The Ever After of Ella and Micha

Chapter 18

Present day…

Ella

When I open my eyes to daylight, Micha’s already awake, with my mom’s journal on his lap with the photo of her beside his leg. He’s leaning against the headboard with his boxers on and he’s shirtless so I can see his lean muscles and wisps of his hair dangling across his forehead. There’s an intense look on his face as he reads the pages but when I move to sit up, my head and cheek pulsating in protest, he closes the journal, the intensity shifting to ease.

“Anything good in there?” I ask, clutching the blanket over my bare chest.

He shrugs, but by his frown I can tell he hasn’t found anything that’s happy. He tucks the photo into the journal, marking the page before he puts it aside, and then reaches over to stroke my puffy, tender cheekbone. “We should have put some ice on that last night,” he says. “Seriously, Ella, it looks like it hurts like hell.”

I place my hand over his. “It does hurt like hell.”

“Do you want to tell me how it really happened?” he asks, and when I tense he adds, “I know when you’re lying, Ella May, so don’t try to tell me some girl hit you because I could tell last night that you were full of shit.”

“Then why didn’t you call me out on it?”

“Because I was thinking with my dick and nothing else.”

I smile, thinking about how he pushed me up against the wall and slammed into me so hard I could feel it through my entire body. “My legs actually hurt a little from last night,” I divulge as I move the blankets off me and massage my thighs.

He looks down at my legs with intensity in his eyes. “I could say I feel bad, but I don’t.”

I cover myself back up with the blanket and lie down on the bed. He lies down with me and props his elbow on the pillow and rests his head against his hand.

“I’ll tell you,” I say as his finger strokes my cheek, “but you have to promise me that you won’t do anything about it. No going looking for a fight.”

He stops moving his fingers. “I won’t promise that.”

“Then I won’t tell you.”

“Ella May—”

I cover his mouth with my hand and cut him off. “Don’t ‘Ella May’ me. The last thing I need is a husband who either gets charges pressed against him or ends up seriously injured.”

He pauses and then his lips curve upward beneath my hand. “Say it again.”

“Only if you promise.”

“Fine.” He sighs and my hand leaves his mouth. “I won’t go looking for a fight as long as you’ll tell me what happened and call me your husband again.” He gets this goofy grin on his face that makes me smile.

“All right, husband,” I say, making his smile expand. I take a deep breath and tell him about Mikey. I can see for the entire time that he’s working really hard to control his reaction, his hands balling into fists as he listens.

When I’m finished, he’s quiet for a while, and then he finally says, “Can I at least have Ethan kick his ass?”

I shake my head. “No. Lila doesn’t need him hurt either. Or in jail.”

His jaw is set tight and his eyes linger on my cheek before he blows out a breath. “I really want to beat the shit out of him, Ella May. I swear to God…” He clenches his fists, the muscles in his lean arms tightening.

“I know you do,” I say. “But I don’t want you to.”

“You’re killing me,” he says, aggravated.

“I know, but it’s for the best,” I explain. “Besides, I got a good kick and hit in.”

“He should have never hit a girl… I swear to God…” He blows out a frustrated breath, shaking his head. “Can’t I at least fuck up his car or something?”

“He’ll probably think it was you,” I say. “Or me.”

“Please, you have to give me something.”

I sigh. “Fine, we can sneak over to his house and slash his tires one night before we go home.”

“That’s it?” He pouts, frowning. “Can’t I, like, smash in his windows and then hit him a few times?”

“Just the tires,” I say. “And no hitting. I don’t want this turning into a huge problem.”

His frown deepens. “Fine, but only for you.”

“Thank you.” I give him a kiss and he still seems irritated, but he responds, sliding his tongue into my mouth. We keep kissing as he flips us over, rolling me onto my back and lying over me. He gazes down at me all lovey dovey, stroking my cheek with a thoughtful look on his face, and when he opens his mouth, I have no idea what he’s going to say.

“Lila says you got me a Christmas present,” he says, surprising me.

I shake my head. “Only because she made me get you one, so don’t think you have to get me anything. I know we don’t do the whole Christmas stuff.”

“What if I want to get you something, though?”

“Then you can,” I say. “But just so you know, what I got you isn’t anything great.” Which is true. While we were out shopping for wedding decorations, I saw these friendship bracelets that looked exactly like the ones Micha and I had for a while before we were kids, after we made this promise to be best friends forever. Eventually they got all worn out and we threw them away or lost them, and when I told Lila this, she said I should get them and give them to Micha as a present. I’m not one for sappiness, but I still found myself buying them.

“I’m already getting you,” he says. “Which is the best present ever.”

I shake my head, but can’t help but smile. “You’re so cheesy sometimes.”

“And you secretly love it.”

I don’t respond because he’s right and then he grins as he nudges my legs open with his knee, shifting his hips between them, ready to slip back inside me.

But a knock on the door interrupts us.

“Ella,” Lila calls out from the other side.

“Just ignore her,” Micha whispers, nibbling on my earlobe as he grazes his thumb across my nipple.

I groan, squeezing my legs against his hips as the tip of him presses into me.

“Ella, I know you’re in there and I need you to come out.” She pauses. “Dean and Caroline are here.”

I work to keep my voice level as Micha thrusts inside me. “I’ll be out in just a second.” My voice comes out breathless and Micha laughs, his mouth hovering over mine.

He pauses, arching his brow. “A second. Really?”

I reach around and pinch his ass, causing him to laugh. “You better make it a second, otherwise you’re going to get blue balls for the rest of the day.”

Shaking his head, he smiles. “Fine, you win.” Then his slips all the way inside me and again I lose myself in him.

About fifteen minutes later, we’re fully dressed and we head out to the kitchen, exhausted but content. Lila’s at the kitchen table, dressed in her pajamas with little cherries on the fabric. The table and counters are still covered in ribbon and candles, along with a few boxes of cereal and dirty dishes. Ethan’s in the chair beside her, in a T-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms, eating a bowl of cereal.

A knowing grin rises on Lila’s face when she sees us. “Took you two long enough,” she jokes as she adds a spoonful of sugar to her coffee.

Ethan glances over his shoulder, his eyes bloodshot, probably because he’s hungover. He stares at my cheek, which I tried to cover up with makeup but shiners on the face are pretty much a lost cause so all I can do is wear it proudly.

“Who the hell beat you up?” Ethan asks, stirring his cereal with a spoon.

I touch the spot with my fingers as Micha releases my hand and goes over to the coffeepot beside the sink. “Mikey,” I tell him.

Ethan lets out a gradual exhale. “Shit, was it because…”

He trails off as Micha hands me a cup of coffee. “Because you two jackasses threw a shake in his car?” he says. “Yep.”

Ethan frowns as he rakes his fingers through his hair, making it stick up on the top. “Hey, it wasn’t my idea.”

“Yeah, it was mine,” I say to Micha, inhaling the aroma of the coffee. “Don’t give him credit for my awesomeness.”

“I’m too hungover for you two to start arguing.” Micha grimaces and then stretches his arms above his head, the bottom of his shirt riding up, flaunting his muscles.

Ethan and I exchange a challenging look, and then Ethan gives up and returns to eating his cereal as I take a soothing gulp of my coffee.

“You said Caroline and Dean were here?” I ask Lila as I sit down at the table.

Lila nods as she stirs her coffee. Her hair is pulled back in a short ponytail and she doesn’t have any makeup on. “They were, but I told them you were going to be a minute so they went over to your house and I told them I’d send you over when you came out.”

Out the window, I see there’s a large maroon SUV parked in the driveway beside my house, just behind the Firebird. “Is that their rental car?” I ask.

Lila shakes her head. “No, they drove here because Caroline didn’t want to fly. I think it’s their car.”

“I guess he got rid of the Porsche then,” I say, adding a drop of milk to my coffee.

“Probably because they’re about to have a baby and there’s no room for a car seat in a Porsche.” Lila smiles and then takes a gulp from her coffee mug. “Caroline’s belly is so cute.”

Ethan shakes his head, his eyes wide as he fixes them on his cereal. I glance over at Micha, who’s watching me while he leans against the counter, sipping his coffee. When he pulls the mug away from his mouth, he licks his lips. I know him well enough to know that he’s attempting to read my reaction, not just about the Porsche—my mom’s old car—being sold but because Lila’s talking about babies.

I rise to my feet and look at Micha. “Do you want to come with me and say hi or something?”

Micha nods and moves away from the counter for the back door. We grab our coats and tell Lila and Ethan we’ll be right back, and then we head over to my house. Thomas’s old truck is parked in the driveway behind Micha’s Chevelle and there are shoe prints in the snow, leading from Micha’s steps to the fence. Then they pick up on the other side of the fence, heading to the stairs of my house. I can’t help but smile because it probably means Dean and Caroline took our little path to the house.

I point down at the tracks. “Hey look, all the cool kids are doing it now,” I joke.

Micha grabs the top of the fence and hops gracefully over it, landing in the snowbank on the other side. “I’d rather they not. I like that it’s our path and I want it to stay that way.”

“Me too,” I agree, sliding my fingers around the icy metal fence and hoisting myself up. Halfway over, Micha grabs onto my hips and helps me to the ground, setting me in the driveway so I don’t sink in the snowbank.

We tromp through the snow to the house and walk inside, the air smelling like cinnamon again and perfume, along with a hint of bacon. There are pans on the stove and there’s coffee brewing in a pot on the counter.

I should have prepared myself more because as soon as we enter, Caroline practically starts jumping up and down. She’s wearing a flowing purple dress and her black hair is braided. The fabric of the dress stretches over her protruding belly and even though I try not to, I can’t help but stare. Dean is sitting on the table, his feet propped up on a chair with a newspaper on his lap. He’s dressed in a collared shirt and slacks and I still can’t get used to the look. Growing up, all he would wear were old T-shirts and jeans and he even dyed his hair blue once.

“Oh my God, there you two are,” Caroline says excitedly, clapping her hands with enough energy to power the entire house. “Congrats, you two.”

“Thanks.” I force myself not to get awkward and I let the nice moment be, even though deep down I feel uncomfortable with the positive attention.

She pauses. “Ella, what happened to your face?”

I cup my swollen cheek. “I got into a small fight, but nothing major.”

“Just like old times,” Dean remarks with a shake of his head.

“Well, I hope you’re okay,” Caroline says, examining my cheek.

“I’m fine,” I assure her. “The swelling will go down in a day or two.”

“Good, then it’ll be gone for the wedding.” She leans in to hug me and I uncomfortably hug her back, feeling her belly press against mine. When she moves away, she notices me staring and places her hand across her stomach.

“It’s going to be a girl,” she says and Dean glances up at me with a strange look on his face that I can’t decipher. I wonder if he’s freaked out, too, at the thought of children, if he’s worried he’ll end up like our father, drunk and nonexistent. I could ask him, but we’re not to that place yet.

“Congratulations,” I say to both of them.

“Thanks.” Dean folds up the newspaper and tosses it into the table by the cookie jar. He’s quiet for a moment and I seriously have no idea what the hell’s going to come out of his mouth. “You too.”

I’m surprised by his simple remark and I miss a beat before I respond. “Thanks.”

“This is going to be so good,” Caroline says, whisking over to the counter to a plate of eggs and bacon. “A wedding outside at Christmas time near a lake. I can only imagine the pictures I’m going to get to take.” She starts munching on the bacon.

“It’ll be freezing though,” Dean says, stating the obvious as he hops off the table and then strides up to Caroline and circles an arm around her waist. “You sure you don’t want to have it inside? We’ll all be freezing our asses off by the end of it.”

Micha and I exchange a look and then we both shake our head. “No, cold temperature or not, I’m not having it anywhere else,” I tell Dean, and Micha squeezes my hand. “It’s important.”

“Okay,” Dean says, confused. “I guess we’re having an outdoor wedding. But who all’s coming.”

“Me, Micha, Lila, Ethan,” I ramble off the list, counting down on my fingers. “Micha’s mom and boyfriend, you and Caroline obviously, and Dad… and maybe his girlfriend.”

“Oh yeah,” Dean says as he kisses Caroline’s shoulder. “The secretary.”

“So you knew about her?”

His shoulders rise and fall as he shrugs. “He mentioned it on the phone a couple of weeks ago.”

He never mentioned it to me. “Oh.”

Sensing my downward mood, Micha takes my hand and gives me a soothing kiss on the cheek, his unshaven jawline rough against my skin, but comforting at the same time. Dean doesn’t seem to notice at all that something’s bothering me and it’s not his fault. He doesn’t know me like Micha does—no one in my family does.

“That’s not very many people,” Caroline says, picking up a fork from off the plate. “Are you sure you don’t want to have more? I mean, you’ve got to have some more old friends still around who’d like to come to it. I know it’s short notice but people might still come if you invited them.”

I shake my head. “I don’t have anyone else I want to invite.”

She frowns down at her eggs as she stabs them with the fork. “What about you, Micha?”

“I’m good with just Ella there,” Micha answers, hugging me against his chest. “No offense, but I really don’t care if anyone else is there.”

Caroline sighs as she takes a bite of the eggs. “Well, I guess we’ll start planning then.”

“Lila and Micha’s mom have already done a lot,” I tell her. “I don’t think there’s that much left to do.”

Caroline smiles at me as Dean lets her go and heads to the fridge. “Oh, Ella, there’s always more to do,” Caroline assures me. “Trust me.”

And she’s right, but only because I’m not planning the wedding myself. If it were just me, I’d have Micha, me, the minister, and no one else. The wedding would take place somewhere serenely beautiful like at a private beach or in a field of violets. I would wear something punk/gothic and Micha would wear black with his leather bands because he always looks so God damn sexy when he wears all black. And there would be no vows, just exchanges of “I do” and a kiss.

But I’m not planning the wedding myself. I have a whole team of people who are eager to make everything beautiful and sparkly.

I end up spending the rest of the day with Lila, Caroline, and Micha’s mom in the next town over so that Micha’s mom can pick out a dress. Caroline buys one too and then purchases a necklace for me to wear even though I tell her I don’t need one. She tried to buy me a veil at first but there was no way in hell I was going to walk around with a piece of cloth on my head attached to a diamond tiara. So she ends up buying these clips that have black roses in them to match the dress and then we go to a cake shop and order a cake. The whole thing is getting a little too fancy for me, but I let them go crazy because it’s making them happy and it’s not really hurting anything. Thankfully, Caroline has the same sort of gothic style as me and orders a black- and red-striped cake with this lace on the bottom and red roses on the top. It matches the red and black ribbons and candles we already have for decoration, which Lila insists we can string up on the tree branches, although I’m a little doubtful they’ll stay up, especially if it’s snowing.

At the end of the day, I’m exhausted, but in a good, strange sort of way, like I may have accomplished something important, like finally committing to the wedding by being part of the planning. Plus, I’d always wondered what it would be like to have people in my life, even though I actually wouldn’t admit it aloud. A few years ago, if I was capable of looking forward and seeing myself getting married, I’d imagine myself taking everything on alone and being miserable the entire time, feeling lonely and empty.

But right now I feel whole, yet still sad because there’s one person missing from the scene. Someone who can’t be here and it makes my heart hurt because if it wasn’t for my mistake she might have been. I know my mom’s death wasn’t my fault but it took a lot of therapy to get there and despite the fact that I’m not holding onto my guilt anymore, I still know deep down in my heart that perhaps if I would have stayed home that night, my mom wouldn’t have taken her own life and maybe, just maybe, she would have also been out shopping for wedding stuff with me.

When I get back to Micha’s house, Micha, Ethan, and my brother are still gone, looking for tuxes to rent at the last minute, even though I suggested they all just wear black button-down shirts. As Lila, Caroline, and Micha’s mom get situated in the kitchen, ready to tie more ribbon and put candles in the glass jars they bought, I decide that I need to go visit the cemetery. So I grab my sketchpad and a pencil and bundle up in my coat, gloves, and boots.

When I return to the kitchen, Micha’s mom turns around from the sink and notices my outdoor attire. “Ella, where are you headed?” she asks, scrubbing down a plate with a sponge as she holds it under running water.

I tuck my sketchpad under my arm. “I need to go somewhere.”

She looks out the window at the cloudy sky and then at the microwave where the time blinks 4:02. “But it’s getting dark and colder.”

“I won’t be gone for too long,” I assure her, walking toward the back door.

Lila gives me a strange look from the kitchen table as she loops some ribbon into a bow. “Do you want company?”

They look at me as I open the back door and let the winter air inside. “No. There’s something I have to do.” I wave at them. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.” Before any of them can argue, I step outside and shut the door. Heading down the driveway, I pull the top of my jacket over my mouth and nose as the frosty air bites at my skin.

At the end of the driveway, I veer to the right and walk down the sidewalk toward the cemetery, keeping a steady pace, knowing that I’m not going to be able to endure the icy air for very long. By the time I reach the cemetery, my fingers are numb, but I shake off the cold as I sit down in the snow in front of her headstone. There’s a leafless tree just behind it and icicles dangle from the bare branches. The iron gate that borders the cemetery is frosted with snow that also covers the tops of some of the headstones.

I relax back on my hands as the snow seeps through my jeans and stare at her gray headstone, trying to gather my thoughts. “I’m not even sure what to say,” I say aloud, my breath fogging out in front of me. “I know I should come visit more, but I don’t live here any longer.” I set my sketchpad and pencil aside and lean forward, resting my arms on my knees. “So I moved to California… I have a home and everything, which is weird, but nice, I guess.” I breathe in and breathe out. “Everything is nice really.” I pause. “I’m sorry you never got your nice… I started reading your journal and I was hoping it’d have some nice in it, but there isn’t any, not really.” I shut my eyes as the cold air kisses my cheek. “I really would like to know if you ever did get any sort of happy. I know Dad said he thinks that you might have been happy sometimes, but he didn’t sound like he fully believed it. And I know that sometimes you can fake it because that’s what I do sometimes. I actually used to do it a lot, but not so much anymore… anymore when I’m happy. I think it’s real.” My words are true, real, honest. I want to know if she was ever really happy, but maybe it’s better not knowing since maybe the answer’s not what I want to hear. Maybe she’d tell me no, that she was never happy—not ever. Not when she was younger, when she got married, had kids. I’ve been in that place where depression was everything but it’s not my life anymore and I couldn’t even begin to imagine not getting a glimpse of happiness that I feel now. If depression was all she ever had then it would be sad and tragic and heartbreaking.

“Completely off the subject, but I’m supposed to be writing vows,” I say to my mom’s headstone, wishing she could really hear me. “But writing’s never been my thing.” I press my pencil to the paper and then I draw a line down it, letting my hands move freely. “Drawing was more of my thing.” Another line and then another. “I’m not sure if you knew that. I know you raised me and everything, but we never really talked, at least about life and stuff. I never even knew you liked to draw until I got a box from your mom with some of your drawings on it. Well, she didn’t exactly send it to me—her lawyer did. She actually passed away. I’m not sure how I feel about that either. I mean, I didn’t know her, yet at the same time it’s sort of sad she’s gone.” I make a few shadings and some curves and jagged lines. When I pull the pencil away, I’ve drawn Micha’s face, half shaded, then below it I write, My light in my dark life. I turn the page and draw another quick image. It’s nothing fancy but that’s okay because fancy’s not the point right now. When I’m finished, I have a picture of him holding his guitar, music notes surrounding him. Below it I write, His mouth warmed my soul. I draw another one and write, God, I feel so loved sometimes I forget how to breathe. Then I start moving the pencil over the paper again, creating a map of our life, the first time we slept together in the same bed, the fence, his car, the concerts, the New Orleans trips, the lake, even the bridge. Not all the lines are perfect, but it’s the little flaws and imperfections that make the story so beautiful. I finish off the last drawing, which is solely of Micha and write, My everything. Then I close the sketchpad and get to my feet, dusting the snow off the back of my jeans, my ass frozen and numb.

I know that if I’m going to turn it in for my final portfolio, I’m going to have to do more work on it, but the start is there, the basis, and I can build on it from there. Besides, starting is always the hardest part and even though I know everything won’t just easily fall into place, at least I know that it’s headed toward a completion.

A potentially wonderful completion.