Jessica Sorensen - The Ever After of Ella and Micha

“True,” Ethan agrees, following her in and letting the screen door bang shut.

“Is your mom home?” I ask as Micha lifts the suitcase up the steps.

He shrugs, opening the screen door. “Maybe.” He pushes the suitcase into the kitchen while holding the door open with his elbow. “She might have had to work the morning shift, though, or she might be out with Thomas.”

I hitch my finger through the handle of the bag. “But you told her, right? That we were coming?” I step inside the kitchen and into the warm air, stomping my boots on the mat just in front of the threshold. “And why we were coming?” I sound so nervous. Damn it. I need to chill out.

Micha shakes his head as he shuts the door. “I thought we could do it together.”

My eyes skim the small kitchen I ate many meals in while I was growing up. If I hadn’t, I probably would have starved. “Sounds good, I guess.”

He pauses near the kitchen table. “Unless you’re not okay with that.”

“No, I’m okay with that,” I tell him, attempting to push through my nerves. I can do this. It’s not that scary. You’ve been living together for six months. Hell, you pretty much lived with him since you were four . “We should do it together.”

He nods, but his aqua eyes are still fixed on me, like he’s trying to read my soul. I kind of wish he could so he would tell me what it says, because sometimes I’m not so sure.

After a few intense moments of staring at me, he gives me a smile and then grabs hold of my hand. He steers me around the narrow counter area and toward the hallway that leads to his bedroom. Lila and Ethan head to the other end of the house where there’s a small guest bedroom Ethan used to crash in all the time while we were growing up.

Micha kicks his bedroom door open and I can’t help but smile as vivid memories rush back to me: the room where we grew up, where we spent many nights together, where he proposed to me. They’re beautiful memories and they remind me of why I’m going to marry him. I hold my breath for a moment as the thought slams straight into my chest again, like it did right before I was supposed to go to the wedding. My heart rate picks up as I glance at the window, thinking how easy it would be for me to run. I’ve done it once and I could do it again, but deep down in the bottom of my heart, buried below my anxiety, I know I don’t want to. I suck a slow breath through my nose and exhale out my mouth. Relax . I need to stop panicking.

His bed isn’t made and has probably been that way since the last time we were here a year ago. Drumsticks and a guitar are on the floor in front of the open closet and hanging on the wall are his favorite band posters, along with some of my drawings. Old clothes are piled on a chair near the window that looks out to the side yard of my house and to the leafless tree that extends to my bedroom window. His room still smells like him, too, as if the scent of his cologne is embedded in the carpet fibers. I’ve always loved the smell, a simple scent bringing me instant comfort even in the darkest times. I wonder if I just stand here and breathe it in over and over again if it can help me forget what’s in the bag that’s secured over my shoulder.

Micha chucks his bag on the unmade bed and turns to me, rubbing his hands together. “Ready for our shower?” he asks with a devilish grin.

I drop my bag onto the floor. “Yeah, just give me a second to get my clothes out. They’re all buried beneath the wedding dress.”

He crosses his arms and gives me an apprehensive look. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been acting really distracted and now you’re acting like you don’t want to be around me.”

I plaster on the most generic smile. Deep down I know he probably can read right through my bullshit. “I’m perfectly fine.” I place my hands on his shoulders and kiss his scruffy cheek. “But if you really want to know, I have some naughty little nighties in my bag that I don’t want you to see, otherwise you’ll make me try them on for you and they’re for after we get married.”

He cocks his head to the side, assessing me as he unzips his jacket. “Since when do you wear nighties?” He shucks off the jacket, balls it up, and tosses it on the dresser.

“Since Lila made me go into Victoria’s Secret and buy them.” Which isn’t entirely a lie. That actually did happen, but I do feel like a jerk for not coming straight out and telling him about the journal and drawings.

“You know, I’m really starting to like Lila. She’s such a good influence on you,” he says cleverly and then kisses me deeply, slipping his tongue into my mouth before pulling away. “If you’re not in the shower in five minutes, I’m coming back here naked to get you.”

“Deal,” I tell him and he heads out the door with a clean red T-shirt and jeans in his hand. As soon as the door shuts, I exhale loudly as I move my bag onto the bed. My fingers shake as I unzip it, and then I dig past the dress to the bottom of the bag and remove the box addressed to me, the return address from a Gary Flemmerton in Montana, but that’s not who it’s from, at least not according to the note inside the box, which was written by mother’s mom—my grandma. And it makes no sense, because I’ve never talked to her before, yet she took it upon herself to write me a note and send me some stuff of my mother’s. It’s weird, yet at the same time it’s got me thinking things I don’t want to think, like maybe I could meet her, but then again, do I really want to let more people in my life?

The note’s pretty simple and when I take it out of the box and read it again, I have the same reaction: confusion.

Ella, I know you don’t know me and I’m so sorry about that. There were things that you probably don’t understand, or maybe you do. Maybe Maralynn told you about me. Maybe she didn’t. But regardless, I was going through the attic, cleaning it out, and found some of her old stuff. I thought that you’d like to have it. I was going to keep it myself, but it’s just too painful. If you don’t want it, you don’t have to keep it. I just thought you might like it.

Then she signed her name in flawless cursive handwriting.

I’d only ever met my grandmother once and that was at my mother’s funeral. We didn’t say anything to each other and my father didn’t talk to her. It makes no sense why she’d give me her phone number like I’d been the one avoiding her all these years. She could have come up to me at the funeral and said something, but instead she sat across from my dad, my brother, and me in the barely occupied church while the minister preached about life after death. I think she might have smiled at me once, but I wasn’t completely sure at the time, nor did I care, because I was in a place where guilt was possessing my heart and mind. Plus, from what I knew about my grandmother, she wasn’t a very nice person.

I’d heard my mom talk about her maybe only five times and from what she told me, she was a horrible mother who treated her daughter like shit and who disowned my mom when she announced she was going to marry my dad. I guess my grandmother hated my dad and thought he wasn’t good enough for her. That pretty much sums up everything I know and I’ve never talked to her to be my own judge. I’m not sure if I want to. The woman has been a shadow in my life. Then again pretty much everyone was a shadow in my life except for Micha. Micha has been my light in my dark life. I smile to myself, noting that I should put that in the vows.

My expression instantly sinks as I realize that eventually I’ll have to write a page of heartfelt words and have to read them aloud, pour my heart and soul out to strangers. And when it’s all done, Micha and I will be husband and wife. I’ll have him forever and he’ll have me. Just thinking about it, my pulse increases and my heart slams against my chest. It’ll be just him and me forever, through thick and thin, through light and darkness. Knock it off. You love him.