The Secret 04 The Ever After of Ella and Micha (2 page)

But he’s been better about stuff and I remind myself that if Ella can have a nice version of her dad now, then she should have it. And she’s been doing well, too, but she sometimes still struggles with depression and her fear of commitment. And I worry that it’s the fear of commitment that is behind what just happened. That she’s just stalling because she’s not ready to marry me. And that maybe she really doesn’t
want
to marry me.

I’m trying to stay as calm as possible over the fact that I’m about to permanently seal my future, admit that I actually have a future, and give part of me to someone else. I’ve never been a fan of thinking far into the future, of thinking about what will happen when I get older, where I’ll be. I avoid these kinds of thoughts mainly out of fear of what I’ll see—who I’ll become—and most of the time I just don’t think I really deserve a future. But I don’t want to be that girl who’s so terrified of her past, who she is and the things she’s done, that she can’t move ahead in life. I don’t want to be stuck motionless in a world crammed with self-loathing. I want to be strong, be someone who’s worthy of love, who does things for the people they love.

I thought I’d arrived at that place, but then the box showed up in the mail yesterday, sitting on my doorstep like an omen, from some guy named Gary Flemmerton, a name I don’t recognize, but what I did recognize was what was in the box—stuff that belonged to my mother. My thoughts got jumbled. I ended up doing something stupid. I stood Micha up at our wedding, not because I don’t love him. I do. So, so much. But I’m confused. About the box. About what’s inside it—the journal my mother wrote, her drawings, photos of her. It was her life, stuffed in a box, revealing things I never knew about her, like things that she drew or wrote.

I should be happy I got to discover some of her past. But for some reason discovering this just painfully brought up the past and it made me question my future. I started thinking about where I was going in life. Where will I be in five years? Will I be mentally healthy? Where will Micha and I be in our lives? Will we still live in San Diego? Will he still be playing music? Will I be working in an art gallery or selling my art? Will he still love me? Will we be happy? Will we have kids? The last thought is scary. I’ve never pictured myself as a mom and the only memories I have of my mom are the ones where I’m taking care of her. I don’t want to do that to my own kids, make it so they take care of me.

On top of the panic over my future, I started feeling guilty that we were having a wedding without Micha’s mom at it. I could picture her getting upset, especially since she was the one who pushed us to get engaged. Micha would end up feeling bad, because that’s what he does when someone feels hurt. Plus, there’s this one other thing… something that I know sounds crazy, but I sort of want my mom nearby but the only way it’s possible is to have the wedding in Star Grove where she’s buried.

My mind was made up by the time Micha came back to the house but seeing him sort of unwound all the confused knots inside me. I’m still trying to sort through my thoughts, but I decide to take it one step at a time. After I get out of my dress and put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, I start packing up my stuff to go back home to Star Grove to have our wedding. I put the box with the journal into a large duffel bag to read later when I think I can handle it, along with my mother’s sketchings and the wedding band I bought Micha.

“I think we should get married on Christmas,” Micha announces as he exits the closet with a bag in his hand. He took his tux off and put it in the black bag so we can drop it off at the rental store. He now has on a pair of faded jeans, a black T-shirt, his black leather watch, and boots. As sexy as he looked in the tux, I prefer him this way because he looks like my Micha. “It’s the perfect day,” he adds, setting the black bag down on the bed.

“Yeah, I guess,” I say, pressing the fluffy wedding dress into the bag while trying to zip it up. It’s actually Lila’s dress. She leant it to me after we snuck into her parents’ house and took it out of her closet. I also got to meet her mother during our little trip and the woman seems like a real bitch. I remembered the time Lila showed up at my house crying and it all started to make sense why she showed up that night at my house in Star Grove over a year ago in tears. But it’s been a few days and she’ll barely talk about it and I’m not the kind of person to force people to have heart-to-hearts. “But do we really want to share our anniversary day with another holiday?” I ask

“I like that you’re thinking in advance.” Micha drops his duffel bag on our bed and prods me with his elbow to move out of the way. Seconds later, he has the bag zipped up and the dress securely inside it. “But still, Christmas also marks the anniversary of when we got engaged.” He looks down at the ring on my finger. “It’ll be one year since I gave you that.”

I lift my hand up in front of me and the black stone glimmers in the light, which highlights the scratches, marks, and dings. The beauty. Perfection. The meaning. “I like the idea of a Christmas wedding I guess, just as long as we don’t have to have tacky Christmas decorations, like Santa’s and reindeer or something.”

“You can have whatever kind of decorations that you want,” he says as he drapes the black bag with the tux over his shoulder and then collects our bags. “Just as long as you’ll marry me.”

“You’re too easy on me.” I lower my hand to my side and smile, even though my nerves make my stomach roll. “But it’s a deal. A Christmas-day wedding with no Christmas decorations.”

He looks happy as he embraces and kisses me and then we go outside into the cool ocean air and put our bags next to Micha’s 1969 Chevelle SS. He then runs back inside to get his keys because he left them on the counter. I stare at the inflatable Santa across the street waving at me, or maybe it’s just the wind blowing him around. There’s hardly a breeze here though, and nothing compared to the winter wonderland I’m willingly about to go back to. Star Grove. My hometown. The place where I broke apart and was put together again. The place that holds so many memories, both good and bad. I hope it’s worth it. I hope nothing bad happens. I hope this trip will finally hold only good.

For some reason, I’m doubtful and the longer I stand there in the driveway, staring at the Santa, the more anxious I get. Finally Micha comes out of the house with Lila right behind him, heaving her suitcase down the steps and up the path. Micha kisses me when he reaches me, then unlocks the trunk and sets Lila’s suitcase inside.

“Are you going to ask your dad to walk you down the aisle?” Lila asks cheerfully as I hand Micha my suitcase.

Micha looks at me curiously, waiting to hear my answer as he drops my bag into the trunk.

“There’s not going to be an aisle.” And I don’t want my dad to walk me down it. Yeah, I don’t mind him at the wedding, but I don’t want him to be the person who guides me to the finish line when he wasn’t that great for most of the journey.

Lila places her hands on her hips and narrows her blue eyes at me. “Oh, there’s going to be an aisle. You’ll see.”

Micha laughs as he tosses Lila’s suitcase into the trunk. “I think she means business, pretty girl.”

I’m about to tell him to shut up when Ethan exits the house with his bag in his hand, squinting against the sunlight. “Are you two sure you don’t want to just drive down to Vegas and elope?” he gripes as he approaches us, then chucks Micha his duffel bag. “I really don’t want to see my mom or dad or Star Grove—I’ve been enjoying my space from both.”

“Baby, come on. Let them be. They deserve a beautiful wedding not an elopement in a tacky fake church.” Lila glides her hand up the front of his chest, stands on her tiptoes, and kisses his neck. Then she whispers something in his ear as she plays with his hair.

I’ll admit they make a cute couple, especially now that Lila has this whole grunge thing going. Her blond hair is chin length and streaked with black that matches Ethan’s hair. She’s wearing jeans and a tank top that aren’t name brand like everything she used to wear when we were living together. Her style goes well with Ethan’s laidback look: his plaid shirt and faded jeans and a pair of sneakers that he’s probably owned since he was sixteen. And Lila’s average height allows her to nestle her head against Ethan’s chest comfortably. Looking at them with the sunlight and my house in the backdrop, I find myself wishing I had time to draw them.

After a lot of kissing and whispering in Ethan’s ear, Lila convinces him to stop complaining and he begrudgingly agrees that Vegas is a ridiculous idea and that Micha and I should get married in Star Grove.

“A week is not a lot of time to prepare a wedding,” Lila declares, pulling her sunglasses over her eyes. “Not a real one with decorations, flowers, dresses, tuxes, and guests. God, I wish we had more time to plan this.”

“And I wish you wouldn’t take any time to plan it,” I say, and when she frowns I sigh. “Sorry, I’m just not into wedding stuff.” I round the car to the passenger side of the Chevelle, trailing my finger across a few dings and chips in the black paint that were put there when Micha intentionally crashed it into the snow bank.

Micha opens the driver door and steps back so Ethan can climb into the backseat. “It doesn’t matter what kind of wedding we have,” he says, “just as long as Ella’s there with me. In fact, we don’t even need dresses and tuxes. We could even be naked and standing in my backyard and I’d be okay.” He winks at me over the roof of the car. “As long as we’re together, I’ll be happy and being naked would just be an added bonus.”

This makes Lila giggle as she ducks her head and hops into the backseat with Ethan. I push the seat back, get in the car, and shut the door, then pull the visor down to block the sunlight.

Micha adjusts the driver’s seat before he closes the door and starts the engine. “So is everyone ready for this?” He looks around at the three of us, but when his eyes finally land on me I know he only really cares about my answer.

It takes me a second to answer and he notices my hesitation and his expression starts to fall. But even though my throat feels dry I manage to say, “Of course.” My voice trembles a little.

“Okay then.” Giving me a small but slightly forced smile, he backs down the driveway and drives toward the highway, toward home where all of this started. Where Micha and I first met, first talked, first played, kissed, fooled around, danced, said I love you.

Where Micha and I began.

* * *

We drive down the dark, desolate highway for hours, the moon a bright orb against the black sky and the trees on the side of the road only outlines. Music is playing from the speakers and Ethan is snoring in the backseat with his head against the headrest while Lila leans against him. I have my sketchpad opened on my lap and a pencil in my hand.

I’m supposed to be working on my portfolio over Christmas break for graduation in May. I’m not even sure exactly what I’m going to do when I graduate with my associate degree, but it’ll have something to do with art. Honestly, if I had my way, I’d spend all day with Micha, listening to him sing, while I draw things that mean something to me—things that move me. I wouldn’t want to draw so I could sell my art. Yes, it would be an added bonus, but doing it as a job would take some of my passion for creating away.

Right now all the pages in my sketchbook are blank or have unfinished pictures on them because I wasn’t feeling it and stopped. It’s supposed to be full of pieces that mean something to me, that will make people experience emotion, tell a passionate story from the heart. I can’t seem to find my angle and everything I start ends up feeling forced.

I wonder if my mom had this problem.

“So I’m trying to decide whether to tell my mom or not that we almost went through with a wedding without her,” Micha says, slipping his fingers through mine, and the contact jerks me from my thoughts and I gasp, startling him and myself.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “You seem distracted.”

“Yeah I’m fine… and I vote no.” I set my pencil down and close my untouched sketchbook, since it’s too dark to draw anyway, and put it down on the floor beside my feet. I rub my tired eyes, then slant my head to the side and watch the stars in the sky stream by in various illuminating colors, trying not to think about the journal tucked away in my bag in the trunk. My mom’s journal and drawings. My mother who won’t be at my wedding. I want to scream at myself because it shouldn’t be such a big deal. She was hardly around when I was alive so what does it matter? Yet for some reason it does.

“What’s the matter, pretty girl?” Micha glances at me and there’s a tease in his tone. “Are you afraid she’s going to get upset?” He releases my hand to sweep strands of his blond hair out of his aqua eyes that are so strikingly beautiful even the darkness can’t conceal it.

“I’m never afraid,” I assure him as he returns his fingers to mine, bringing me instantaneous warmth. “I’m just worried she’s going to get upset and cry and then things are going to get awkward.”

He chuckles softly, and then delicately kisses my knuckles, causing my heart to flutter. “So you’re only worried about things getting awkward, huh?” The ring looped through his bottom lip grazes my skin as he moves his mouth away, and then he puts his hand to the shifter with our fingers still entwined. “There’s nothing else bothering you at all? Like the fact that you’re going to have to stand up in front of a group of people and tell them why you love me?”

I gape at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Our wedding vows,” he says. “Did you forget?”

I look at the window to hide my guilty face. With the box arriving on my doorstep yesterday and the panic of actually getting married, I’d completely forgotten about the vows. Micha had thought it’d be a great idea to write our own vows and I’d agreed because it was only going to be him and me, Lila, Ethan, and a minister. I knew there was no way I could write anything as poetic as Micha would. The boy is amazing with lyrics and letters and words in general. Me, not so much, especially when it comes to writing about the heavy stuff like my feelings. I really suck at self-expression, unless it’s through art.
I wonder if I could get away with just holding up a few drawings of him?

“You did forget, didn’t you?” Micha starts laughing again, looking so happy it hurts my heart, because I should be that happy. And I am, for the most part, but there’s still stuff bothering me, like the journal, the vows, my future, what the hell I want to become of my life.