.
Mame closed the book he had been reading and looked up. "Something happen?"
Charlie stopped in the doorway like he had not realized he was being watched. "Huh?"
"You look… off," Mame said. "Work thing?"
Charlie hesitated, then rubbed the back of his neck. "No. Not work."
Mame waited.
Charlie sighed and finally sat down. "I forgot something."
Mame blinked. "Forgot?"
"My daughter," Charlie said. "She's coming in September. To stay with me."
The words hung in the air.
Mame processed them quickly, then smiled. "That sounds like good news."
Charlie did not smile back.
He frowned instead, staring at the table like it had personally betrayed him.
Mame's smile faltered. "That's… good news, right?"
Charlie exhaled. "It should be."
Mame tilted his head. "Okay, now I'm curious."
Charlie glanced up at him. "You don't have to worry about it."
"That usually means I should," Mame replied calmly. "What is it? Is she a troublemaker? A gangster? Secretly running an underground fight club?"
Charlie shot him a look. "No."
"Drugs?" Mame guessed. "Crime spree? Arson?"
"No," Charlie said flatly.
Mame leaned back. "Alright, then why do you look like you're about to face down a firing squad?"
Charlie hesitated again, clearly uncomfortable. "She's… different."
Mame raised an eyebrow. "Different how?"
Charlie sighed. "Quiet. Clumsy. Tends to trip over her own feet. Doesn't like Forks much. And she attracts trouble without trying."
Mame paused.
Then nodded slowly. "Ah."
Charlie looked up. "You get it?"
"Yeah," Mame said. "That kind of different."
Charlie leaned back in his chair. "She's only staying for the school year. But still."
Mame smiled gently. "Then she's family. That's not a bad thing."
Charlie looked at him, surprised. "You're taking this well."
Mame shrugged. "I showed up out of nowhere with no last name and a lot of paperwork problems. Compared to that, a daughter visiting sounds manageable."
Charlie snorted despite himself. "Fair point."
Mame stood and stretched. "I'll make space. Move some stuff around. She can have the room she needs."
Charlie shook his head. "She already has a room here," he said. "You don't need to move anything. You can stay in your room. Nothing really has to change."
Mame paused, then nodded. "Okay."
He thought about that for a second, then added, "Still. I can help."
Charlie looked at him. "Help how?"
"Well," Mame said, gesturing vaguely around the house, "I can clean. Organize stuff. Make it look less like a bachelor cave that accidentally acquired two teenagers."
Charlie snorted. "Hey."
"I mean that respectfully," Mame said quickly. "Mostly."
Charlie rubbed his face, clearly tired. "You don't have to do that."
"I know," Mame replied. "I just want to make a good first impression."
Charlie glanced at him, surprised. "You're worried about impressing her?"
Mame shrugged. "She's your daughter. And she's going to be living here. That matters."
Charlie was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded. "She'll probably appreciate that. Even if she pretends not to."
Mame smiled. "I'm good at pretending not to notice pretending."
Charlie gave him a look. "You're weird."
"Yeah," Mame said easily. "I've been told."
Charlie stood and headed for the kitchen. "Just don't overdo it. She doesn't like fuss."
"I'll keep it subtle," Mame promised. "Normal clean. Not serial killer clean."
Charlie paused. "That was oddly specific."
Mame grinned.
As Charlie went to change out of his jacket, Mame glanced around the living room, already making a quiet mental list. Dishes. Laundry. The guest bathroom that barely got used. Small things.
Not to impress.
Just to make space.
September was coming.Someone new was arriving.
And this house was about to feel different again.
Mame did not start right away.
He stood in the living room for a moment, hands on his hips, just looking. Not judging. Assessing. The house was not messy, exactly, but it carried the quiet clutter of a man who lived alone and did not expect guests to stay long.
That was about to change.
"Alright," Mame said softly. "Let's do this properly."
He started upstairs.
Not the closed door.
He stopped in front of the room that was clearly set aside for Isabella Swan and deliberately stepped away. That space was not his to touch. It would stay exactly as Charlie had left it.
Everything else was fair game.
He cleaned methodically, top to bottom. Dusting shelves. Wiping window sills. Straightening picture frames that had been slightly crooked for years without anyone noticing. He vacuumed carefully, moved furniture just enough to clean underneath, then put it back exactly where it had been.
Not rearranging. Respecting.
In the bathroom, he scrubbed until it smelled faintly of soap instead of old water and time. Fresh towels were folded neatly and stacked without being showy. He resisted the urge to label anything.
Downstairs took longer.
The kitchen was already functional, but Mame made it welcoming. Counters cleared. Appliances wiped down. The fridge reorganized so nothing hid in the back long enough to be forgotten. He checked expiration dates, tossed what needed to go, and made a mental note to replace it later.
He cleaned the dining table until the wood caught the light again.
The living room followed. He folded the throw blanket properly. Straightened the magazines. Picked up small things that had migrated to places they did not belong. The house slowly began to feel lighter, like it could breathe again.
He saved the garage for last.
Tools were organized. Weights stacked properly. Nothing thrown away, nothing moved without reason. He left Charlie's space intact, just clearer.
By the time he finished, his arms were sore in a different way than training caused. The good kind. The earned kind.
Mame stepped back into the living room and looked around.
Clean.Quiet.Ready.
Not perfect.
Just cared for.
Charlie came home to find him wiping his hands on a towel, sweat-damp hair pushed back, the house smelling faintly of lemon cleaner and something warmer underneath.
Charlie stopped just inside the door.
"…What happened?" he asked.
Mame blinked. "I cleaned."
Charlie looked around slowly. Took it in. The counters. The floors. The order.
"You didn't have to do all this," Charlie said.
"I wanted to," Mame replied. "Didn't touch her room."
Charlie nodded, clearly relieved. "Thank you."
Mame shrugged. "It's her first time back here in a while, right? Figured the house should feel… ready."
Charlie set his jacket down more carefully than usual. "She's not big on impressions."
Mame smiled faintly. "Then this won't feel like one."
Charlie looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. "That's probably for the best."
Later that night, Mame went to bed tired but calm.
The house was quiet again.
But now it felt like it was waiting for someone.
And for once, Mame did not feel like the unexpected arrival.
He felt like part of the place that was preparing to receive one.