In 2018, I shot and wrote a visual essay called I Felt Hope: A Twilight Love Story. This was my take on what I thought Alice and Jasper’s wedding might have looked and felt like in 1958.
While this obviously isn’t canon, it’s become my personal lore for my portrayal of Alice.
At the time, I posted a link to where the photo album and accompanying text live on Facebook. Looking back on it, I realized I didn’t share the full set or the story here, so I’m posting it now as a record of something I’m still really proud of.
I FELT HOPE: A TWILIGHT LOVE STORY
I didn’t wear white on my wedding day. I wore green, the color of renewal and growth; pink, the color of safety and nurturing; blue, the color of trust; and yellow, the color of hope.
Esme smiled with confusion when she saw me for the first time. She was used to my eclectic fashion sense by then, but my choice of attire on that day caught her off guard.
“Are you sure, dear?” she asked kindly. Esme never truly judged. “You may look back on this in fifty years and regret not wearing a wedding dress.”
It was Rosalie who surprised me by understanding my thinking immediately.
“Let her be, Esme,” she chastised gently. “Jasper’s had enough colorless days in his life.”
Esme nodded, her expression the vision of remorse. “I’m sorry, Alice. This is your day, and I’m not being particularly helpful with talk like that. I’ll make myself useful and go see if the boys are ready.”
“She’s such a mother,” Rosalie sighed as she watched Esme retreat. “But Esme’s heart is in the right place. She’s been waiting for this day for ten years. Frankly, we all have.”
“I wasn’t. But at least you finally agreed to marry him and put everyone else out of their misery,” Edward snorted, too far above the concept of romantic love to fully understand it. I pretended not to hear him and fixated on buttoning my gloves rather than acknowledge their banter.
Because it was partially true: From an outside perspective, I’d kept Jasper waiting on the subject of marriage, like he’d done to me before we met. But it wasn’t completely true. In reality, marriage was something we’d discussed before and dismissed every time. We didn’t need rings to symbolize our commitment and the promise of eternity. We knew we already had that.
Really, it wasn’t Jasper who pushed for marriage. It was Carlisle.
“It doesn’t need to be a large ceremony, Alice.” Carlisle had told me this more than once over the years; since Jasper and I had joined the coven in 1952, he’d made it his mission to pronounce us man and wife, as though he were the pastor and not his human father. “Although with how much you enjoy planning Rosalie and Emmett’s vow renewals, I’m surprised you don’t want that for yourself.”
“There’s a beautiful church close by,” Esme chimed in. She and Carlisle were at their best when they were conspiring against me. “Or you could even get married at city hall. It doesn’t have to be in a church, if that’s what is giving you pause.”
Edward had been mindlessly tapping out an aria on the piano, and the keys made a discordant clang as he collapsed against them with laughter.
“Can you imagine this little witch in a church?” he crowed. “Or any of us, really? We’d burst into flame as soon as we walked through the door.”
The world faded to a pinpoint. Dimly, I could hear Esme – who was forever at odds with the belief that we don’t have souls – chastising Edward for his joke. But Edward was right. If it was going to happen, it couldn’t be in a church, or at city hall. And once I’d come to that realization, a vision sprouted – oddly hopeful, like a flower bud forcing itself upward through soil – and showed me the only possibility that made sense.
I smiled, closing my eyes to savor the vision as the coven argued around me.
Regardless of what they thought, it had never been about not wanting to marry Jasper; it was just that, with eternity stretching in front of us, it felt like we had all the time in the world to make that decision. Because I wasn’t Rosalie. I didn’t yearn for the type of security and validation she’d found again and again at the end of an aisle. If I’d ever dreamed of marriage as a human, like she did, those memories hadn’t survived the change. I had to plan a wedding for the female I was now, not the human I’d been.
And that suddenly became a lot easier when I discarded the paths that weren’t right for us: a church wedding. A ceremony performed by a justice of the peace. A white gown. They were like wisps of smoke being carried on the wind and replaced with something much more tangible: the soothing scent of lavender. The sun refracting off Jasper’s skin. A yellow door with forever waiting beyond it.
The world came back into focus. In the span of a few moments, our wedding had already been planned.
Jasper and I spent more time than I cared to admit inside jewelry shops, looking for the perfect ring. He lovingly called me his magpie, and it was true: my eyes roved other everything, drawn to icy diamonds and depthless sapphires and garnets that looked like someone had opened a vein to create them.
No one was more surprised than I was when a small, unassuming ring – surrounded by matching earrings and necklaces – gave me pause. It was sterling silver, featuring a chip of a diamond nestled inside a tiny black heart. It was unlike anything else we’d seen. It may not even have been a real engagement ring; just a sweet bauble that could be worn on any finger on any day. And for that reason, it was perfect.
“That one,” I said firmly, tapping on the glass case that housed it. I hadn’t seen the ring in my vision. But the beautiful thing about the future was how easily it could be shaped by intention, and immediately, I knew this was the one.
And so did Jasper.
“Sterling silver symbolizes stability, creativity, physical abundance, nourishment, dependability, security, intuition, introspection and wisdom,” he murmured, reading aloud from the small placard that accompanied the ring. All the things we’d found or cultivated together.
“To say nothing of your cold, black heart,” I teased, because we both knew that couldn’t be further from the truth – now, anyway. It’d been a long time since he’d forced himself not to feel anything in order to survive, but not long enough.
Our eyes met, and although we weren’t touching, I could physically feel the way he looked at me then. “And you, the light at the center of it.”
Without waiting for the shop keep, he reached into the display case, took the ring, and slipped it onto my ring finger. It was far from a perfect fit – we could fix that later – but I raised my hand in appraising fashion, already enjoying the look and feel of it.
“…And the matching earrings?” I prompted, flashing the smile that Edward had labeled “terrifying” upon our first meeting.
“Remind me again why you needed to get married on a lavender farm?” Rosalie asked through gritted teeth. She’d worn high heels that were impractical even by my standards and had the nerve to be surprised when they sank into the soft grass on the fields. To her credit, she continued to help me gather lavender to turn into my bouquet, but the annoyance was plain on her face.
“Because I saw it in a vision,” I said simply – an answer that had helped me win more than my fair share of arguments over the years. “And because it’s Sequim in August. Why would I want to be married anywhere else during blooming season?”
“We could be dancing in a gorgeous hotel ballroom right now, somewhere far away from here,” Rosalie muttered, handing me the lavender she’d picked. She complained too much for my liking, but she was a serviceable maid of honor, even though I knew she was picturing herself at the center of an adoring throng as she twirled across a marble dance floor. “Paris is nice this time of year, too.”
“That sounds an awful lot like your last wedding,” I replied tartly. “And you won’t wither and die without constant admiration, Rosalie. Besides, didn’t you just chastise Esme for not respecting my vision?”
We eyed each other stonily for a moment – there’s no one more formidable than Rosalie when she knows she’s wrong – before dissolving into laughter. Rosalie and I were incredibly different, but it had never crossed my mind not to love her.
That’s how I knew she was my sister.
Esme strode toward us from across the field. There were no humans left on the farm – we’d paid for a private rental on the cusp of sundown – so she was free to run at her normal speed, but she opted not to. I truly believed that Esme was the most civilized of us all – although Edward would argue that distinction belonged to Carlisle.
“Are you ready?” she called. “Jasper is waiting at the altar with Emmett and Carlisle. Or the door, rather.”
Rosalie and I exchanged another set of smiles, because there was no alter, no chairs, and no décor – the natural beauty of our surroundings just didn’t need it, but Esme couldn’t help but try to relate this experience to the weddings she’d attended in the past. The starkest difference, though, was the fact that there were no guests in attendance outside of the immediate coven. Carlisle had briefly wondered if we should invite our cousins in Denali, which we’d declined; we didn’t want our small, intimate affair to immediately double in size. And for Jasper’s sake, we’d attempted to contact Peter and Charlotte, his old coven mates, but they were true nomads and not easily found.
“I’m ready,” I confirmed, and Rosalie reached out to give my hand a reassuring squeeze.
“I’ll see you up there,” she said, striding toward Esme with as much dignity as she could muster while her spiked heels sank into the grass.
Together, they walked through the rows of lavender – toward the yellow door in the middle of the field.
The door is what truly sold me on the lavender farm. Its presence was so surreal and unexpected that it could only be a positive omen.
“What do you mean, there’s a door in the middle of the field?” Edward had asked, quirking a skeptical eyebrow. He’d scanned my thoughts, searching for the vision, and was now fixated on the sunny wooden structure. “What purpose does it serve? Surely, that impedes the harvest.”
“It doesn’t,” I insisted, rolling my eyes. “It sits between two rows of lavender. As for the purpose it serves, I’m sure it’s entirely aesthetic – something to differentiate the farm from every other one of its kind in Washington.”
“Then you’ve managed to find the most creative farmer in the entire state,” Edward snorted, nostrils flaring, as if humans were incapable of creativity. We both knew that wasn’t true, but Edward was occasionally moody – well, more than occasionally – and that day was no exception. “What a novel concept.”
“Yellow is our color,” I explained, fighting his sarcasm – as I often did – with optimism. “It’s hopeful. And doors symbolize transition. Potential for the future.”
“You’re lucky this isn’t seventeenth century Salem. You’d be burning on a stake at this very moment with that sort of talk,” Edward warned, although he finally cracked a smile. “So when are you going to ask me?”
“Who’s the psychic now?” I asked, cocking my head with feigned confusion.
“Not a psychic,” he corrected. “Just your garden variety mind reader.”
I offered him a version of the crooked smile he so often flashed.
Fine, then. Will you do me the honor of walking me down the aisle, brother? I asked silently.
“Toward the yellow door with nothing on the other side?” he asked aloud, pretending to ponder the decision.
“Jasper will be on the other side,” I growled. “To say nothing of the rest of the coven. Besides, I’ve already seen you saying yes, as you well know.”
He narrowed his eyes, as I knew he would, and said the words I’d already seen leaving him lips.
“Of course I will, you annoying little soothsayer.”
AUGUST 10, 1958
“Ready?” Edward murmured. We stood together at the far end of the field, the yellow door distant on the opposite side. Even from where we stood I could see the grain of the wood and the lacquer coat over the yellow paint to keep the rain from fading the color.
“Since 1920,” I said softly. I took a deep breath I didn’t need, and Edward threaded his arm through mine.
“Why did you ask me to walk you down the aisle?” he asked as we began our deliberately slow procession. Most brides walked to Wagner’s Bridal Chorus. My processional was the buzzing of fat honeybees and the soft rustling of leaves. It wasn’t so different from when Jasper and I went hunting together.
“Because you’re my brother, for all intents and purposes,” I said simply. “My favorite one.”
“And because Emmett was already taken,” Edward clarified, pointing to the door, where Jasper waited beyond with Emmett standing beside him as best man.
“True.” I couldn’t stifle a grin.
And Edward – normally so sullen – couldn’t help but smile back.
I could hear Jasper and Emmett murmuring to themselves as we approached, their voices pitched deliberately low so that we couldn’t hear them clearly. Whatever Jasper said prompted Emmett to laugh uproariously, and that – more than the ring, more than bringing my vision to life, more than the concept of a wedding itself – made me sigh with contentment.
Because Jasper was finally feeling comfortable with the vampires I’d chosen to spend our eternity with. Because he was laughing, and smiling, and starting to forgive himself. Because he was happy.
“It’s because of you, you know,” Edward said, fishing the thoughts out of my head as he so often did. “He’s the empath, but you’re his heart.”
I bowed my head, a soft smile playing across my lips. Perhaps my brother was a romantic after all.
We paused before the door. Jasper and the coven had gone still on the other side as only vampires can; I could hear stalks of lavender swaying gently in the wind, the drone of an airplane overhead, but not the familiar cadence of Jasper’s inhale and exhale. At every wedding, there was a moment of anticipation before the bride arrived. Perhaps this was mine.
Edward reached out to squeeze my hand in an uncharacteristic show of affection before stepping around the door to join the rest of our coven. We often didn’t agree – on everything from fashion to music to current affairs – but he was my brother and perhaps my best friend. A freak, even among our kind – just like me.
I watch him go and thought – as I often did – that some day, someone would love him enough to embrace all of his quirks and idiosyncrasies. Someone who could challenge his worldview and teach even a telepath a thing or two.
Someone who could inspire our moody loner to engage with the world around him.
And most importantly: Perhaps he would love that person, too.
“Alice?” Jasper called from behind the door. He said my name reverently, like a prayer, and I closed my eyes to savor the sweetness of his southern drawl.
Like Edward, I often knew things that I shouldn’t and routinely took that knowledge for granted. When was the last time I had stopped to consider how lucky I was to have Jasper as my mate? I couldn’t remember. He’d been with me from the moment I’d woken as a vampire, so intertwined with my sense of self that I’d never even imagined a life without him. How could meeting him have been luck when being with him was nothing short of destiny?
But I was lucky, I realized. Lucky to have someone who indulged me and supported my whims and ambitions. Lucky to have someone who would follow me anywhere simply because he loved me. Lucky to have someone kind and intelligent, who worked every day to be better than he was the day before.
Being with him was my destiny. But I was still lucky that destiny had gifted me the best the world had to offer.
“Jazz?” I called back, unable to keep a surge of emotion from my voice. I knew he could feel my love for him like a physical presence between us.
“You need to be calmed down a little, darlin’?” he asked, and I smiled. He’d gotten better at adopting the vernacular of the northern states – the easiest places for us to live – but part of him would always be a southern boy at heart.
“No,” I trilled, turning to face the doorway, a gloved hand on the knob. “I need to become Mrs. Jasper Whitlock before the anticipation kills me.”
“Before it kills you?” he joked, prompting a bark of laughter from Emmett. “You’re the one keeping me waiting.”
“Now you know how it feels,” I replied wickedly.
And with lightness in my step and love stealing my breath, I walked toward my destiny.
Having never done it myself, I’d asked Rosalie once what the appeal was toward getting married so many times.
“It’s your day,” she said after considering for a moment. “Your special day, when it’s all about you.”
Of course, I’d made the mistake of asking this in the sitting room, surrounded by the rest of the coven.
“How’s that different than any other day, babe?” Emmett boomed – the only one who could make that joke without losing a limb.
“That’s not what I meant,” Rosalie snarled, annoyance momentarily marring her perfect features. She took a deep breath and composed herself so she could attempt her answer again. “What I meant was that when you walk down the aisle at your wedding, you truly understand how much you’re loved. Not just by your mate, but also by everyone you’ve chosen to have around you on that day. Your eyes are fixed on your partner, but everyone else’s eyes are fixed on you because you’re radiant with love – so much so that they can’t look away. For a human, I’d imagine the equivalent would be like being able to stare directly at the sun.”
Had I ever looked at her that way? I couldn’t recall. But then, weddings are happy occasions – they bring everyone together. I found myself appreciating the sentiment then without fully understanding it.
But I did now.
When I walked through the doorway, Carlisle and Jasper stood together in the center of the lavender aisle. Rosalie and Esme stood at Carlisle’s side, while Emmett and Edward flanked Jasper. It was then that I decided that for all of her vanity, Rosalie was right.
There was nothing – absolutely nothing, save human blood – that compared to the pride shining in Carlisle’s eyes when he saw me. To the grin playing across Emmett’s features. To the flash of Rosalie’s dimples, which only came out to play when she was truly happy. To the small bow of Edward’s head as he attempted to hide his smile. To the quiver of Esme’s lips, who was already so moved that something deep inside her attempted to cry happy tears even though it was impossible to do so.
These people didn’t just tolerate me, as I’d feared they would when I showed up unannounced at their doorstep, a little freak with a scarred soldier in tow. They didn’t just like me – the bonds between us tenuous, like I’d seen with some other covens. And they didn’t pretend to accept me as a sister and a daughter for the sake of keeping up appearances among humans.
No – they loved me. I could see it reflected in their eyes. This wasn’t just my coven.
This was my family.
But even that realization was nothing compared to the soft look of adoration on Jasper’s face – the look he usually reserved solely for me. Even in my heels, I had to crane my neck to meet his eyes. The sun shot through his hair, making it look like molten gold, and diamonds played across his skin.
He was beautiful.
I took dancer’s steps toward him and handed my bouquet to Rosalie in the process. It suddenly seemed absurd that I’d resisted this moment for so long. I was ready, and so was he. Maybe we had been from the moment we met.
“You didn’t wear white,” he whispered, the pleasure evident in his voice. He seemed at home against the backdrop of electric purple lavender, the soft orange sky, the lush green fields. This hadn’t just been the right choice for me. It had been the right choice for him.
“No more colorless days,” I promised.
From this day and every day after, there would only be the color of hope.