The Secret 02 The Forever of Ella and Micha (6 page)

Her name is Anna and she’s young, maybe in her late twenties, with blonde hair that’s cropped short around her jawline. Every time I see her, she’s in a pantsuit. Today, it’s a black pinstriped one.

“Hello, Ella.” She takes a seat behind her desk and puts on her square-framed glasses as she takes out my file. “How was your weekend?”

“Interesting,” I say. “To say the least.”

Noting my tone, she looks up at me. “And what was interesting about it?”

I scratch at my back along my infinity tattoo. “I went to visit Micha in LA.”

She opens a notebook. “And how did that go?”

I hesitate. “Good, I think.”

She scratches something down in the paper. “You seem like you’re unsure.”

I slouch back in the seat and fold my arms. “It’s just that… well, every time I go to see him or he comes to see me, it gets harder to say good-bye.”

She sets the pen and notebook down on her desk and removes her glasses. “Saying good-bye is always hard, but sometimes it’s necessary to move on in life.”

“I don’t want to move on from him.” Panic gusts through me like a tornado. “I love Micha.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” she explains quickly. “I’m saying that sometimes saying good-bye is the hardest part of life.”

I hate when she plays mind games. “Are you referring to my mother? Because I told you last time that I was over that.”

“Ella, you’re not over it,” she says. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have said that.”

I prop my elbow on the arm of the chair and rest my chin in my hand. “Then what does this good-bye thing have to do with?”

“It has to do with you.” She takes a mint out of a tin and puts it in her mouth. “And you struggle to say good-bye to things: your guilt over your mother and your father, your pain, your feelings. You have such a hard time letting go of your past.”

“I know that,” I admit. “But I’m working on it.”

She pauses, tapping her fingers on the desk. “Tell me this: Where do you see yourself in a year or two?”

“I don’t know… I haven’t really thought about it that much.”

“Try to think about it for a minute, if you can.”

I raise my chin from my hand and search my brain, but all I can see is Micha and me out on that damn bridge as he falls into the water.

“I don’t know.” I grip the armrests of the chair as my pulse accelerates. “I really don’t… Holy shit.”

“Relax, Ella, everything’s going to be fine.” She opens the desk drawer and takes out another folder. “I think we might want to start considering doing an evaluation for anxiety and depression.”

My eyes narrow at her. “No way.”

“Ella, I think it’s important that—”

I shove up from the chair and swing my bag over my shoulder. “I’m not talking about this.”

She says something else, but I’m already out the door. I will not discuss having a mental illness. I’m not sick. I’m not.

Burying the conversation, I turn on my phone and read the text Dean sent me. “Dad left rehab Call me now…”
What?
I punch in his speed-dial number as I walk outside into the sunlight and put the phone to my ear.

“Why the hell did you turn off your phone?” he snaps.

“I told you. I was in a meeting.” I head across the quad, zigzagging in between people and ducking under a Frisbee flying through the air.

“Well, you need to get back home,” he orders. “Dad bailed and no one can find him.”

“I’ll call Micha’s mom and see if she can find out where he is. If he’s at home.” I start to hang up.

“I already got ahold of her.” He sounds aggravated. “And she’s on a vacation with some guy she’s dating.”

“Oh…” I didn’t even know his mom was dating someone. “Then what do we do?”

“
You
drive up there and check on him,” he says like it’s my obligation.

“Why can’t you do it?”

“Because I have work and a wedding to plan—a life.”

“I have a life,” I argue, reaching the border of the grass. “And we can always call someone else. We can call Denny.”

“You call Denny then,” he says, and I hear Caroline’s voice in the background. “Look, I have to go, okay? Call Denny and let me know what’s going on as soon as you do.” He hangs up on me.

Frustrated, I dial information and get the number for Denny’s bar. By the time I call, I’m trotting up the stairs to Lila’s and my two-bedroom apartment.

Someone picks up after four rings. “Hello, Hub and Grub, this is Denny.”

“Umm… yeah, this is Ella. Ella Daniels. I was just wondering if my dad was there or if you’d seen him.”

“Yeah, he showed up here this morning.” He hesitates. “I thought he was in rehab.”

“Apparently he checked himself out.” I take the house keys out of my bag and unlock the door. “How bad is he?”

“I’m going to be honest with you, Ella. He’s pretty bad,” he says bluntly. “He showed up here this morning and he’s been drinking ever since. Nonstop. I offered him a ride home, but he refused.”

I close the door and toss the keys on the counter. “Can you keep an eye on him for a little bit until I can figure out what to do with him?”

“Yeah, I guess,” he says with reluctance. “Look, Ella, I understand your situation, but I got a bar to run and… well, when he gets this way he causes a lot of problems. I don’t mind helping, just as long as it’s not bad for my business.”

“I’ll get down there as soon as I can,” I promise. “And I’m really sorry about this.”

He sighs. “It’s okay. I know it’s hard for you. I mean, you’re just a kid.”

I was never a kid. Not really. I was doing the dishes and cleaning the house at six, cooking my own food at eight, and making sure my mom took her medications by the age of ten.

I say good-bye and hang up, sinking down onto the suede couch. The apartment is small, with white walls and tan carpet and a TV in the corner. There is a narrow dining area between the kitchen and the living room. The place smells like cinnamon and the kitchen sink is overflowing with dishes.

I press my fingers to the sides of my nose. “
Shit
… Who am I supposed to call?” I let my hand fall to my lap and call Ethan.

He answers after three rings. “Okay, so this is kind of weird. You never call me.”

“I have a favor to ask you.” I pause, working up the courage. “Can you go pick up my dad from the Hub and Grub and stay with him until I can get there?”

He’s silent for a second. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Thank you,” I say, grateful. “I’ll head up as soon as I can. I promise. Twelve hours at the max.”

“Don’t kill yourself getting up here, Ella. I said it was fine, so come when you can.”

“Okay. I’ll call you when I’m on the road.”

“Sounds good.”

I hang up and drop the phone onto the coffee table, wondering where the hell I’m going to find a car. I start to call Micha, but then stop myself. I haven’t talked to him in over a day and the last thing I want to do is call him up and start bawling.

Besides, there’s nothing he can do about it.

He’s clear across the country.

“If you keep hitting the wrong note,” I warn Naomi, “I’m going to have to take the guitar away.”

We’re sitting on the bed in the studio apartment with our guitars on our laps. There is dirty laundry all over the floor and garbage all over the counters. Dylan and Chase are at the bar trying to get laid. I’m wearing my pajama bottoms without a shirt on and Naomi’s hair is balled up on her head, damp because she just got out of the shower.

“Don’t be a dick,” she jokes, tugging the rubber band out so her damp hair can fall to her shoulders. “The note I’m playing sounds a lot better than the one you think we should hit.”

I shake my head and strum the strings of my guitar. “That all depends.”

She plays a chord and talks over the noise. “On what?”

“Whether you’re playing for a roomful of tone-deaf people.” I smirk ruthlessly.

She rolls her eyes and sets her guitar down on the bed. “You’re such an asshole sometimes.”

She’s right, but it’s for a reason. About two days ago, I was walking around sightseeing and searching for a building that I’d heard my father worked at. I’d just gotten off the phone with my mom, who not only told me she was going on vacation with some dude half her age but that my father was now living in New York City.

I just wanted to see where he worked, for no other reason than out of curiosity. As I stood out in front of the building, a man crossed paths with me chasing down a taxi. It was my father and I started to turn away, but he saw me and waved. I wanted to return it by showing him my middle finger, but couldn’t do anything except stand there gaping like a little kid.

He strolled over to me with an uncomfortable look on his face. He was in a black suit with a trench coat over it and stared at me with eyes exactly like mine. “Micha, what are you doing here?”

“I’m living here for a little bit.” My tone was sharp. “What are you doing here?”

He pointed at the lofty building with a metallic exterior. “I just got transferred here for work about two weeks ago. I called your mom and told her about it.”

I pretended like I didn’t know it already. “Well, you really need to stop calling her. She doesn’t need to talk to you.”

He eyed me over and his expression turned cold. “So why are you living here?”

I fiddled with the chain hooked to my jeans, inching in my shoulders as a mob of people push past me. “My band and I have a gig at a club for the next month.”

A condescending look concealed his face. “Why am I not surprised? I should have known you’d turn out doing something like that.”

I clench my hand into a fist, fighting not to hit him. “What the fuck does that mean?”

He looked around at the people passing by us, like he was worried someone overheard me. “Look, Micha, I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m going to go.”

I turned my back on him and walked away. On the way back to the apartment, I realized that my dad was always a douche bag. Even when he was still my father, he would nitpick every little thing I did and tell me I was wrong a lot.

“Hello.” Naomi claps her hands in front of my face and I flinch. “You’re totally spacing out.”

I carefully set my guitar down on the floor and lean back against the headboard. “I thought you were going out tonight.”

She shrugs and stretches out on the bed on her stomach, crossing her arms and resting her chin on them. “I didn’t feel like it. Besides, you’ve seemed a little down lately and I didn’t want to leave you alone to drown in your sorrows.”

“I’m not drowning in my sorrows.” I take a gulp of my soda. “I’m just confused.”

“About what?”

“About stuff.”

She sits down beside me so we’re both staring at the foot of the bed. “It’s Ella stuff again, isn’t it?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I set the soda down on the nightstand and give it a little spin. “I don’t feel comfortable talking to you about her.”

She rubs her lips together, thinking heavily about something. “Why not? You have before.”

“Only because I was wasted and I tend to get a little chatty when I’m like that.” I can’t talk to Naomi about what’s going on in my head because I owe it to Ella to tell her first. “I basically talk to anyone when I’m drunk.”

“Don’t pretend like you hate talking to me, Micha,” she says. “I know you like to. You’re just too blinded by your own feelings.”

I’m lost. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Suddenly, she is leaning toward me with her eyes closed and her lips out, throwing me off guard as she tries to kiss me. Pieces of her hair fall in front of her face, and for a second, I’m motionless as I think about letting her kiss me—letting her take my mind off shit.

Then all my feelings for Ella catch up with me and I shift away, practically crawling onto the nightstand to get out of her reach. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Her eyes snap open and her pupils are large. “Come on, Micha. Don’t try to tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

I shake my head slowly. “Nope, I haven’t. Not even once.” Her cheeks turn pink and I feel like a douche bag. “Look, I’m sorry, but you know how I feel about Ella, so I don’t know why you’d even try it.”

She slides her legs over the edge of the bed and turns her back to me. “It doesn’t seem like you love her as much anymore. You don’t even talk to her on the phone all the time like you used to.”

“That’s because I’m trying to sort through some stuff.” I give her a pat on the back because I can tell she’s about to cry. The whole situation is awkward. “Are you going to be okay?”

She jerks her shoulder upward and shrugs off my hand before running into the bathroom. The door bangs shut and rattles the thin walls.

I collect my guitar from the floor and flop down on the bed, playing my favorite song. Eight months ago, I would have been all over her invitation, but not anymore. It was more of a turnoff than anything.

That’s when I realize the thing I’ve been wondering about for the last week.

Ella is it for me. The way I feel about her is never going to change. I will love her forever, but I need her closer to me, not thousands of miles away.

How am I supposed to tell her, though, that I’m ready to begin her future, when I know she has no clue what her future is yet?

I’m starting to wonder if this is going to be my life forever, if I’ll always end up back in Star Grove at the house that clutches my childhood.

The house looks the same: a broken rain gutter, garbage bags piling up on the side of the house, and the Cutlass still balanced on the cinderblocks in front of the garage. The house’s siding is peeling and some of the branches have fallen from the tree beside the window.

Ethan’s truck is parked in the driveway and he’s sitting on the back steps playing around on his phone. I get out of the rental car that looks like the kind of vehicle clowns stuff themselves into.

Ethan looks up and he arches his eyebrows at the car. “What the fuck is that thing?”

“It was the cheapest one at the rental place.” I sit down on the steps next to him and stretch out my legs in front of me. “Is he inside?”

“Yeah, he passed out on the couch as soon as I got him home.” He puts his phone away and rolls up the sleeves of his gray Henley, revealing his extensive tattoos.