Bella's Monthly Gift

Thankful that she had finished school, Bella had stayed all day in bed, moaning in pain and refusing to talk to her father, who was found often pounding on her door and asking what the matter was.

One would think Charlie would be used to Bella shutting herself in her room by now.

She came down the stairs reluctantly the next day, still in deep pain and moaning seldom, to find her father in the kitchen, reading the newspaper. He jumped up at the sight of her in worry, almost spilling his fresh cup of coffee.

“Bella!” he exclaimed, putting down the cup and making his way over to her awkwardly. “Are you, um, ok, uh, honey?”

“Yes and no,” she answered quietly still holding her stomach.

Charlie noticed this immediately and ran to the bathroom where the medicine cabinet was located.

“Do you need some Pepto-Bismol?” he asked distractedly, searching through the many bottles and boxes for the right one.

The girl in pain caught on to what he thought; he believed that she was having stomach pains. Not necessarily the case.

“No dad,” Bella began, swallowing and closing her eyes, not because of the pain, but because of the fact that she knew she was going to ask him one of the most embarrassing things that daughters ever had to ask their fathers. “Dad, we need more...supplies.”

She put special emphasis on that last word and raised her eyebrows at him to see if he would catch on. He obviously did not.

“What? You need more toilet paper?” he asked, completely oblivious to the entire situation. “Have you checked underneath the cabinets yet?”

“Not those supplies,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You know, the ones for...that special time every month.”

“Do you need to go grocery shopping?” he half asked half exclaimed. “If you need money, I have some here in my wallet.”

“I need pads, dad! Pads and tampons!” Bella yelled/growled at him, stopping him in his tracks.

His eyes grew very wide and his lips formed a giant, awkward, “oh.” He cleared his throat nervously and wet his lips, not sure exactly how to carry on the conversation.

“Couldn’t you, um,” he began even more awkwardly, if it was even possible. “Ask one of your friends to buy some for you? I’ll lend them the money and they could go...”

His voice slowly trailed off as he noticed the look of death Bella was giving him.

“What about Alice?” he asked suddenly, hope apparent in his tone. “She would do it for...you...?”

The look had not disappeared from her face, and he finally sighed, surrendering. Charlie walked over and grabbed his flannel jacket, searching in the pocket for his car keys. He finally found them and walked silently out the door, not returning until he had come back with Bella’s supplies.

Bella whimpered a little bit in pain, and returned to her bedroom. She collapsed onto her bed and tried to rest, but found she could not.

Charlie returned about half an hour later. He cautiously opened the front door, the only noise in the house was the ominous creak that the door made. He gently placed his car keys on the kitchen table.

He feared that if he made a single sound, Bella would come charging down the stairs and tackle him. That was the last thing he wanted. Charlie had some not-so-fond memories of Bella’s mother during her days of…pain. They were not pretty. He hoped and prayed to the goddess of PMS that Bella had not inherited any of those traits.

But men are stupid.

He heard a second door creak open and winced. She was coming. She could sense what Charlie currently bought, and slowly, she descended down the stairs.

Charlie looked at the Wal-Mart bag, then up at the girl. She had a blank stare on her face, and the only things that moved were her legs.

Charlie had two choices:

1. Give Bella a friendly smile and hand her the bag.
2. Chuck the bag at her and run for his life.

He saw that choice one involved contact, and therefore felt that number two was wisest.

He chucked the bag at her before she could make her way all the way down the stairs and ran for the living room and tried to regain his masculinity by watching football.