“And it’s really hard for me to admit what I want sometimes,” she continues, squeezing her eyes shut.
“I know it is,” I say. “But like I said, you can tell me anything, even if it’s bad.”
Her eyelids lift up, her pupils shrinking as they hit the light. “I know and I think… I think we should just…” Her hand trembles in mine as her words rush out of her. “I think we should go home and have a normal wedding with our families.” She presses her lips together and holds her breath.
I remain motionless, fighting to keep my laughter in, because I know it’s going to piss her off, but eventually it gets to me and it slips out. “Oh my God.” I nearly choke, wrapping my arm around my stomach. “I can’t believe that’s what this is all about.”
“Micha.” She pinches my chest through my shirt. “Stop laughing. I’m being serious.”
“Oh, I know you are.” I continue to laugh and the longer it goes on, the more irritated she gets, until finally she gathers her dress and scoots toward the edge of the bed to leave. I quickly circle my arms around her waist and draw her back down on the bed. She flops onto the mattress and I fold my body over hers, fighting through the bulky fabric to get close to her. As I press up against her, she tries to squirm out from under me, pressing her hands against my chest, but I pin her arms to the side of her head.
“It’s not funny, Micha,” she says hotly, but I can tell she’s working really hard to stay angry with me. “I was trying to tell you how I feel and you laughed at me.”
“I know I did and I’m sorry.” I suppress my laughter the best I can. “But you’re too f**king adorable for your own good.”
She scowls. “I’m not adorable and you know it.”
“When you tell me things like you want to have a wedding with our families and are nervous about it, you’re f**king adorable.” I dip my head down and gently kiss her cheek. “I love you and we can get married wherever, however, and whenever you want, just as long as we get married and you never ever stand me up again.”
She pouts out her glossy bottom lip. “I’m sorry about that. I just panicked.”
I nip at her bottom lip because it’s too delicious to resist. “Next time, please just talk to me. Or at least send me a text.” I kiss her again, then put a small amount of space between our bodies so I can look her in the eye. “A simple S.O.S or something.”
“Deal,” she says, but still seems anxious.
I hesitate. “Are you sure that’s all that this is about?”
She swiftly nods. “Of course.”
There’s something in her green eyes I don’t like, a familiar look that used to dwell there when we were growing up. Sadness, combined with fear and worry. I open my mouth to press her about it, but she arches her back and brings her mouth to mine. I distractedly kiss her, slipping my tongue deep into her mouth as all thoughts of abandonment and fear momentarily fade away.
I’m pretty sure it’s the best ending to getting stood up on my wedding day. If only I could convince myself that there will be no more bumps in the road, but I worry about the look in her eyes and going home to get married. I’m worried about Ella. Even though things have been really good between her and her father and brother, sometimes during her phone conversations with them, one of them ends up bringing up the past and I know it upsets her. They’re not trying to be hurtful. In fact, I have to give her father props for how much he’s changed, although it still pisses me off that he ever let things get that bad. Let his daughter feel the blame for her mother’s death to the point where she thought about taking her own life.
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.
Chapter 2
Ella
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 h*ps 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.”