The Ever After of Ella and Micha

Chapter 22

Ella

I run over to my house with a crazy amount of energy fueled by the piece of paper in my pocket. I’m not even sure if it is her vows. In fact, I think it’s not, but what I do know is that my dad deserves to read the words, deserves to know that at one time he made my mom happy when it seemed like it was impossible.

The Firebird is parked in the driveway, so I know my dad’s home. When I burst into the kitchen, I’m relieved to find he’s eating dinner at the table and he’s alone.

He still has on his work clothes, a stained white shirt and jeans that are specked with red paint and there’s some paint splattered on his hands. He has a plate with chicken, potatoes, and a roll on it and a cup of milk in front of him.

His head snaps up in my direction as I come barreling inside the house. “Ella, what’s wrong?” he asks, pushing away from the table and getting to his feet. “You look upset.”

“No, I’m fine. I promise,” I say, breathless as I take the piece of paper out of my pocket. “In fact, I’m sort of happy right now.”

“Well, I’m glad.” His face contorts with confusion, as he looks down at the paper in my outstretched hand. “What is that?”

“It was in Mom’s journal,” I say and his face falls and his mouth plummets to a frown. “Just take it,” I insist. “And read it. I promise you won’t regret it.”

He hesitates and then takes the paper from me. His fingers tremble as he unfolds it and then smoothes the creases out. His eyes start to skim the paper. Seconds tick by and tears form in the corners of his eyes. The tremble in his hands intensifies the farther down he gets and I can tell he’s about to cry, but not out of pain. He doesn’t look upset or hurt. Disappointed. Or sad. He looks… well, strangely relieved.

When he’s finished, he carefully folds it up and then holds it in his hand like it’s something precious. “You said you got this out of her journal?” he asks as he glances up at me.

I nod as I wrap my coat tight around myself, hoping he’s feeling at least a little happiness knowing he made Mom happy. “It was the last page. Was it… was it her vows for your wedding?”

He shakes his head as he stares at the paper in his hand, a tear or two dripping of his eyes. I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen him cry before and witnessing it seems like some sort of miracle that makes me happy but also a little uncomfortable.

He breathes in and out for minutes and then he collects himself and pats my shoulder, giving me this strange look before he pulls me in for a very awkward hug. He smells like cigarettes and paint, but there’s no scent of booze. It’s different and weird, like the hug itself. I remember all those times when I was younger and I watched the other moms at the park hug their kids when they got hurt or just because they wanted to. The many times I watched Micha’s mom hug him when she was happy, sad, or when she wanted to say she was sorry. I remember the first time I was hugged. I was eight and I’d scraped my knee open. Micha tried to hug me better like his mom did with him. His arms barely made it around me before I freaked out and shoved him to the ground. I think about all the hugs that came after that, though, and how each of them became easier.

This one with my dad is far from easy, but maybe if we do it more often, it’ll become easier, just like moving forward in my life has become.

When I get back to Micha’s house, it’s past nine o’clock. The air is deathly cold and seeping into the quiet house. I kick my boots off at the back door, hang up my jacket on the coatrack, and then pad through the kitchen to Micha’s bedroom, only to find the room dark and him asleep in the bed, his face snuggled into the pillow with the blanket over him.

I flip the lamp on, slip my jeans off, and then quickly hop under the blanket with him. He stirs as I nuzzle up to him and then he tenses when my chilled skin touches his.

“Are you awake?” I ask as I comb my fingers through his soft hair.

He lets out a sigh as his hands find my hips beneath the blanket. “I was having such a good dream, where you snuck into my room and started touching me, but not my hair. It was a much lower place. I think you should try to find it.”

I smile as my fingers drift down his firm chest. “I have to tell you something.”

He eyes open, and they’re red and full of sleepiness. “Should I be worried?”

I shake my head. “Not at all.”

He slides an arm over my stomach and pulls me closer to him. “Tell me then.”

“I want to go on the road with you,” I say and as soon as I say it, I know it’s the right choice. For us. “I’ll take the rest of my classes online and quit my job.”

He’s silent and full of surprise. It takes him a moment to answer and when he speaks his voice is off pitch. “Are you sure you want to quit your job?”

“I want to be with you all the time. And I want to watch you play and just draw things that mean stuff to me, like you and I and the places we’ve been, all our spots, like the lake and your room, the tree you used to climb into my window… the one that always brought you to me,” I say with honesty. “If I could picture my life being any way, that’s how I’d picture it. It’s what I want to do.”

His expression is unreadable as he searches my eyes for the truth. “Are you sure? Because you have a few weeks to think about it and I want you to be absolutely sure. I never want you to do anything you don’t want to do. I—”

I interrupt him. “Micha, I’m sure if you’re sure. I want to spend as much time as I can with you—I want to be with you and I want you to live out your dream.”

“I’m sure about anything as long as it means I get to have you,” he tells me with passion in his tone as he shakes his head with bewilderment in his eyes, like he can’t believe that this is happening. “And yes, I want you to come with me more than anything.”

“Even more than you want to marry me?”

“Maybe not quite that much, but it’s close.”

We share a quiet moment as we contemplate our future and where it’ll hopefully take us. At least that’s what I’m thinking about. With Micha, I never know, especially when his hand wanders down to my ass and he gets this naughty look on his face.

“Are you nervous about tomorrow?” he asks as he presses his mouth against my forehead. His finger circles around the infinity mark on my lower back, sending shivers and tickling vibrations through my body.

“Honestly, yeah,” I tell him as my fingers hook the top of his boxers. “You?”

He slides his hand up my side and then down my arm to my hand. “Honestly, a little, but mainly because I’m worried everyone’s going to freeze their asses off.”

“Are you nervous that I’ll run?” I don’t even know why I ask it. It just sort of slips out and I can’t help but think of the morning after the night on the bridge, when I decided to run and then just a week ago when we were originally supposed to get married. Neither time was because I didn’t love him. Even the night on the bridge, I did love him even though I wouldn’t admit it. And that time I ran because I didn’t love myself.

“Honestly?” he asks and I nod. “No, not really.”

“Not at all?” I ask. “Even considering my past?”

He shakes his head. “I know that you love me, Ella May. Just like I know that emotions freak you out, but deep down you feel more about us than a lot of people feel in their lifetime. Just like I know that you’re scared and excited at the same time. Just like I know that every single day I’ve spent with you, good and bad, has been worth it. And it’s because of those things that I know that you’ll walk up that aisle that Lila’s going to make you walk up, say your vows, kiss me, and then we’ll have our happy, sad, sometimes good, sometimes bad, crazy, bumpy, intense, worth-the-journey ever after.”

His words plunge into my heart and tears well up in my eyes again. “Are you going to say that in your vows tomorrow, because it was pretty perfect.”

He smiles against my forehead. “No, I have something better planned for tomorrow.”

I lean back and look him in the eyes, which are sparkling. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes, yeah.” He lowers his mouth toward mine. “And it’s even better than the lyrics.” And then he kisses me as his hands explore my body. By the time we pull away, we’re exhausted, naked, and sweaty and it’s just after midnight.

“Hey,” I tell Micha as I look at the clock. “It’s officially our wedding day and Christmas.”

“Are you ready to go through with this?” Micha asks as he pins me between his legs and arms.

I nod with my eyes closed, but my heart is knocking inside my chest, wanting to flee. I’m going to get married today. Holy shit! “Yeah.”

“You sound nervous,” he remarks, kissing the top of each of my eyelids.

“I am,” I admit. “But that’s probably normal, right?”

“I’m sure it is.”

“Are you nervous?”

He hesitates. “Yeah, a little.”

I free a breath trapped in my chest and open my eyes. “I’m glad.”

“That I’m nervous?” he questions.

I nod, sliding one of my legs out from between his and hitch it over his hip. “Because it means we’re on the same page and usually that’s not the case.”

He considers what I said and then bends his knee so it’s pressed up between my legs, his body heat blissfully scorching against my skin. “I guess you could look at it that way, at least if it’ll get you up the aisle.”

“I’ll be fine,” I assure him, cringing at the idea of either walking up the aisle alone or with my dad. Neither seems that appealing because alone I’m probably going to freak out, and with my dad, if I do freak out, he won’t be able to calm me down. “Micha… will you… will you walk up the aisle with me or tell Lila we’re just going to skip that part?”

“Can’t you just tell her?” he asks, frowning.

I shake my head. “She’s wedding crazy. Seriously, I think she should consider becoming a wedding planner.”

His arms slip around my waist and then he tastes my mouth with his tongue. “If you want me to walk up the aisle with you, then I will.”

“Thank you,” I whisper and hug him tightly, knowing that if he’s there with me it’ll be so much easier to get through it. Everything is when he’s with me.

It’s quiet for a while, and when Micha speaks again, he sounds a little bit excited.

“So since it’s officially Christmas,” Micha says pulling away from me slightly to look me in the eye, “are you going to give me my Christmas present?”

I frown. “It’s a really silly present.”

“So what?” he says. “Besides, silly presents are the best.”

I sigh and then sit up, slipping from his hold, and then pad over to my duffel bag that’s on the floor in front of the bed. “Okay, but try not to get too disappointed when you open it,” I say, taking out the wrapped-up box with a bow on it. I climb back in to bed and hand it to him.

He grins at the box as he crisscrosses his legs. “Aw, you even wrapped it and put a bow on it and everything,” he says in a teasing voice.

I shake my head and playfully pinch his arm. “Don’t make fun of me. And Lila made me wrap it.”

“I like that you wrapped it,” he says and then rips off the paper like a little kid would. I put the bracelets into a small box, so he has to open that as well. When he gets the lid off, he stares at the thin strips of leather with the words forever engraved on both of them.

When he doesn’t say anything, I start to grow nervous, like he might not get what they are. “They’re like the ones we used to have when we were kids, but I didn’t get the one that says ‘best friends,’ figuring since we were way more than that I’d just get two forevers.”

He glances up at me and I can’t read his expression at all. “I remember. You actually made me wear the one that said ‘best friends’ and it made me sort of feel like girly.”

I frown, regretting the present. “Yet you still wore it.”

“Because you asked me to,” he says. “And we both know I’d do anything for you.”

“Sorry, it’s sappy, right?” I reach for the box to take the bracelets back. “I should have gotten you something better.”

He quickly picks up the box and turns, holding it out of my reach. “Are you kidding me? This is perfect.”

“But you just said they were girly.”

“No, I said that having a bracelet that said ‘best friends’ was girly and that was when I was eight.” He smiles and I start to relax as he takes out one of the bracelets. “This is the perfect present, Ella May, because it means something.”

“It’s kind of a sappy present though,” I say as he slips the bracelet on.

“Which makes you a sap, just like me,” he replies as he takes my wrist and slips the other bracelet on.

“I guess you must be wearing on me,” I joke, and then lean in to kiss him. “But that’s okay.” I fiddle with the bracelet, reducing the size so it’ll fit my wrist, while Micha gets out of bed and starts digging through his dresser drawer. I think he’s looking for a shirt to put on or something, since it’s freezing, so I’m surprised when he returns to the bed still shirtless but with a small wooden box in his hand.

“Now, I didn’t have time to wrap it since I got it for you tonight,” he says, handing the box to me, his hand shaking a little bit, like it did last Christmas when he gave me the engagement ring. “Merry Christmas, Ella May-soon-to-be-Scott.”

I smile, but I’m a little nervous at what the hell he could be giving me that would make him nervous. I take a deep breath as I open the box. Inside is a ribbon necklace with a rose pendant.

“It’s beautiful,” I say with honesty as I run my fingers along the pendant, which feels like porcelain.

Micha lets out a loud breath as he scoots closer to me. “It’s actually from me and your father. It belonged to you mother. He gave it to her on their wedding day and we sort of thought maybe you could wear it at our wedding, as a way to sort of be close to her.”

It’s like he’s pushed this button and without warning I start to cry, tears streaming down my cheeks like a fountain, dripping down my lips, my nose, onto the necklace in the box. I’m not even a crier, yet for some reason, I seem to be crying a lot lately. Usually, I’d fight them back, but I really don’t care at the moment. I just cry. Cry because I’m happy and sad at the same time. Sad because my mom won’t be there, but happy because I’m marrying the love of my life tomorrow.

My head tips down so it takes Micha a second to realize I’m crying. When he does, he cups my face and lifts my head back, immediately wiping the tears away with a worried look on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I was worried about giving it to you because I thought it’d upset you.”

I press my lips together and shake my head. “I’m not at all.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“Because I’m happy,” I say with a smile as tears continue to pour out.

He still looks unconvinced. “So you like the present?”

“I love the present,” I say and then kiss him with so much passion we collapse back onto the bed, the wooden box still clutched in my hand. We kiss until we’re breathless, and then I pull way only to say, “The present is perfect—you’re perfect.”

And he really, really is.