I’m about to tell him to shut up when Ethan exits the house with his bag in his hand, squinting against the sunlight. “Are you two sure you don’t want to just drive down to Vegas and elope?” he gripes as he approaches us, then chucks Micha his duffel bag. “I really don’t want to see my mom or dad or Star Grove—I’ve been enjoying my space from both.”
“Baby, come on. Let them be. They deserve a beautiful wedding not an elopement in a tacky fake church.” Lila glides her hand up the front of his chest, stands on her tiptoes, and kisses his neck. Then she whispers something in his ear as she plays with his hair.
I’ll admit they make a cute couple, especially now that Lila has this whole grunge thing going. Her blond hair is chin length and streaked with black that matches Ethan’s hair. She’s wearing jeans and a tank top that aren’t name brand like everything she used to wear when we were living together. Her style goes well with Ethan’s laidback look: his plaid shirt and faded jeans and a pair of sneakers that he’s probably owned since he was sixteen. And Lila’s average height allows her to nestle her head against Ethan’s chest comfortably. Looking at them with the sunlight and my house in the backdrop, I find myself wishing I had time to draw them.
After a lot of kissing and whispering in Ethan’s ear, Lila convinces him to stop complaining and he begrudgingly agrees that Vegas is a ridiculous idea and that Micha and I should get married in Star Grove.
“A week is not a lot of time to prepare a wedding,” Lila declares, pulling her sunglasses over her eyes. “Not a real one with decorations, flowers, dresses, tuxes, and guests. God, I wish we had more time to plan this.”
“And I wish you wouldn’t take any time to plan it,” I say, and when she frowns I sigh. “Sorry, I’m just not into wedding stuff.” I round the car to the passenger side of the Chevelle, trailing my finger across a few dings and chips in the black paint that were put there when Micha intentionally crashed it into the snow bank.
Micha opens the driver door and steps back so Ethan can climb into the backseat. “It doesn’t matter what kind of wedding we have,” he says, “just as long as Ella’s there with me. In fact, we don’t even need dresses and tuxes. We could even be nak*d and standing in my backyard and I’d be okay.” He winks at me over the roof of the car. “As long as we’re together, I’ll be happy and being nak*d would just be an added bonus.”
This makes Lila giggle as she ducks her head and hops into the backseat with Ethan. I push the seat back, get in the car, and shut the door, then pull the visor down to block the sunlight.
Micha adjusts the driver’s seat before he closes the door and starts the engine. “So is everyone ready for this?” He looks around at the three of us, but when his eyes finally land on me I know he only really cares about my answer.
It takes me a second to answer and he notices my hesitation and his expression starts to fall. But even though my throat feels dry I manage to say, “Of course.” My voice trembles a little.
“Okay then.” Giving me a small but slightly forced smile, he backs down the driveway and drives toward the highway, toward home where all of this started. Where Micha and I first met, first talked, first played, kissed, fooled around, danced, said I love you.
Where Micha and I began.
* * *
We drive down the dark, desolate highway for hours, the moon a bright orb against the black sky and the trees on the side of the road only outlines. Music is playing from the speakers and Ethan is snoring in the backseat with his head against the headrest while Lila leans against him. I have my sketchpad opened on my lap and a pencil in my hand.
I’m supposed to be working on my portfolio over Christmas break for graduation in May. I’m not even sure exactly what I’m going to do when I graduate with my associate degree, but it’ll have something to do with art. Honestly, if I had my way, I’d spend all day with Micha, listening to him sing, while I draw things that mean something to me—things that move me. I wouldn’t want to draw so I could sell my art. Yes, it would be an added bonus, but doing it as a job would take some of my passion for creating away.
Right now all the pages in my sketchbook are blank or have unfinished pictures on them because I wasn’t feeling it and stopped. It’s supposed to be full of pieces that mean something to me, that will make people experience emotion, tell a passionate story from the heart. I can’t seem to find my angle and everything I start ends up feeling forced.
I wonder if my mom had this problem.
“So I’m trying to decide whether to tell my mom or not that we almost went through with a wedding without her,” Micha says, slipping his fingers through mine, and the contact jerks me from my thoughts and I gasp, startling him and myself.
“Are you okay?” he asks. “You seem distracted.”
“Yeah I’m fine… and I vote no.” I set my pencil down and close my untouched sketchbook, since it’s too dark to draw anyway, and put it down on the floor beside my feet. I rub my tired eyes, then slant my head to the side and watch the stars in the sky stream by in various illuminating colors, trying not to think about the journal tucked away in my bag in the trunk. My mom’s journal and drawings. My mother who won’t be at my wedding. I want to scream at myself because it shouldn’t be such a big deal. She was hardly around when I was alive so what does it matter? Yet for some reason it does.
“What’s the matter, pretty girl?” Micha glances at me and there’s a tease in his tone. “Are you afraid she’s going to get upset?” He releases my hand to sweep strands of his blond hair out of his aqua eyes that are so strikingly beautiful even the darkness can’t conceal it.
“I’m never afraid,” I assure him as he returns his fingers to mine, bringing me instantaneous warmth. “I’m just worried she’s going to get upset and cry and then things are going to get awkward.”
He chuckles softly, and then delicately kisses my knuckles, causing my heart to flutter. “So you’re only worried about things getting awkward, huh?” The ring looped through his bottom lip grazes my skin as he moves his mouth away, and then he puts his hand to the shifter with our fingers still entwined. “There’s nothing else bothering you at all? Like the fact that you’re going to have to stand up in front of a group of people and tell them why you love me?”
I gape at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Our wedding vows,” he says. “Did you forget?”
I look at the window to hide my guilty face. With the box arriving on my doorstep yesterday and the panic of actually getting married, I’d completely forgotten about the vows. Micha had thought it’d be a great idea to write our own vows and I’d agreed because it was only going to be him and me, Lila, Ethan, and a minister. I knew there was no way I could write anything as poetic as Micha would. The boy is amazing with lyrics and letters and words in general. Me, not so much, especially when it comes to writing about the heavy stuff like my feelings. I really suck at self-expression, unless it’s through art. I wonder if I could get away with just holding up a few drawings of him?
“You did forget, didn’t you?” Micha starts laughing again, looking so happy it hurts my heart, because I should be that happy. And I am, for the most part, but there’s still stuff bothering me, like the journal, the vows, my future, what the hell I want to become of my life.
I smash my lips together and meet his gaze. “I might have let it slip my mind, but not because I don’t love you.”
“I know that.”
“I know, but still…” I sigh. “I’m such an a**hole.”
He laughs even harder, one hand gripping the steering wheel as he merges into the other lane. “You’re not an a**hole.” He skims his fingers across the bumps of my knuckles with his thumb. “And we don’t have to write our own vows if you don’t want to. I’m perfectly content with just marrying you.”
“You’re so sappy sometimes,” I tease, and then take a shaky breath. “But I want to do the vows.” It’s such a lie but I want to make him happy—he deserves to be happy. And this is something I can do to give that to him.
He cocks an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
No. “Yeah, I’m absolutely sure.” I sound kind of choked, but I don’t think he notices. I feel bad, but at the same time I can’t help how I feel. I’m never really sure about anything. I get anxious when it comes to huge decisions and that makes me hesitate every single time. If I had my way, it wouldn’t be like that, but sometimes things are out of our control when it comes to who we are.
“Vows it is then.” He smiles and it makes me sad. I want to be as happy as he is. I really do. But sometimes it seems like it’s impossible, no matter how hard I try.
* * *
I fall asleep somewhere between the exit ramp and the bridge that stretches over the lake that’s at the edge of Star Grove, the one I almost jumped off of the night before I ran away to Vegas. By the time I open my eyes again, we’re pulling up to Micha’s old house, which is next door to mine. The sun is ascending from behind the mountains that surround our little town and snow blankets the lawns around us. It’s freezing here, and the sidewalks and driveways are all glazed in ice. Silver, green, and red Christmas lights twinkle on some of the nearby houses, but most of the front yards in this neighborhood are decorated with broken-down cars, boxes, trash. There’s a younger guy who I’m pretty sure is selling drugs on the street corner, and a guy yelling at his wife as she storms down the sidewalk in her pajamas.
“Welcome home,” Micha mutters, and then yawns, stretching his lean arms above his head.
I cover my mouth as I yawn. “You should have let me drive a little. You seriously look tired.”
“I am seriously tired,” he says, silencing the engine. “And I plan on getting some sleep just as soon as you take a shower with me.” He flashes me a grin and then pulls the keys out of the ignition. “That’ll wear me out and I’ll be able to fall right to sleep afterward.”
“Dude, shut the f**k up,” Ethan grumbles, making a disgusted face. His black hair is flat on one side where his head was against the window and he has his tattooed arms around Lila as she sleeps with her head on his chest.
“Hey, you can’t give us crap,” I tell Ethan, unbuckling my seat belt. “I’m officially scarred for life after yesterday.”
“What happened yesterday?” Micha asks as he cracks open the door and cold air rushes into the car.
Ethan shoots me a dirty glare, but I ignore him. “I came home from work,” I tell Micha, “and heard some very disturbing noises coming from the guestroom.”
“Nice,” Micha says and then flinches when I punch him in the arm. “What? If it’ll make you feel better we can make a whole bunch of noise in the shower and pay them back.”