Ella and Micha: Infinitely and Always
Page 14
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“Good. Call me tonight and tell me how it goes.”
“All right. I will,” I promise.
We say good-bye and hang up, and then I hurry outside and over to Lila’s house, not bothering to put any shoes on, way too nervous to even care.
“Are you nuts?” Lila says when she answers the door and notices my bare feet. “Ella, you’re going to freeze to death before this pregnancy is over.”
“I’ll be fine.” I squeeze by her and scurry into the house, doing a little dance on the carpet because the concrete did freeze the crap out of my feet on the way over here. I stop dancing, though, when I catch a whiff of the air. “Do I smell pancakes?”
Rolling her eyes, she closes the door then signals for me to follow her as she heads for the kitchen. “I think I should open my own restaurant or something with the way everyone acts around my food.”
I grab a plate from the cupboard and a fork from the drawer as she picks up a platter of buttermilk pancakes from beside the griddle.
“You totally should, as long as I get to eat there all the time.” I take a seat at the table while she collects the syrup from the fridge.
“You know what’s funny?” She sets the platter down on the table. “I never knew how to cook until a few years ago.” She drops down in a chair and places the syrup in front of me. “While I was growing up, we always had a cook on hand, and when I left home, I just ate out all the time.”
“I remember,” I tell her as I stab a pancake with my fork and put it on my plate. “You wouldn’t even clean up after yourself.” I glance around at her sparkling counters and shiny stainless steel appliances. “But you have the hang of it now.”
“That’s because of Ethan.” She looks down at the diamond ring on her finger, pink and sparkly, totally her. “He taught me how to take care of myself without falling apart.”
“You guys are good together,” I say, for some stupid reason feeling as though I’m going to cry. Before the waterworks spring free, I douse my pancakes with syrup and dive in.
“So, have you guys set a date yet?”
“February fourteenth.” She beams.
“Valentine’s day. Very you.”
“The day was actually Ethan’s suggestion.”
“You know, sometimes I wonder if the asshole side he shows everyone else is just a façade.” I wait for her to crack and tell me I’m correct.
She simply shrugs.
I cut my pancakes. “You know, I have to admit, I’m kind of sad.”
Her forehead creases. “Over what?”
I shrug as I take a bite. “Well, I was really looking forward to you and Chester the cat living in the guestroom.”
She laughs. “Sorry, but I was so not looking forward to that.” She reaches for a pancake herself. “But enough talk about me. Let’s talk about you.”
I stuff my mouth full of pancakes. “What do you want to talk about?”
She gives me a warning stare. “How about you telling Micha that you’re carrying his child. Seriously, Ella, it’s almost been two weeks. Even I’m starting to go crazy keeping the secret.”
“Yeah, sorry about that.” Sighing, I set the fork down. “Actually, that’s kind of why I came over, to have you give me some ideas on how to tell him.”
She eyes the stack of pancakes in front of me. “And to eat my food.”
I innocently shrug. “I can’t help it if your food’s delicious.”
She rolls her eyes, yet her expression fills with joy. “You’re really going to tell him?”
I force down the lump in my throat. “Yeah, I think I’m ready.”
She smiles cheerfully as she rises from the chair. “Good, because I have the perfect idea. But it’s going to be intense.”
Chapter 9
Ella
Later that afternoon, I stand in my studio. The air smells like fresh paint and promise. One of Micha’s songs plays from my iPod dock, and my heart dances to the rhythm as I sing the lyrics under my breath.
The ghost of your soul still thrives.
Deep in your eyes yet buried alive.
Ashes surround you, drown you in pain.
A memory begging to drive you insane.
Haunting your soul, scorching your veins.
Yet heart and desire fights to enflame.
The tempo of the guitar, drums, and violin are reckless, racing, alive, and escaping, exactly how I feel at this moment. I breathe life into my art as my hand moves wildly, my fingers gripping the handle of a paintbrush, tracing lines, shading shadows, splattering bright and deep colors of paint across the canvas. Sweat beads my skin with each stroke, sheer terror and excitement pulsating through my body as vibrantly as the sunlight sparkling right outside the window. Every movement, line, and angle I make means more to me than any other painting I’ve ever created. Lila was right when she said it was going to be intense.
I express my emotions through my artwork. Right now, tears pour out of my eyes. Not necessarily sad tears. Confused tears, yes—I feel so confused about everything. Terrified tears, of course—terror over being a mom. Terror as I remember when I read my mother’s journal and realized how terrified she was of being a mother.
But, through all the mixed emotions, there’s also a tiny hint of excitement hidden inside me. I didn’t think I could feel that way, but I do.
When I finally finish staining the canvas with my soul, I step back and stare at the creation. I not only feel confusion, terror, and excitement, I feel my life changing forever.
Chapter 10
Micha
It’s a few days before Christmas Eve, and I’m coming home from work late, something I’m not happy about, but I couldn’t help it. I’ve been working really hard to get on my own feet and get my own studio running, which means sacrificing time with Ella. I hate that I have to do it and hate how sad she’s been about it, even though she pretends not to be. She’s been sad a lot the last couple of weeks, and it’s starting to worry me. Although, on the positive side, at least I’m home every night to try to cheer her up.
On my way home, I decide to stop and pick up a bottle of wine to surprise her. Not just for Christmas, but because almost six years ago from today, I asked her to unofficially marry me.(
After I leave the liquor store, I drive home yet pause before I turn into the driveway. Lights are strung up on the trim and a few strings have been hung up around the windows. The strangest part, though, is that there’s a small inflatable Santa on the front lawn that looks like he’s waving at me. It creeps the heck out of me.
“All right. I will,” I promise.
We say good-bye and hang up, and then I hurry outside and over to Lila’s house, not bothering to put any shoes on, way too nervous to even care.
“Are you nuts?” Lila says when she answers the door and notices my bare feet. “Ella, you’re going to freeze to death before this pregnancy is over.”
“I’ll be fine.” I squeeze by her and scurry into the house, doing a little dance on the carpet because the concrete did freeze the crap out of my feet on the way over here. I stop dancing, though, when I catch a whiff of the air. “Do I smell pancakes?”
Rolling her eyes, she closes the door then signals for me to follow her as she heads for the kitchen. “I think I should open my own restaurant or something with the way everyone acts around my food.”
I grab a plate from the cupboard and a fork from the drawer as she picks up a platter of buttermilk pancakes from beside the griddle.
“You totally should, as long as I get to eat there all the time.” I take a seat at the table while she collects the syrup from the fridge.
“You know what’s funny?” She sets the platter down on the table. “I never knew how to cook until a few years ago.” She drops down in a chair and places the syrup in front of me. “While I was growing up, we always had a cook on hand, and when I left home, I just ate out all the time.”
“I remember,” I tell her as I stab a pancake with my fork and put it on my plate. “You wouldn’t even clean up after yourself.” I glance around at her sparkling counters and shiny stainless steel appliances. “But you have the hang of it now.”
“That’s because of Ethan.” She looks down at the diamond ring on her finger, pink and sparkly, totally her. “He taught me how to take care of myself without falling apart.”
“You guys are good together,” I say, for some stupid reason feeling as though I’m going to cry. Before the waterworks spring free, I douse my pancakes with syrup and dive in.
“So, have you guys set a date yet?”
“February fourteenth.” She beams.
“Valentine’s day. Very you.”
“The day was actually Ethan’s suggestion.”
“You know, sometimes I wonder if the asshole side he shows everyone else is just a façade.” I wait for her to crack and tell me I’m correct.
She simply shrugs.
I cut my pancakes. “You know, I have to admit, I’m kind of sad.”
Her forehead creases. “Over what?”
I shrug as I take a bite. “Well, I was really looking forward to you and Chester the cat living in the guestroom.”
She laughs. “Sorry, but I was so not looking forward to that.” She reaches for a pancake herself. “But enough talk about me. Let’s talk about you.”
I stuff my mouth full of pancakes. “What do you want to talk about?”
She gives me a warning stare. “How about you telling Micha that you’re carrying his child. Seriously, Ella, it’s almost been two weeks. Even I’m starting to go crazy keeping the secret.”
“Yeah, sorry about that.” Sighing, I set the fork down. “Actually, that’s kind of why I came over, to have you give me some ideas on how to tell him.”
She eyes the stack of pancakes in front of me. “And to eat my food.”
I innocently shrug. “I can’t help it if your food’s delicious.”
She rolls her eyes, yet her expression fills with joy. “You’re really going to tell him?”
I force down the lump in my throat. “Yeah, I think I’m ready.”
She smiles cheerfully as she rises from the chair. “Good, because I have the perfect idea. But it’s going to be intense.”
Chapter 9
Ella
Later that afternoon, I stand in my studio. The air smells like fresh paint and promise. One of Micha’s songs plays from my iPod dock, and my heart dances to the rhythm as I sing the lyrics under my breath.
The ghost of your soul still thrives.
Deep in your eyes yet buried alive.
Ashes surround you, drown you in pain.
A memory begging to drive you insane.
Haunting your soul, scorching your veins.
Yet heart and desire fights to enflame.
The tempo of the guitar, drums, and violin are reckless, racing, alive, and escaping, exactly how I feel at this moment. I breathe life into my art as my hand moves wildly, my fingers gripping the handle of a paintbrush, tracing lines, shading shadows, splattering bright and deep colors of paint across the canvas. Sweat beads my skin with each stroke, sheer terror and excitement pulsating through my body as vibrantly as the sunlight sparkling right outside the window. Every movement, line, and angle I make means more to me than any other painting I’ve ever created. Lila was right when she said it was going to be intense.
I express my emotions through my artwork. Right now, tears pour out of my eyes. Not necessarily sad tears. Confused tears, yes—I feel so confused about everything. Terrified tears, of course—terror over being a mom. Terror as I remember when I read my mother’s journal and realized how terrified she was of being a mother.
But, through all the mixed emotions, there’s also a tiny hint of excitement hidden inside me. I didn’t think I could feel that way, but I do.
When I finally finish staining the canvas with my soul, I step back and stare at the creation. I not only feel confusion, terror, and excitement, I feel my life changing forever.
Chapter 10
Micha
It’s a few days before Christmas Eve, and I’m coming home from work late, something I’m not happy about, but I couldn’t help it. I’ve been working really hard to get on my own feet and get my own studio running, which means sacrificing time with Ella. I hate that I have to do it and hate how sad she’s been about it, even though she pretends not to be. She’s been sad a lot the last couple of weeks, and it’s starting to worry me. Although, on the positive side, at least I’m home every night to try to cheer her up.
On my way home, I decide to stop and pick up a bottle of wine to surprise her. Not just for Christmas, but because almost six years ago from today, I asked her to unofficially marry me.(
After I leave the liquor store, I drive home yet pause before I turn into the driveway. Lights are strung up on the trim and a few strings have been hung up around the windows. The strangest part, though, is that there’s a small inflatable Santa on the front lawn that looks like he’s waving at me. It creeps the heck out of me.
