by Nikki Ash
Ian’s lips, which were curled in a wide grin, turn down. “There’s just one problem with that plan.”
“What?” I ask, the organ in my chest tightening. We’ve had this plan since before he graduated from high school. Ian knows how important my plans are to me. Whether it’s making a plan for a project or a plan for my future, I need them. Without them, I feel like I’m spiraling out of control. “What’s the problem?” I ask, my hands beginning to shake.
Ian opens the box, and nestled inside is a beautiful diamond ring. “The problem is that I don’t want to wait until you move to San Diego to get married.” He climbs off the bed and gets down on one knee. “Micaela Lizbeth Michaels, will you marry me?”
“But… what about our plan?” I ask stupidly.
Ian laughs. “We can write up a new one. Everything else can stay the same. The only change will be your marital status and last name.” He winks, and my belly does a flip-flop.
“Yes!” I squeal. “Yes.” I jump from the bed and into his arms, tackling him to the floor. “Yes, I will marry you.”
“You’re not getting married,” my dad says. “You’re too young. You had a five-year plan. What the hell happened to the five-year plan?” He looks at my mom with wide eyes. “She had a goddamn five-year plan.”
“We tweaked it,” I tell him calmly. “The plan is still the same, only we’ll be married a little sooner. You and Mom got married when she was only a few years older than me.” I glance from my dad to my mom, silently begging her to help me out here. She had me when she was only twenty-one, and shortly after, they got married. At least I’m doing things the right way.
“Marco,” Mom says to my dad, and his shoulders slump. “We can’t stop them from getting married if that’s what they want to do.”
“No, but I want you to be on board.” Technically I don’t need either of their permission to get married, but I want their blessing. Their approval means a lot to me. I’m one of the few kids who has a good relationship with my parents. My mom is my best friend, and I’m close with my dad.
“And you can’t make it a long engagement?” Dad asks.
“We could,” Ian says, “but I love your daughter and would like for her to be my wife. And with her being my wife, she’ll be able to visit me on the base.”
“And you’re still going to stay here and go to college?” Dad confirms.
“Yes, Ian still has to go through SQT, and once he’s a SEAL, he’ll most likely be shipped out on his first deployment. I already have a year’s worth of college credits, so I’ll get my associate’s and then transfer to a school near him to finish my bachelor’s.”
“Damn it, Micaela.” My dad’s gaze meets mine, unshed tears in his eyes. “I want to tell you that you’re not thinking rationally, but you’re the most responsible, well-thought person I know.” He sighs, accepting my decision. “This weekend?”
“We don’t know when he’ll be able to come back here and we want both our families there.”
“All right,” Dad says. “If this is really what you want, then we’ll support you.” He puts his arm around my mom and pulls her into his side. “But no babies until you’re thirty.”
I roll my eyes and laugh. “Trust me, getting pregnant is not part of our five-year plan.”
Micaela
Six Months Later
“We have Chinese or Japanese.” Ian holds up two takeout menus and shrugs a shoulder sheepishly.
“So, pretty much only the places that most likely don’t celebrate Thanksgiving,” I say with humor in my voice. “I guess we should’ve thought this through.” When Ian found out last minute he would be off for Thanksgiving and not have to report back to training until noon on Friday, I booked a hotel room near his base and flew in last night. It would be too much for him to fly over for only one day, but there was no way I was going to let him spend the day alone. Not when I could be here with him.
“Yeah, where are our parents when we need them?” he jokes.
“Apparently at home with all the turkey and mashed potatoes.” I laugh, plucking the Japanese menu from his hand. “Sushi or Pad Thai?”
Ian drops the other menu on the counter and pulls me into his arms. “I’m sorry, babe. I should’ve—”
“Seriously, it’s just food.” I let the menu go and circle my arms around his neck. “Japanese, Chinese, turkey, pizza… None of it matters but being here with you.” I kiss him tenderly, happy to finally be in his arms. Training has been hard on him. It’s demanding and taxing on him—physically and mentally—and when he isn’t training, he’s so exhausted, he spends his time off sleeping or working out. He says it’s because the missions he’ll have to go on will be life-threatening, and if the men aren’t the best, they’ll put each other, as well as others, at risk. I Googled Navy SEALs and was shocked to learn just how dangerous it is. Thankfully, Ian is in shape and has been preparing his entire life for this. If anyone can become a SEAL, it’s him.
“It’s our first Thanksgiving as husband and wife,” he says, giving me a kiss. “It should be special. I didn’t get off until late, and I completely forgot…”
“It doesn’t matter what we eat as long as we’re eating together,” I insist. “We only have twenty-four hours together, so let’s make the most of it. We’ll have many more Thanksgivings to eat turkey.”
“Okay,” he agrees. “How about we order something to eat, and while we wait for the food to get here, I eat you?” He waggles his brows then nips on my chin playfully. “I’m starving.”
“That sounds like the perfect way to spend our first Thanksgiving.”
Micaela
One Month Later
“Hey, babe.” Ian’s face comes onto the screen of my laptop. “How’s it going?”
“Good.” I run my finger down the screen, wishing I could actually touch his face, feel his lips. “Wish you were here.”
“I wish I were there too.” He sighs. “Only a few more months.”
“It will fly by,” I assure him.
“Getting some skiing in?”
“Of course.” My family has a cabin in Breckenridge, a ski resort in Colorado. We come here every year for winter break. My parents have been coming here since they were kids. It’s tradition. We spend Christmas and New Year’s with everyone, skiing, snowboarding, and having a good time.
“Hopefully next year I’ll be there to race you down the slopes.”
“I can’t wait. Until then, I’ll just have to keep whooping Lexi’s ass.”
“I heard that!” Lexi yells from the other room. Even though our parents all have their own cabins, we always end up hanging out together at one of them. Apparently, this year, it’s ours.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Ian says. “I spoke to Lieutenant Gaspar, and he said if all goes well, I should have no problem getting stationed in Coronado.”
Coronado is where the Navy SEAL base is, which is only about ten minutes from the University of San Diego, where I’m planning to apply to once I finish my associate’s degree in May. It’s also near Scripps, which is where I would love to snag an internship. Him being stationed in Coronado will mean both of our dreams will be able to come true.
“That’s awesome. Any chance you’re going to surprise me for Christmas like you did for my graduation?” I hate that we’re spending our first Christmas as a married couple apart. I wanted to fly out to spend some time with him, like I did for Thanksgiving, but he insisted I spend the time with my family since he would be in and out on missions and didn’t want me to be alone.
“I wish,” he says with a frown. “We’re actually heading out on a training mission. We’ll be gone for at least a week.”
“Where are you going?”
“Arizona.” He grants me a boyish grin. “We’re going to do some skydiving.”
“Sounds like fun.”
Someone yells something in the background and Ian yells back that he’s coming.
“I gotta go, babe. I might be off the
radar, so if I don’t talk to you beforehand, I hope you have a good Christmas.” He brings two fingers to his lips and then places them against the screen like he always does, and I do the same.
“You too. I love you.”
“Love you more.”
I wait for him to disconnect the call and then shut my laptop down.
“You ready to hit the slopes?” Lexi asks.
“Yep.”
“Let’s do this.”
“Merry Christmas!” My mom wraps me up in a hug and then moves on to hug my younger sister, Liza, and then my younger brother, Liam.
“Merry Christmas, Mom,” I say, sitting on the couch near the Christmas tree. Since my brother is still young enough to believe in Santa, we follow the tradition of Santa coming on Christmas Eve. Even though Liza and I no longer believe, it’s still nice to continue the tradition.
“I have coffee for you.” My dad hands me a steaming cup of coffee. “And hot chocolate for you.” He hands Liza and Liam each a cup of hot chocolate, complete with marshmallows on top.
“I want to open this one first,” Liam says, shaking one of the gifts.
“We need to wait for your grandparents to get here,” Mom tells him.
My cell phone rings, and I jump up to grab it. It might be Ian. As I hit answer, the front door opens and in walk both sets of my grandparents.
“Hello,” I say, not recognizing the number on the caller ID.
“Hello, may I please speak to Micaela Anderson?”
Everyone is saying Merry Christmas and giving each other hugs and kisses, so it’s hard to hear. Stepping into the kitchen, where it’s quieter, I say, “This is she. Who’s this?” I can’t help the smile that forms at the sound of Ian’s—now my—last name.
“This is Lieutenant Gaspar.” Everything that comes after his name is a blur. My brain is fuzzy, and my heart is struggling to beat. Ian was in an accident while skydiving and didn’t make it. I knew it was dangerous for him to be a Navy SEAL, but I never imagined he would be at risk before actually becoming one. He’s so young, and is in shape, I never gave the risks more than a quick thought. I never imagined in my worst nightmares something like this would happen to him.
At some point, my parents find me curled into a ball in the kitchen. My dad takes the phone and finishes the call, and my mom takes me into her arms, holding me close. It’s hard to breathe, to see, to hear. My body isn’t working right, everything is wrong.
Ian has been in an accident.
My husband has been killed.
I’ll never be able to see him, touch him, feel him again.
All of our plans… our promises… our love.
In the blink of an eye, it’s all over.
Micaela
Fifteen Months Later
Dear Ian,
I stare at the unfinished letter in my hands, a letter that’s pointless to write because Ian is dead and will never get it. He’ll never read any of the words I have to say. My dad suggested I write Ian. He said when he was younger and had a problem with drugs, while he was in rehab he wrote my mom every day. Even though he never sent her any of the letters, he found the act of writing to be therapeutic. He wrote eighty letters, and I can’t even write one. I’ve been trying to write this same letter for almost fifteen months and I can’t do it. Dear Ian, that’s all I’ve managed to write. I have no idea what to do or say. My parents think I need to see a therapist, and I don’t disagree, but I’m not ready. My mom thinks I need to go back to college, and, again, I don’t disagree, but still, I’m not ready.
“Ewww,” a feminine voice says. “It smells like depression in here.”
I swing my head around to find Lexi and Georgia standing in my doorway. Lexi is smirking and Georgia is smiling softly. My heart constricts and tears fill my eyes. I can’t remember the last time I saw them. Maybe their graduation… Wow, that was… ten months ago?
“What the hell are you waiting for? Get over here and give me a hug,” Lexi demands. I stand, but stay frozen in place. If I hug her, I’m going to lose it. It’s what I do now—lose it.
“Fine, then we’ll come to you.” They both cut across the room and wrap me up in a tight group hug. The tears that were clogging my throat fall. One after the next, they flow down my cheeks like a river escaping a dam.
“It’s okay,” Georgia says, rubbing her hand up and down my back.
“What are you guys doing here?” They—as well as my family and friends—tried to visit several times after Ian died, but I pushed everyone away over and over again, until they finally gave up and let me wallow in my grief alone.
“We’ve let you have your space, but now we’re not going away.” Lexi pulls back and places her hand on her hip. It’s then I notice her hair.
“You dyed your hair?” I run my fingers through it. “Holy shit, it’s blond… like blond-blond.”
Lexi laughs and gives me a look of confusion. “I dyed it like a year ago…”
“And I didn’t even notice…” Wow, I’m seriously a shitty friend.
“You’ve had a lot going on,” Georgia says, trying to make excuses for me.
Have I, though? Had a lot going on? Since Ian died I haven’t done anything but mourn his loss. I dropped out of school, stopped working at the recreational center my family helps run. I haven’t worked out at the gym. The truth is I haven’t had anything going on.
“It’s pretty,” I tell Lexi. “Suits that sexy surfer vibe you got going on.”
Georgia laughs and Lexi rolls her eyes.
“So, what are you doing here?” I ask again.
“It’s spring break,” Lexi says. “We’re heading to Cabo with our parents and thought we could drag you out of this house and get you into the sun for a few days. I’m dying to hit the waves.”
I’m already shaking my head before she can finish, and both of them frown. “I appreciate it, but I’m just not ready for all that.” The last time I was in Cabo was with Ian during spring break of his senior year.
“Ready for what?” Lexi argues. “Flying on a private plane to Cabo and spending five days lying out by the pool and beach?”
I get what she’s saying, but I can’t explain it. The idea of having fun there without him makes me sick to my stomach. Every memory we created would be replaced with ones without him. I can’t do it. All I have left are my memories. I can’t replace them…
“Ian and I went to Cabo together,” I choke out.
Both girls frown and nod.
“You can’t do this forever,” Lexi says.
“But she can have more time,” Georgia argues.
Time: Something I thought Ian and I had plenty of. Only it ran out long before it was supposed to, leaving me with only his memory.
“I’m sorry,” I tell them. “I can’t. I hate that you came all this way…”
“We flew in with our parents. Dad had some business with the gym before we go,” Georgia says.
“Next time,” I offer, my tone holding no conviction.
“Okay.” Lexi sighs, pulling me in for a hug. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I tell her, before I give Georgia a hug. “Have fun.”
As they’re walking out the door, my mom walks in. She gives them each a hug and tells them to have a good time. And then we’re alone.
She doesn’t say anything at first, just walks over to the balcony where I was sitting and picks up the worn-out paper. “How many of these have you written?” she asks, holding it up.
“None.”
Her eyes widen briefly. “But I’ve seen you…”
“That’s all I’ve written.” I nod toward the paper, my throat filling back up with unshed emotion. I hate that all I do is cry. And when I finally get myself composed, I cry again.
“Oh, Micaela.” Mom drops the letter on my bed and pulls me into her embrace. “I hate to see you like this, my sweet girl.” My face falls against her chest and I let out a choked sob. “I miss you so much,” she murmurs while I cry in
to her shirt. “It’s time, sweetie. Time to move forward. You deserve to have a life.”
“I don’t know how to get past this,” I admit. “My heart… It hurts, Mom.” Tremors rack my body, and my mom holds me tighter. “I feel like I’m frozen in place to fifteen months ago, on Christmas morning when I found out Ian died. Everything I do or think reminds me of him, of us.” I sniffle. “We had plans, and now…” I hiccup. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I feel so lost. He was supposed to be my forever.”
Mom pulls back slightly and looks into my eyes. “You take it one day at a time. One step a day. It’s all you can do. But you have to actually move forward.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Only you can figure that out,” she says. “You’re the one grieving. But sitting in this room, avoiding life, isn’t the answer.” She kisses my forehead. “I’m heading to the rec center. Would you like to join me?” My parents help run a recreational center that was created to keep kids off the streets. My grandparents started it because my dad used to be one of those kids.
I shake my head. “I just…”
“I know.” She nods, a frown marring her face. “You want to be alone.” The way she says the words has my stomach churning. My grieving is not only affecting me, but is also affecting my family. Sure, they give me my space, but they also take turns checking on me every day. Even my aunts and uncles have started to join in the rotation.
My mom gives my arm a squeeze and then walks out. Taking the paper from the bed, I sit on the balcony and stare at it. My mom is right. Only I can move forward, and sitting here in this room day after day, trying to write a letter I can’t write isn’t helping. What’s that saying? The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again but expecting different results. I need to try something new. I can’t keep living like this. It’s breaking my parents’ hearts.
