The Ever After of Ella and Micha

Chapter 19

Micha

When I return home from tux shopping, without a tux, because apparently there’s nowhere around Star Grove that has them, Ella’s not at the house. My mom tells me she went out on foot somewhere with her sketchbook, which worries me.

“Do you know where she went?” I ask her, sitting down on the sofa beside her as she works on wrapping a Christmas present.

She shakes her head. “No, but it couldn’t have been too far, right? Since she walked.”

Maybe, but maybe not.

My mom secures a piece of tape on the Christmas present and then sticks a bow on it. “There, I think I’ve finally got everything wrapped.” She leans back to put the Christmas present below the small artificial tree in the corner.

I frown as I slump back in the sofa. “Why is everyone so into presents all of a sudden? We never made a big deal about them before. First Ella and now you.

“So… what’s wrong with changing things and giving presents?”

“Because I didn’t get anyone anything.”

“Are you really worried about everyone or just Ella?”

I sigh. “She got me something and it feels like I should give her something back, but I don’t want it to be something stupid—I want it to mean something.”

My mom eyes me over for a moment and then she gets to her feet. “Get your coat on and follow me.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.” She uses her stern voice and I get to my feet.

We put on our coats and then she heads outside, taking Ella’s and my path and climbing over the fence to get to Ella’s yard. I follow her, totally confused because she’s acting weird. Then we wind around the Firebird and step up the back stairs to the door and she knocks, which makes things even weirder because I’ve rarely knocked before. I usually just walk in.

“Mom, seriously, what are we doing?” I ask, stuffing my hands into my pockets.

My mom knocks again and then turns to me, shivering from the cold. “A few weeks ago, I saw Raymond carrying out a bunch of boxes to the garage. I offered him some help and we got to talking and he told me that the boxes had some of Ella’s mom’s old stuff.”

“Okay? I’m not following you, Mom.”

She smiles at me. “I’m thinking that Ella would probably really like something that belonged to her mom, maybe something she could wear at the wedding.”

I open my mouth to tell her this is by far the worst idea she’s ever had, since Ella’s dad gets weird talking about stuff like that and I’m not even sure how Ella would react if I gave her something of her mom’s since it’s such an emotional subject for her. But before I can say anything, the door opens up.

“Hey, Terri,” Mr. Daniels says, looking confused as to why the two of us would be standing on his doorstep.

“Hey, Raymond,” my mom says with a smile. “I have a huge favor to ask you.”

I shake my head. My mom hasn’t always been this way—so pushy. Well, she sort of has, considering it was her idea for Ella and me to get married in the first place, but she seems to be getting pushier the older she gets.

Raymond’s brows crease and my mom starts explaining the little Christmas present dilemma. I feel my inside wind into knots, worried that it’s going to upset him and he’s going to take it out on Ella. I know they’ve been good and everything, but still I can’t shake the past and the things I’ve seen.

And when my mom says, “So we were wondering if maybe there was something of Maralynn’s we could give her, maybe in one of those boxes I helped you put in the garage a few weeks ago?”

He scratches his head, looking really uncomfortable. “I’m not really sure there is. I mean, most of that stuff was just old clothes of hers.”

I tug on my mom’s sleeve and say to Mr. Daniels, “No worries, we’ll figure something else out.”

My mom ignores me, keeping her feet planted. “There’s not even, like, a piece of her jewelry or something? Like some earrings that were hers?”

Raymond looks even more uneasy and I’m about to just walk off and leave her there when suddenly he stands up straighter and looks over at the garage.

“Hold on… I think I just thought of something.” He leans back into the house and grabs a large coat, slipping it on along with a beanie before he steps out and shuts the door. We follow him to the garage and my mom shoots me a grin, like, Ha-ha, I was right, and I shake my head but smile.

When we get inside the garage, Mr. Daniels flips on the lights and heads over to a stack of boxes in the corner. He lifts up the top box and sets it aside and then stares at the box below it for a moment, almost as if he’s afraid to open it. I glance at my mom, who swallows hard, looking a bit uneasy. But then Mr. Daniels relaxes a little and carefully opens the box. He rummages around inside it for a moment and then he takes out this small wooden box. When he turns around, he’s holding it in his hand like it’s something really important.

“We didn’t have a real wedding, you know,” he says, looking up from the box. “We barely even dressed up.”

My mom nods understandingly. “Micha’s father and I got married at a park and I think there was, like, a total of ten guests.”

“We only had two,” Mr. Daniels says. “They were both my friends, and the only reason we invited them was to be our witnesses. Maralynn didn’t want to have anyone else there.” He takes a deep breath and sighs. “But anyway,” he says, and extends his arm toward me, urging me to take the wooden box. “I gave this to Ella’s mom the morning of our wedding. It’s not anything fancy. I actually bought it at a pawnshop for, like, twenty-five bucks, but she wore it when we got married and maybe you can give it to Ella and have her do the same.”

The box creaks as I open it. Inside there’s a black ribbon threaded through a small red rose pendant.

“It’s a necklace,” Mr. Daniels tells me. “Ella’s mom had a thing for roses. I’m not sure if Ella will even want to wear it, but it doesn’t hurt to try.”

Discounting the fact that Ella might get a little emotional about it being her mom’s, if this were a normal necklace I could see her wearing it with pride.

“Thanks,” I say, shutting the box. “I’m sure she’ll like it and I’m sure she’ll be glad that you gave it to her.”

Mr. Daniels nods, and then without saying anymore we leave the garage. My mom and he chat at the back door for a little while about nothing major as I stare at the sky noting that it’s turning gray and wondering if Ella came home while we were in the garage. I decide to go check and say thanks again to Mr. Daniels before I head back over to my house. When I walk in, Lila and Ethan tell me that she’s not there and that they’re getting ready to go visit his parents for a while, even though he doesn’t want to. They head out and I go into my room and hide the necklace. Then, trying to distract myself, I read some of her mom’s journal. Page after page of dark thoughts:

I can’t do this. Be a mother and a wife. I thought I could but now I feel like I need to run, flee, escape the fear of commitment on foot. Because it’s either escape or wait until Raymond decides he’s had enough of me and abandons me. It’s inevitable. I can feel it. He’ll leave me because really I’m not good enough and sometimes I don’t want to be good enough. It’s too much work and takes too much strength and I’m so tired.

Maybe I should just run away and leave it all behind.

I really should.

Her words pierce at my chest because if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear Ella had written them. But I don’t believe that Ella will run away again. She loves me and I know that, even if she has a hard time expressing her feelings. I know she wants to be with me. She moved the ring to her engagement finger and moved in with me. She won’t run.

She can’t.

I keep reading through and my mom sticks her head into my room to tell me she’s heading out with Thomas to get some dinner.

“Do you want anything?” she asks me.

I shake my head. “No, thanks.”

“Well, there are some leftovers in the fridge if you get hungry,” she says.

“Thanks,” I say and she smiles and then starts to shut the door.

“And Mom?”

She pauses. “Yeah.”

“Thanks for going over to the Daniels’s and doing that,” I say.

She smiles. “No problem. I’m just glad we found you something good to give her.”

“Me too,” I tell her.

When she leaves, I glance at the clock and decide to give Ella fifteen more minutes before I go searching for her. I continue reading the journal, periodically checking the clock. The next several pages are equally depressing and my heart starts to feel heavy in my chest. It’s like I’m reading about a downward spiral, but fortunately I’m the one reading it, not Ella. It was her choice not to, which makes her so much stronger than all this darkness, because she knew it would probably bring her down and she chose not to let it—she chose to be happy.

I’m about to put the journal away when I realize there’s only one more page left and I decide to read it so I can be done with it. But then I’ll have to go and break the news to Ella that I couldn’t find anything happy inside the journal. Hopefully it won’t crush her heart.

But as I read over the last page the heaviness dissipates and the words kind of make me smile. After I finish reading it, I get up to go look for Ella because I’m worried about her being gone for so long and because she needs to read this. I put my jacket on and head to the back door where I left my boots, but as I’m crossing the kitchen, the door opens and a breeze gusts inside. Ella enters looking as frozen as a Popsicle, her lips blue, her cheeks kissed pink, and she’s shivering.

She offers me a small smile as she shuts the back door behind her. “Were you going somewhere?” she asks, eyeing my coat as she hugs her sketchbook to her chest.

“Yeah, to look for you.” I stop zipping up my jacket and place my hands on her cheeks, which are ice cold. “God, you’re freezing. How long were you out there?”

She looks over at the clock on the microwave. “A couple of hours.”

“Jesus, Ella.” I take the sketchbook and set it aside on the counter. Then I tug off her gloves, gather her hands in mine, and breathe on them while I try to rub warmth back into her.

She smiles up at me. “How was your day tux shopping?”

“As good as any other day shopping. Although we didn’t get tuxes.”

“Good,” she says. “I’ve never been a fan of them. You’ll look much better in your jeans and a button-down shirt.”

“As long as you think so then I’m okay with it,” I tell her, then pause, choosing my next words carefully as my fingers wrap around her wrist. “When I came home I read some more of your mother’s journal.”

“Oh yeah?” She pretends to be only slightly interested but I feel her pulse accelerate in her wrist. “Find anything good?”

“I did. Do you want to read it?”

Her throat bobs up and down as she swallows hard, and then she looks at the sketchbook on the counter. “Can I wait just a little bit longer? I’m in good mood and I want to stay in one.”

“But what I found is good,” I promise her. “Trust me.”

“I know, but it’ll still be hard to read, whether it’s good or bad. It still has to do with her and she’s gone and it always makes me sad.”

How can I argue with that? “If that’s what you want, but I promise it’s not bad and I really think you need to read it before we get married.” I massage her right hand and she winces. “Does your hand hurt?”

She nods, wincing again. “It’s the one I punched Mikey in the face with. My knuckles collided with his jaw.”

Thinking about Mikey hitting her still gets under my skin, but I force myself to shove it aside because I promised her I wouldn’t do anything about it and I refuse to break my promises to her no matter what. “How many times have I told you to hit here?” I free her hand and pound my fist flat against my palm. “Don’t use your knuckles.”

“I know, but I was drunk and he’s a scary guy. I got a little nervous and screwed up the punch,” she says and the anger inside me flickers. I was never one for fighting. Sure, I’ve gotten into a couple of fights but the only major one was with Grantford Davis, who deserved to get his ass kicked.

“What do you want to do for the rest of the night?” I tuck a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear.

She looks around at the empty kitchen. “Where is everyone?”

“Caroline went to your house with Dean. My mom went to dinner and Thomas went out with his friend.” I place my hands on her hips. “And Lila and Ethan went out to get something to eat.”

“So we have the entire house to ourselves?” she asks with a naughty grin on her face.

I tap my finger on my lip. “Whatever shall we do?”

“Hmmm…” Her eyes sparkle as she collects the sketchpad off the counter. “I have no idea.”

I return my hand to her waist and glide my palm around to her ass, cupping it roughly. Her body arches toward me. “Oh, I have a few ideas, starting with you getting naked.”

She laughs and then suddenly takes off running toward the hallway, chucking her sketchpad onto the couch as she passes it. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll get naked when you can find me.” She smiles at me then spins around and disappears down the hallway.

“Oh, pretty girl,” I call out, winding around the table and chasing after her. The house is silent as I walk through the living room and past the sofa, getting a glimpse of a piece she’s been working on in the open sketchpad. It’s a drawing of me holding my guitar with music notes around me. Below it she wrote, His mouth warmed my soul.

My heart does this stupid, very unmanly pitter-patter thing inside my chest, but I smile and take off jogging to my room. I check the closet, under my bed, and then, giving up on my room, I head for my mom’s room. I search high and low, but can’t find her anywhere, so I look in the bathroom. When I still can’t find her, I backtrack to the living room. I’m about ready to step through the doorway and into the kitchen when she jumps out from behind the wall and into the doorway right in front of me, scaring the shit out of me. I press my hand to my chest as I catch my breath and she laughs as she wraps her legs around me and throws all her weight into me, sending us to the ground. I manage to not smack my head on the floor, but my back does hit it hard.

She lands on top of me, her body falling on mine, and then she quickly pushes up so she’s sitting on me with one leg on each side. Her hands come down beside my head as she stares down at me, her hair veiling around our faces.

“That is for all the times you wrestled me to the ground,” she says, seeming very pleased with herself as she pants for air.

I shake my head as I sneak my hands to her hips. “Have I taught you nothing?” With one swift movement, I flip us over so she’s on the ground and I’m lying on top of her. “I always win at wrestling.”

Then I kiss her.

Hours later we’re lying in my bed, our bodies tangled together as she lies naked on her side. She hasn’t read the journal page yet and I’m not going to push her. Instead she has her sketchbook out and she’s scribbling lines down on a fresh sheet of paper, attempting to recapture a photo of her mom sitting on her bed, looking sad. On the other side of the sketchbook there’s a picture of what looks like me with the words My everything written on the bottom.

“What exactly are you working on?” I ask her as I trace a path up and down her spine, and with each stroke she shivers. “I know this one’s your mom”—I tap my finger on the drawing of me—“but what’s this one about?”

The pencil briefly stops moving across the paper. “Can I explain it to you later?” She peers over her shoulder and wisps of her hair fall into her face. “I want to finish it first and then tell you everything.”

Everything. What does she mean by “everything”? “Can I have a hint?”

She studies me, chewing on her lip, and then she directs her attention back down at the drawing, covered with angled lines and dark shades. “It’s about our past… and our future.”

Our future. I’m surprised by her honesty and feel guilty because she’s been so honest with me lately and I’ve been keeping a huge secret from her. Well, not exactly a secret, but I’ve been withholding information, concerned about how she’ll react, fearing she’ll say she’ll go even though she doesn’t want to. Or she’ll say she won’t go and that will be the end of my music dream. But it’s time to stop avoiding the decision, especially when she’s being so straightforward.

I let my finger trail up her back a few more times and then I drape my arm over her side and press my face against the back of her neck, folding my arms around her. “I have to tell you something,” I say, and her body goes as rigid as a board. “Calm down. It’s not bad. It’s just news… a decision we need to make.”

I hear her drop the pen onto the paper. “Okay.” She sounds anxious.

I kiss the back of her neck and shut my eyes. “I got a call from Mike the other day.”

“Oh, yeah? What’d he want?” She’s trying to act calm but I can tell she isn’t.

I open my eyes and press my cheek against her skin. “You remember that Rocking Slam Tour that I was telling you about a while ago?”

“The tour you really wanted to go on but didn’t think you were good enough to get on?” She rotates over onto her back and looks at me. “The one with all the bands and singers who you idolize?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

She pauses. “Did you get on?”

I nod slowly. “I did.”

A smile gradually rises on her face. “I’m so happy for you.” She smashes a cheerful kiss against my lips, shocking me, and I’m too surprised to even kiss her back. When she pulls away, she looks confused as she assesses my reaction. “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you happy about this?”

“Because…” I trail off, searching for the right words. Finally, I sit up and bring one of my knees up, resting my elbow on top of it. “The tour starts in a few weeks and goes for a few months.”

She sits up and hugs her knees against her bare chest, trying to look okay about it but sadness fills her eyes. “So you’d be gone for a few months?”

I nod, staring out the window at the glow of the Christmas lights shining against the ice on the house. “And I’d have to cancel our honeymoon.”

She presses her lips together, like she wants to say something, but she’s trying to fight it. Then she lowers her head onto her knees. “I don’t care about the honeymoon. I want you to live out your dream.”

I’m silent for a moment as I work to pick up on her vibe, the real one that she’s trying to hide from me. “Pretty girl, tell me what you’re thinking?” I ask, because I can’t read her very well at the moment.

“I’m thinking you should go,” she says, lifting her head up. “I’m not going to hold you back. I promised myself I’d never do that.”

“You wouldn’t be holding me back.” I scoot closer to her and put a leg on each side of her. “I want to be with you no matter what.”

“I know you do,” she says, taking my hands in hers. “And you will. We’ll just be apart for three months, which we’ve done many times.”

“And I was miserable all those times.” I pull my hands back only to put them on her legs so I can spread them open. “I don’t think I should go.” I pull her toward me and wrap her long legs around me, feeling a ping of disappointment, but knowing it’s right. If she’s not going, than neither am I.

“No, you’re going to go and you’re going to love it. I’m not going to have it any other way.” She looks me straight in the eyes like she means business. “I won’t marry you if you don’t.”

I don’t know what to say. I know her well enough that I know she’s probably not one hundred percent okay with this, but she’s trying to make me happy. But I don’t want to go without her.

“Come with me,” I sputter out abruptly, sounding like an idiot.

Her eyes widen. “On the road for three months?”

I nod, getting a little excited at my sporadic, yet brilliant idea. “It could be fun. You and me and the car and the road. It could be our first adventure as husband and wife. We always said we’d go places when we were kids. In fact, we promised one day we would. This could be our chance.”

“For three months?” she repeats. “That’s a long time on the road and I have school and work.”

“You could take a break from work and take online classes maybe,” I suggest and then feel like an ass for even asking her to do such a thing.

She gets quiet, thinking about what I said, looking panicked and lost and excited all at the same time.

“You don’t have to decide now,” I tell her, not wanting her to feel pressure to do something she doesn’t want to do. “Just think about it for a few days.”

She hesitates and then conclusively nods. “All right, I’ll think about it, but only if you do one thing for me.”

“Anything.”

A slow grin spans across her face. “Play me the song.”