Micha


I smile the entire drive home. Not just because she let me do her in the car, but also because so much has changed. She opened up to me and her eyes lost a little bit of the sadness in them.


When I pull the car up to the front of her house, however, my gut wrenches at the idea that all the progress could be taken away in a heartbeat if Dean or her dad decides to bring painful things up. I decide before I get out of the car, that if they do, I’ll hurt them.


Dean’s red Porsche is in the driveway, along with Ethan’s truck. As we walk toward the back door, holding hands, snow falling from the sky and crunching under our shoes, neither one of us speaks. When we reach the door, I pause before opening it.


“You sure you want to do this?” I ask. “Because we could take off right now, just you and I and go wherever you want.”


She stands on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek and then nods. “I think I have to.”


Reluctantly, I open the door and we walk head-on into the lion’s den. At the table, Ella’s dad, Lila, and Ethan are sitting quietly around bowls and plates full of corn, stuffing, chicken, peas. There are rolls and butter and much more than both of us are used to seeing. Keeping a hold of Ella’s hand I walk over to the table and we take a seat side-by-side.


“It took you a long time to get back,” Ethan mutters under his breath with an accusing laugh. “What, did you get stuck again or something?”


“Knock it off.” I take a roll as Ella grips my hand under the table with her eyes fixed on the tablecloth. Her dad looks awkward sitting across from us, cutting a piece of chicken into absurdly thin slices.


“Hello, Ella,” he says formally, without making eye contact. “How have you been?”


My muscles tense waiting for her response.


It takes her a second. “Good. Really, really good.”


I exhale and the heaviness and worry of the night alleviates for the moment. Dean enters with a box in his hand and a confused look on his face.


“Who drew on the bathroom floor?” He drops the box on the counter.


Ella raises her hand. “I did.”


“Okay.” His tone holds annoyance. “Well, next time close the damn door. You know how I feel about it being open.”


I grit my teeth, trying not to say anything as Ella raises her chin and looks at her father, who seems obsessed with the chicken. “Dad, I think the chicken is cut.”


“Oh.” He sets the fork down to the side of the plate and sighs. “I didn’t even realize I was cutting it.”


“Be nice,” Caroline hisses at Dean from behind us. “Or I swear to God you’re sleeping alone tonight.” She appears at the table with a plate of crackers and cheese. She’s wearing a red dress with a skeleton on the bottom and a cross around her neck. “Alright, who’s hungry?”


We all dig in like we’re starved animals and my mom and Thomas come waltzing in right on time. My mom has a green dress on that’s a little too short and Thomas has a polo shirt and cargo pants on. Ella’s dad stands up to give my mom a quick kiss on the cheek, and then they take a seat at the opposite end on fold-up chairs.


After everyone is seated, Caroline clinks her fork against her cup. “Okay, so my family has this tradition where we all go around and say one thing that we’re thankful for.”


“Baby, I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Dean says, reaching for the gravy. “Not here, anyway.”


She swats his hand away from the food. “I don’t really care what you think. I think we should do it.”


We wait for him to react because the Dean we used to know had a fucking hell of a temper on him. Back when we were kind of friends and played in a band, he would get pissed over everything and he broke a lot of drumsticks.


He rubs his hand tensely on the back of his neck. “Fine, I’m really grateful for you cooking this delicious dinner for everyone.”


Caroline beams at him. “And I’m grateful every one showed up.”


My mom chimes in. “I’m grateful the kids could make it here. It’s been so lonely without them.”


Thomas glances around the table, looking lost. “Umm… I’m grateful the Vikings won the game.”


I roll my eyes and Ella covers her mouth to hide her laughter. My mom scowls at us, but then Ella’s dad clears his throat, seeming nervous.


“I’m grateful for being sober,” he says and sips on his water. “This is the first Christmas I’ve not been drunk in as long as I can remember.”


Ella lets out a shaky breath and her eyes water over, like she’s going to cry. No one speaks for a minute and finally Caroline looks at Ethan.


“What about you?” she asks.


He contemplates it with a smirk on his face. “I’m thankful for red lacy bras that have an easy-access clasp in the front.”


I restrain a laugh as Ella’s head falls onto the table, her shoulders shaking as she laughs under her breath and Lila and I join in.


“Ethan Gregory,” my mom warns. “That was uncalled for.”


He surrenders his hand in front of him. “Hey, I was just being honest.”


My mom rolls her eyes. “What about you, Lila?”


Lila twists a strand of her blonde hair around her finger with a twinkle in her blue eyes. “I’m thankful for candy canes.”


Ella raises her head up and smoothes her hair into place, looking as mystified as everyone else, except for Ethan.


He winks at Lila, who blushes a little. “That’s a good thing to be thankful for.”


Ella remains quiet for a while with this strange look on her face, like she’s thinking deep, and then she glances at me. “I’m grateful for Micha.”


I lean over and kiss her in front of everyone. “I’m really grateful you said that.”


“Wait,” Dean interrupts, gaping at us with a disgusted look on his face. “Are you guys dating?”


“Yep,” Ella says indifferently, scooting her chair closer to the table. “Now, can we please eat?”
We eat the rest of the meal making small talk. Ella keeps biting her lip and assessing everyone, but she doesn’t look sad, just genuinely interested in what everyone is doing and saying. There are even a few moments were she looks happy.


It’s a good look for her.


Ella


Dinner is as about as awkward as possible, especially when Caroline makes us admit what we’re grateful for. At first I try to think of something meaningful, but then I just listen to my heart. When dinner is over, we clean up in a drama-free environment. It isn’t anything special, but it’s normal, which is something I’ve wanted since I was a little girl. No drunken fathers, no screaming, no working my ass off to cook a dinner that no one will eat.


I help Caroline clean up and wash the dishes while my dad goes up to his room to unpack. Dean disappeared somewhere and Micha went home for a while because his mom had a present for him. Lila and Ethan are in the living room, attempting to put a small pine tree up that Dean cut down in the front yard.


When I take the trash out back, a cloud of smoke engulfs my face when I round the porch. Dean is leaning against the house in the shadows smoking a cigarette and wearing one of his old heavy flannel jackets with the hood pulled over his head. I have a flashback of when I was fourteen and caught him smoking something else in the garage.


“What are you doing out here?” I open the garbage lid and drop the bag into it.


He scratches his head and takes another drag. “Do me a favor and don’t tell Caroline I’m out here. She thinks I quit. And I did. Kind of.”


Nodding, I hug my arms around myself and turn for the house.


“So it’s weird, right?” he says abruptly.


I backtrack and squint through the dark to look at him. “What’s weird?”


He blows out a puff of smoke. “Having him here sober.”


Through the window of the house, Caroline is talking to my dad. He has a striped shirt on and a pair of slacks. His brown hair is combed neatly and his face is freshly shaven.


“It is weird,” I agree, returning my attention to Dean. “And he looks so clean.”


Dean bobs his head up and down. “I know… I swear there was, like, a year where he didn’t shower.” He takes another drag and kicks his shoes at the snow. “Did he… did he write you a letter too?”


“Yeah…” I trail off at the awkwardness of standing her talking to him about personal stuff. “I’m guessing he wrote you one.”


“I think his therapist or counselor or whatever made him.” The end of the cigarette glows in the dark as he inhales from it. “I’m not really fucking sure what I think of it yet.”


“Me neither.” I rock from side to side to keep warm. Without a jacket on, my skin is numb and probably turning purple. “I like that he did it, but it doesn’t erase the past.”


“Nothing can erase the past,” he states bluntly. “But we can fucking move on, which is what I’ve been trying to do for a while.”


“Me too.” I wonder if we’re going to go down that path again; the one where he tells me it’s my fault this all happened.


Snow floats down on top of our heads as I stare out at the street, where the lights from the streetlamp illuminate the ice on the sidewalk.


“She inherited the car,” he admits. “That’s where she got it.”


I whip my head back toward him. “What?”


He takes a long drag. “The Porsche. I guess she had, like, this rich great-aunt or something who no one knew really, and when she died, she left every single one of her relatives something and that’s where she got it from.”


“Did she tell you that?”


“Yeah, a couple of weeks before she… before she died. It was the same time she told me that when she was gone, I could have it. I thought she was being weird at the time, but now that I look back I wonder if she was, like, preplanning her death.”


I force down the massive lump in my throat. “Are you sure she wasn’t lying, because she told stories sometimes. Like how she and dad met at a train station when they both missed their train, when really they just dated each other in high school.”


“The train story was better,” he says with a small smile as he ashes the cigarette. “And yeah, she was telling the truth. I could tell because it was one of her normal days.”


I let out a wobbly breath, thinking about her infrequent normal days. Those days clutch at my heart because I know there won’t be any more.


Dean offers me a cigarette. “It’ll calm you down. Trust me.”


I pinch it in my fingers and take a hit. “You know it tastes as bad as the last time you gave me one,” I say with a cough, covering my mouth with my hand.


Smiling, he drops the butt into the snow and puts it out with the tip of his shoe. “Yet, you still took it again.”


Shaking my head, I trample through the snow toward the door, but it swings open and my dad steps out, tugging his hood over his head. “Jesus, it’s cold out here.”


“Well, it is December,” Dean remarks with an arch of his eyebrows.


My dad pops a cigarette into his mouth and lights the end of it. “It seems like we should have decorated the house or something. We never really did that, did we?”


“We did once,” I say, scuffing the toes of my shoes along the snow. “But you weren’t here. I think it’s when you took off with Bill for that couple of weeks to go ice fishing. Mom wanted us to do it…” I trail off and we all get quiet.


“Well, maybe we should start making it a tradition.” He exhales a breath of smoke that floats toward my face. “Maybe we can all come back here during Christmas, decorate the house, and have a nice dinner like we just had.” He pauses, seeming nervous. “What do you two think?”


Dean flicks a glance at me and then shrugs. “Whatever. Sounds good. Although I’m not promising anything. I’ve got a life of my own.”


My dad doesn’t respond and it gets quiet again. I laugh under my breath. This is probably how it’s going to be with us, at least until we can all get over our issues. Things will be weird, we’ll have a hard time being around each other, and we’ll probably say things that are hurtful.


But what makes me able to handle it is the fact that I have people in my life who are there for me. I have Lila. And Ethan. And Micha. I can tell him about everything and I know he’ll make me feel better, he’ll listen, and he’ll be there for me.


I back toward the fence. “I think I’m going to go next door for a while.” I climb over the fence and they watch me, perplexed. “And I like the idea, Dad, about the Christmas thing. It sounds good. Count me in.”


He nods and continues with his cigarette as Dean leaves him and goes into the house.


I enter Micha’s house without knocking, just like I did when I was a kid. He’s sitting at the kitchen table eating a piece of pie he must have snatched from my house before he left. His blond hair hangs in his beautiful aqua eyes, and the way his mouth moves makes me want to kiss him.


He sets the fork on the plate as he looks up at me and his eyes widen. “God, you look like you’re freezing. Your cheeks are all red and your lips are purple.”


I press my lips together to warm them up. “I was standing outside for a while talking to Dean and my dad.”


He pulls a face as he puts his plate in the sink. “How’d that go?”


“Okay.” I shrug and walk across the kitchen to him. “No one said anything mean, so that’s always an added bonus.”


He rinses off the plate and then turns the faucet off. “Are you okay?”


I wrap my arms around him and embrace him with everything I’ve got. “I am now.”


His arms fold around me and he tilts my chin up to give me a soft but succulent kiss. When he pulls away, his eyebrows are knit. “Did you smoke?”


I bit my bottom lip to hide my guilty conscience. “Umm… kind of.”


He waits for me to explain and when I don’t he kisses me again, probably enjoying the taste. “What do you want to do for the rest of the night?” he murmurs against my lips.


I consider his request. “I want to lay in bed with you.”


He takes my hands and leads me down the hallway, giving me exactly what I want.


Micha


I have a surprise for her for Christmas, but I’m not sure how she’s going to take it. My mom actually gave it to me tonight as a present. At first, I thought she was fucking insane, but she assured me she was indeed sane.


“I think you should give it to Ella,” she said, handing me a little black box. We were sitting on the couch across from each other while Thomas sat next to her, drinking a beer. “It was your great-grandmother’s.”


Thomas wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pretending to be interested. “Yeah, girls love that shit.”


I opened the box and it was exactly what I thought. “Not Ella… she’s going to fucking flip if I show this to her.”


“Micha Scott, watch your language,” she warned, waving her finger at me. “And I think Ella loves you more than you think.”


“I know she loves me.” I snapped the box shut and shoved the box back in her direction. “But she’s not going to like this.”


She declined to take the box, crossing her legs as she leaned back into Thomas. “I’ve never told you the story of your great-grandmother, have I?”


I sat the box down on the table and crossed my arms, slouching back into the chair and propping my boots up on the coffee table. “No, but I have a feeling you’re about to.”


“You’re such a wise child.” She sighed. “Whenever my mom used to talk about her, she’d refer to her as the lucky one in the family. I don’t know if you know this or not, but I come from a long line of women whose hearts were broken.”


“That isn’t helping you with your point,” I told her, and Thomas chuckled as he fidgeted with one of the ornaments on the tiny Christmas tree balanced on the end table.
She rolled her eyes and opened the box, so the ring was staring at me. “The point of the story isn’t the women who didn’t find love, but the one who did. Your great-grandmother Sherri, and my grandmother, was happily married for fifty-three years to a guy she met when she was a teenager.”


“You’re so full of shit right now,” I say, shaking my head. “But I have to give you props for making up the story.”


“It’s not a story, Micha Scott. It’s the truth.” She picked up the box from the coffee table and balanced it in the palm of her hand, urging me to take it. “You’re the one who did. People envy you and Ella—hell, I envy you.”


“That’s because you were married to a douche bag for six years.”


“What you have isn’t the same as your father and me. I barely knew him when I met him.”


Giving up, I decided to tolerate her and took the box from her hand. “I’ll think about it.”


She smiled, leaning back into Thomas, who whispered something in her ear. The longer I stared at the ring, the more my reservations crumbled. In the end, I had an idea.


As Ella and I lay in my bed with the lamp on, we cuddle close to each other because of the icy temperature. The neighbors’ red and gold Christmas lights flash through the window and light up my room. Ella has on the Silverstein shirt without a bra on and her hair smells like vanilla mixed with smoke. I love the smell.


“What are you thinking about?” She rolls onto her stomach and rests her chin on my chest, batting her eyelashes at me. “You’re being really quiet.”


I stare into her eyes, considering my next words carefully. “I’m thinking about giving you your Christmas present.”


Her head tilts to the side. “Since when do we do the Christmas present thing? We’ve never done it before.”


“Well, I’m thinking about starting a new tradition.” With a deep inhale, I reach for the box on my nightstand and balance it on my chest right in front of her face. “Actually a few new traditions maybe.”


Her green eyes amplify as she quickly retreats and kneels on the bed. “What is that?”


Collecting the box, I sit up. “It’s what you think it is. However, before you go freaking out, let me get through my speech, okay?”


Her chest heaves as she breathes in and out. “Okay.”


I’m shocked I even got an okay from her, so I swiftly push forward. “So, my mom told me this story about my great-grandma who apparently was, like, the only woman in the family lucky enough to ever find love.” I pause, trying to pick up her vibe, but in the low light, her eyes look black and her face is barely a shadow.


I kneel in front of her, taking her hand, which trembles. “She also explained to me how lucky we are and that she kind of envies us.”


She stifles a smile. “Your mom envies a couple of teenagers?”


“Hey, tomorrow I’m officially out of that category,” I remind her in a light tone.


She swallows hard and her eyes flicker to the box in my hand. “Which means I should be giving you the presents.”


“Oh, you will,” I assure her with a grin as I clutch the box tightly in my sweaty palm, struggling to hide my nervousness. “But tonight is about you and me and our future.” Her lips open with an objection, but I talk over her and her eyes drift to the door. “The thing is, I knew when my mom suggested it that you aren’t ready. I get you, Ella May, that much.” I cup her cheek and compel her to look at me. “Like how I know that right now you want to leave. Not because you don’t love me, but because you’re scared. Scared you can’t do it. Scared you’ll hurt me. Scared you’ll actually be happy about what I’m going to ask you.”


She bites down on her bottom lip, looking torn, her eyes wide, her chest heaving with each unstable breath. “Sometimes I think you’re a mind reader.”


I smile. “I actually am. I just don’t tell anyone because it would freak too many people out.”


She rolls her eyes and sits down on the bed, settling my nerves a little. I sit in front of her and position the box between us.


“I’m not going to ask you to marry me,” I say and her eyebrows furrow as she raises her gaze from the box to me. “I’m going to make a proposition.”


“A proposition?” she asks, confounded. “What kind of a proposition?”


I’m thoroughly enjoying myself now, knowing she’s curious. I take her hand in mine and open her palm to set the box in it. “I want you to wear it, not on your ring finger but on some other finger and then you can move it to your ring finger whenever you’re ready.”


She gapes at the box fearfully. “And what happens when I move it? We just get married?”


“Yeah,” I say simply. “That’s kind of the point.”


Her gaze connects with mine, her pupils magnified. “But then we’d be married—like, really married.”


“It’s not happening right now, so calm down.” I massage her hips to try and relax her. “Now, are you going to open it, or stare at the box all day?”


She stares at the box for what seems like an eternity and then tentatively flips the lid open. Her breath catches. “Holy shit,” she says and drops the box.


Trying not to laugh, I pick it up and remove the ring, holding it out to her. “What do you say, pretty girl? Are you in or out?”


I wait for what seems like forever and then she slips an unsteady finger through the band. “I’m in.”


It’s on the ring finger of the wrong hand, which means we’re not quite there. But one day we will be. And that’s all I need at the moment.