The Ever After of Ella and Micha

by Sorensen, Jessica

  “So I’m waiting for you to panic,” Ethan unexpectedly announces, kicking a chunk of ice out of the way.

  I stuff my hands into my jacket pockets. “Panic over what?”

  “Over getting married.”

  “Why would I panic?”

  He gapes at me. “Because you’re going to be with one person for the rest of your life, and that for the rest of your life decisions are going to be based on what’s best for not just you but for you and her. You can’t just do whatever you want anymore.”

  “Have I ever really been with anyone else though?” I ask. “I mean relationship-wise.”

  He shrugs. “No, I guess not, but still. It’s such a huge responsibility and there seems like there should be a little panic involved, even if it’s for a minute.”

  “Not really,” I say. “At least if it’s the right person.”

  He takes in my words with a perplexed look as he stares at the ground. Finally he shakes his head and then looks up. “And what happens if Ella tells you that she doesn’t want you going on that Slam Tour or whatever.”

  “Then I won’t go,” I say. I told Ethan the other day, while we were cleaning up the house the morning after the party about my dilemma, because I needed to get it off my chest.

  “You’d just give up your dream?” he asks.

  I nod. “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “And what happens, like, five years down the road when you look back and regret it?”

  I kick the tip of my boot at the snow. “Why are you pushing this so hard? I mean, I know you’re not a fan of Ella, but it’s like you’re trying to talk me out of marrying her, which will never happen.”

  He abruptly halts near the edge of the curb and I slip on the ice as I slam to a stop beside him. My hands go out to my sides and I quickly regain my balance.

  “I’m not telling you not to marry her,” he says with a frown. “I’m just telling you that since you’re going to marry her, you need to talk to her about the tour and make the decision together whether or not you’re going to go. Otherwise you’re going to get married in a few days without talking about something major and that could lead to problems.”

  “You’re so weird, sometimes,” I tell him, pulling my hood over my head. “You give relationship advice all the time, yet I’ve never seen you in a relationship except for with Lila, but somehow your advice makes sense.”

  He shrugs, staring at the single-story brick home across the street that is covered in flashing red and green lights. “I watched my parents do the wrong things for years and years, so I know what doesn’t work,” he says as we cross the street. “Now, whether or not my advice is the right way to go, I really have no idea.”

  I hop up onto the curb, stuffing my hands back into my jacket pockets. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

  He doesn’t say anything, but I can tell he’s glad I said I would, for whatever reason. “You know what?” he says, changing the subject. “I think we need to have a bachelor party tonight. It seems wrong that we’re not having a real one.”

  “Yeah, I think you’re forgetting what the strip bars look like around here,” I say to him unenthusiastically. “Remember when we decided to go to one right after we graduated.” I shudder at the thought. “I think I’m still a little scarred over the things I saw.”

  His face contorts in revulsion. “Yeah, how could I forget?” As we round the corner of the street, heading east, he adds, “But we could go get drunk, just for old times’ sake.” He sticks out his fist. “What do you say? You want to get trashed down at the pub one more time?”

  I pound fists with him. We haven’t hung out in a while, ever since I moved, so I don’t get many chances to hang out with him. “Yeah, why the hell not. One last time, for old times’ sake.”

  I can’t help but smile at the many times Ethan and I snuck into the pub with our fake IDs. We always had a lot of fun and it hits me that we’ve sort of moved on from that stuff. It’s kind of sad, but at the same time, I’m glad we’ve moved on from this town, moving forward in our lives, because not a lot of people around here do.

  Chapter 15

  Ella

  “I can’t believe you brought me here,” I shout over the chest-bumping music, fanning my hand in front of my face because it’s hot and smells like sweat and old cheese mixed with beer. There are strings of Christmas lights coiling around the ceiling beams and they sparkle across our faces, giving our skin a pink glow.

  Lila pivots in her stool, her eyes skimming the dance floor. “Well, I asked around and everyone said this was the place to go to have a little fun.”

  I shake my head as I pick up my drink. “Oh, Lila Dila, fun in Star Grove is not the same as California fun or even Vegas fun.” I rotate in the stool, motioning my hand at the crowd of rough-looking people, most dressed in old jeans, plaid shirts, T-shirts, boots. We aren’t the only ones dressed up, but girls wearing fancy dresses are few and far between. And there’s no flashy lights or décor, just low lighting due to a few lightbulbs being out, round tables and mismatched chairs, and peanut shells and wrappers on the floor. The music is coming from a stereo, not a DJ, but the good thing is the drinks are cheap.

  “Well, I wanted to give you one last hoorah before you tie the knot in a few days,” she says, sipping on the straw that’s in her margarita as the bartender, a middle-aged guy with thinning hair and a mustache, eyes us down. He’s been doing it since we walked in, checking us out, but so far it’s been easy to ignore him. “I was trying to be a good maid of honor.”

  “Didn’t we all ready do that back in San Diego the night before the wedding?” I ask. “When you took me out for drinks at that club?”

  She raises her eyebrows at me. “The wedding that never happened?”

  “True,” I say. “But we still had our hoorah.”

  She slurps the rest of her drink before reclining back in the stool and setting it on the counter. “You can never have too many last hoorahs.” She frowns as she sits up straight. “We’ve barely seen each other in the last six months and now we’re hardly going to see each other anymore after you get married.”

  I’m not the heart-to-heart kind of girl but she’s making me feel bad. “Lila, we’ll still be friends no matter what. And you’re dating Micha’s best friend. We’ll see each other more than you think.”

  She rearranges a few strands of her hair back into place. “No, we won’t. You’ll see. You’ll move on, probably have babies, and I’ll still be living in Vegas, trying to figure out what I want to do with my life.”

  “That’s not what I hear,” I tell her. “I heard that you and Ethan have a big road trip planned.”

  She seals her lips as she watches the dance floor. “Yeah, I guess that’s the plan.”

  “Then why do you sound so unconvinced?”

  “I don’t know. Shit happens, you know. Things sometimes change.”

  I take another swallow of my drink. “Is there something going on between you and Ethan? Are you fighting or something?”

  She shakes her head. “No, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t worry about all the things that can go wrong.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like life.” She turns toward me, crossing her legs. “Not all of us have the perfect relationship, although I can’t say that what Ethan and I have is bad. It’s great, but it’s not like I have a ring on my finger.”

  “Yet,” I say, and she rolls her eyes at me. I throw my head back and guzzle the rest of my drink, feeling the burn of the vodka as it slides down my throat. “Besides, I don’t have the perfect relationship.” I put the glass on the bar. “Need I remind you I stood Micha up just a few days ago.”

  “Yeah, but you had a reason, right? Because you were worried about your future.” The way she says it with suspicion makes me wonder if she doesn’t believe my reasoning.

  “Yeah,” I say. “And because of other stuff… things I don’t like to talk about.”

  “What kind of stuff? Is there
something else you’re not telling me?”

  I twirl a strand of my hair around my finger, feeling uncomfortable. I can tell Micha personal things about me but he’s my best friend, fiancé, my everything, which sounds so cheesy but it’s true. I wonder if I should put it in the vows.

  The burn of the alcohol rushes through my veins and I begin to think maybe it’s time to talk to Lila about stuff. She’s usually good about giving advice and maybe she can direct me on what to do. But I don’t want to talk about my mom and the box—I talked enough about that with my dad. But there is something else.

  “I’m having trouble writing my vows,” I admit.

  She props her elbow on the countertop as her eyebrows knit. “You guys are writing vows?

  I nod. “It was Micha’s idea.”

  Lila drums her fingernails on her knee. “Yeah, I assumed as much.” She pauses. “Why do you think you’re having such a hard time?”

  “Because I’m not a writer,” I say. “And because… well, because I hate expressing my emotions to an empty room let alone to people.”

  “Yeah, but we already kind of know how you feel about Micha, since you can’t keep your hands off him.” She inspects her reflection in the mirror on the back wall of the bar. “But I get the emotion part and not wanting to say it to anyone. Sometimes I hide what I feel, too.”

  “Really?” I ask, raising my voice as the music gets louder. “It never seems like you do.”

  She glares at some creepy guy with a ponytail who keeps grinning at her from across the bar. “Maybe it’s not that I hide what I’m feeling so much as I pretend to feel something else, but I’ve been trying to stop because it’s unhealthy.”

  I know from experience that she’s right. “So how do you suggest I get over the not being a writer part?”

  “You just put the pen to the paper and write, I guess.” She shrugs. “I’m sure something good will come out.”

  I continue to try and figure out a better solution until the song switches to an upbeat tempo and Lila claps her hands together, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “I love this song,” she says. “Let’s take another shot and dance.”

  “I’m only taking a shot if it’s Jäger,” I tell her.

  She makes a gagging face. “Ewe, you’re so gross. I’ll just stick with tequila.”

  She orders our drinks, and then we slam them back and head for the dance floor. We dance in the low lighting, making the occasional trip back to the bar for more shots until we’re hot, sweaty, exhausted, and ready to go home. I feel good, not just because I’m buzzed, but because I had fun, even though I’m scared of getting married, worried about writing vows.

  As we push through the crowd, heading for the exit, we collect our jackets from the chair. We slip them on as we push out the door and the ice-cold air stings at my bare legs.

  “Let’s run,” I tell Lila and she laughs as we take off, staggering and slipping in the ice as we run toward the Chevelle parked beneath the lamppost.

  “Wait.” Lila suddenly slams to a stop when we’re almost to the car. She looks back at the club with a torn expression on her face. “Maybe we should go back inside where it’s warm and call the guys to come get us. We said we wouldn’t drive drunk.”

  Through the sea of alcohol sloshing around in my head, I realize that we indeed shouldn’t be driving since everything looks a little distorted and standing seems complex. “Yeah, good idea.” I start to turn around to head back when a blue Camaro drives into the parking lot and parks between us and the door to the club, blocking our path.

  “You have got to be shitting me,” I mutter as the window rolls down.

  Mikey sticks his head out as a cloud of smoke rushes from the open window. The last time I saw him I was throwing a milkshake into his window and then he tried to chase us down. Knowing Mikey, I’m guessing he’s probably still holding a grudge.

  “Ella, what’s wrong?” Lila asks tracking my line of sight as a smile creeps up on Mikey’s face. “Who is that?”

  “Well, well, if it isn’t the town rebel.” He continues smiling as he opens his door and hops out. He’s about average height for a guy, which makes me in heels as tall as him, but my weight is no match for his. His black hair blends with the night, his nose is crooked, probably because someone clocked him, and he has a barbed-wire tattoo curving around his neck.

  His boots stomp against the icy parking lot as he strides over to us with a smirk on his face. “So is that Gregory idiot with you, because I’ve been dying to kick his ass too for that shake stunt you two pulled.”

  “What?” Lila asks way too loud and I shoot her a look over my shoulder, warning her to keep her mouth shut. Then I glance over at Mikey’s car, noting that there’s someone else in the passenger seat, a guy I think.

  As Mikey slows to a stop in front of us, he measures Lila up with a sly look on his face. “Are you his girl or something?”

  “Whose girl?” Lila plays dumb, shielding herself by stepping behind me. She’s scared, her erratic breathing showing through the fog.

  Mikey looks her over for a little bit longer and then focuses on me. I don’t like how he’s looking at me, not like I’m Ella the girl who could hang tight with the guys, even if he didn’t like me. He’s looking at me like I’m a girl, because I’m dressed like one and I suddenly regret wearing the damn dress and fucking heels. “Ella, I know you’re not stupid,” he says, inching closer. “I know you know that around here people just don’t get away with throwing shakes in cars. They have to pay—things have to be even.”

  I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. “Just like I know that no one around here respects you.”

  The muscles in his neck tighten as he steps into the light from the lamppost. I’m growing a little nervous. Even though Mikey has always tried to seem tough, it was all an act and most of us knew that he was a lot of talk. But this Mikey looks different than the one I used to know. More ragged, rough, intense, and less cowardly. His eyes are sunken in and red and I wonder if he’s gotten into drugs, but it doesn’t really surprise me if he has. It happens sometimes in this town.

  “Watch your fucking mouth,” Mikey cautions.

  Lila captures my arm, her fingers trembling as she whispers, “Maybe I should call or text Micha and Ethan.”

  I shake my head and hiss, “No way. Then they’ll just end up in a fight.”

  Lila glances at Mikey. “I think we might end up in a fight if we don’t get them here,” she whispers nervously.

  “No, we’re fine,” I reassure her, even though I’m not so sure myself. “Just go to the car and wait for me.” I turn around and target my eyes on Mikey, attempting to look tougher than I feel as Lila backs toward the Chevelle.

  He cracks his knuckles and neck, like it proves he’s tough. “You think you can frighten me with a look?” He spans his arms out to the side at the empty parking lot. “You got no one around to protect your ass.”

  That feisty, fighting girl that I keep shoved down inside pushes her way out and I step forward so we’re close. “And that’s okay.” I span my hands out to the side and glance around, mockingly imitating his move, ignoring the fact that I know things are going to get ugly. There’s nothing I can do about it. I could run, but then he’d just chase me. “Since I don’t see any threat around.”

  A vein bulges in his neck and he starts to pace to the side while the other guy in the car climbs out. He’s tall and bulky with cropped hair and arms the size of my legs. I try to calculate how fast I can run to the car in heels, and if I make it to the car, can I drive fast enough to get away because I know he’s going to chase me down whether on foot or in a vehicle.

  “Ah, now you’re not so cocky,” Mikey says with a smirk when I don’t respond. I hate to back down because it would mean living through hell for almost forever, since no one in Star Grove can seem to forget, but at the same time this isn’t my home. I might be here for holidays if that, so in the end, does it even matter?

&nbs
p; Sucking in all of my stubbornness, I put my hands up and step back, putting distance between us. “Fine, you win,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “No fucking way.” He counters my step back, narrowing the distances between us. “You insulted me and ruined the leather in my car. You don’t just walk away. The question is, how are you going to pay? I mean, I could just make you pay to get it reupholstered.” His eyes scroll up my body suggestively. “Although, there might be something else you can give me.”

  I can’t help it. I burst out laughing, which probably isn’t the best thing to do but I’m drunk and not thinking rationally. Big guy starts rushing for me as I back away with my hand over my stomach, my laughter echoing around us. But he slips and eats it, falling flat on his back and I laugh harder and Mikey’s face heats with anger. He snatches my arm and jerks me forward, his fingers pressing against my skin and I wince as I stumble.

  “Fuck off,” I say, yanking my arm back.

  His fingers dig tighter as he wrenches me forward, opening his mouth to say something, but I bring my knee up and slam it in his manly parts. I’m not sure how much force is behind the blow since I’m intoxicated and having a hard time keeping my balance, but it seems to do the job and he frees me from his hold, clutching his junk as his face contorts in pain. I’m about to turn and run when he lifts his arm and strikes me across the cheek.

  My ears ring and I see spots as I clutch my cheek and blink. “You fucking asshole!” I shout, pissed off. Some girls would have cried, but the pain only makes me want to get him back. I see the big guy walking toward us as Mikey lifts his hand to hit me again. I bring back my own hand and slam my fist into his cheek. It’s not the first time I’ve hit someone and I’m pretty sure it won’t be my last, but no matter how many times I punch someone in the face, it still hurts my God damn hand.