I jerk back, laughing, and making a repulsed face. “You are so gross,” I say, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

He licks his lips and then grins. “I win.”

I stick out my tongue, which has gooey chewed-up cookie on it. “That is what you just ate.”

His tongue slips out over his lips again. “And it was so, so good.”

I shake my head, but can’t stop smiling, and then I roll my eyes at myself because I’m turning into one of those girls who gushes around their boyfriend… fiancé… soon-to-be husband. Reality suddenly slaps me in the face and my eyes widen.

“Holy shit, I’m going to be Ella May Scott.” I breathe, not sure whether I’m panicking or just surprised.

Micha’s mouth sinks to a frown, the arrogance dissipating. I’m not sure if it’s because he just realized that too or because of my alarmed statement. I open my mouth to say something, but then my dad enters the kitchen and my words get stuck in my mouth.

Despite the clean sight of the kitchen, my dad still looks grungy and rough around the edges. He’s wearing an oversized plaid jacket over a holey navy-blue shirt and his jeans have paint on them, along with the boots he’s wearing because he works as a painting contractor now. His face is unshaven and he looks a little heavier than the last time I saw him a year ago but his eyes are clear, not bloodshot, and while he does smell like cigarette smoke, it’s not mixed with the smell of booze.

He stumbles over his boots when he sees me standing in front of the table and then catches himself on the door frame. “Holy shit.” He takes a good look at me as he blinks. “What are you doing here? I thought you couldn’t make it home this year for Christmas?”

I huddle closer to Micha, almost as a defense mechanism. Even though I know my dad is doing much better, I can’t entirely forget the past. When he was drunk. When he blamed me for my mother’s death. When he wouldn’t even look at me because it hurt him too much.

“Yeah, we had a change of plans,” I tell him as I feel Micha’s fingers brush my own.

My dad lets go of the door frame and steps up beside the counter. “Well, I’m glad, Ella,” he says awkwardly, a trait that is very common whenever we’re around each other. He massages the back of his neck tensely, glancing around the clean kitchen. “If I would have known you were coming, I’d have stocked up the cupboards and stuff with food or something.”

“It’s fine,” I say. “We’re actually staying over at Micha’s house anyway.”

My dad’s gaze flickers back and forth between Micha and me. “Well, that’s good, I guess.”

Silence draws out between us and I can’t help but think about what my mom said in the journal about him. How she wasn’t thrilled to be marrying him. How her mother didn’t want her to marry him. How depressed she was. Did he know about all this? Because he once told me things weren’t always bad, that things used to be good between them. Was it because my mom hid her depression and dark thoughts from him? Is that how I am with Micha since I can’t seem to talk to him about my fears of getting married and having a future?

Finally Micha clears his throat and jabs me in the side with his elbow.

“Oh yeah.” I shake my thoughts out of my head. “I actually have something to tell you.”

My dad looks bewildered as he leans against the counter and folds his arms. “Okay.”

“You remember how I told you a couple of weeks ago that Micha and I were getting married?” I rub my finger along the stones of the ring, trying to calm the nervousness in my voice. I don’t even know why I’m nervous, other than that I’m worried that my dad is going to say or do something that will ruin the amazingness I’ve been feeling lately. I think it’s just scars from my past that are causing the worry, but they’re still there.

My dad nods. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Well, we were going to get married in San Diego, but we decided to come back and have the wedding here,” I tell him. “This weekend actually, on Christmas day.”

His eyes enlarge and then travel down to my stomach. “Ella, you’re not…” He shoots Micha a dirty look as he stands up straight and looks around the kitchen, avoiding eye contact with both of us, appearing uneasy even for him. “You’re not…”

As it clicks what he thinks I throw my hand over my stomach. “What? No. I’m not… I’m not pregnant. God.” I can’t believe he’d think that. I’ve been careful not to let that happen and have been on the pill for a year now.

He frowns, looking unconvinced. “Okay.”

Micha chuckles under his breath and I narrow my eyes at him. “This isn’t funny,” I hiss, but laughter threatens its way up my throat, too. I know it’s not funny, especially since I found out that my mom and he got married because she was pregnant with Dean, yet it is. He’s acting like a dad and it’s hilarious because I’m twenty years old and this is the first real time I’ve seen him come even remotely close to playing the part.

“I promise she’s not pregnant, Mr. Daniels,” Micha says, shooting me a quick grin. “We just decided it was time.”

Mr. Daniels? I mouth at him. Really?

Micha nonchalantly shrugs and gives me an innocent look, mouthing, What?

My dad’s gazes flicks back and forth between Micha and me. “But you’re… you’re so young.”

“So were you and… mom,” I point out with hesitancy because it goes against what I’m trying to prove, but he doesn’t know that I know about mom being pregnant when they said I do.

“Yeah, but…” My dad trails off, staring at the back door. “That was different, though… things between your mom and me… they were complicated.”

“Because she was pregnant.” I reveal that I know the truth, unable to keep it in any longer. When his eyes snap wide, I add, “Mom’s mom… my grandmother sent me a box of her stuff and it had this… mom’s journal in it.”

There’s a pause where I can hear everyone breathing and a car revs its engine from somewhere outside.

“That wasn’t from your grandmother,” my dad says with a heavy sigh, unfolding his arms. “Well, it was, but she didn’t mail it to you. Her lawyer did.”

“Her lawyer?” Micha and I say at the same time.

My dad nods, looking very uneasy. “She actually passed away about a month ago and I guess there was this box found in the nursing home with your name on it. The lawyer handling her will called me up, looking for you so he could send it to you.”

She’s dead? I’m a little shocked and I feel strangely saddened, which is weird because I never spoke to the woman. But still she was my grandmother.

I don’t know how to react because I didn’t know the woman at all, yet it makes me sort of sad, knowing I’ll never get to know her. I’d even considered it for a brief second, when I’d read over her note in the box, and now the possibility is gone.

“Why didn’t you give me a heads-up?” I ask my dad and Micha protectively scoots closer to me, like he can sense something bad is about to happen.

My dad reaches for his cigarettes in his jacket pocket. “Because it’s hard to talk to you about that stuff… especially about stuff like death and certain people.”

“About my grandma?”

“And about your mother… because it was a box of her stuff and I wasn’t sure how you’d react or how I felt… feel about it.”

My mouth makes an O as my dad opens the pack, plucks out a cigarette, and plops it into his mouth. He pats down his jeans for the lighter and finds it in his back pocket. Once he gets the cigarette lit and inhales a soothing cloud of smoke, he looks more relaxed.

“It’s a touchy subject for both of us.” He reaches across the counter for an ashtray near the sink. He taps the cigarette on the side and then holds it in his fingers, smoke filtering through the room and erasing the delicious cinnamon scent. “But my… therapist says I should start working on talking about it more, especially with you.”

“You’re seeing a therapist?” I’m surprised. “Since when?”

He looks over at Micha with reluctance, then sticks the end of the cigarette into his mouth and takes another drag. “For a month. My sponsor thought it’d be a good idea.” His phone rings from inside his pocket and he holds up his finger. “Just a second,” he says as he retrieves his phone. He checks the screen and then answers it, walking out of the kitchen.

“God, are all the Daniels seriously messed?” I mutter under my breath. “He’s seeing a therapist, too? First my brother, then me, and now my dad. It could be like the family motto: enter my family and your head’s going to get messed up and you’ll have to have a shrink put it back together again.” I peek over at Micha.

“Don’t even think it,” he warns. “You’re not crazy and you’re not going to ruin my life. You’ll only ruin it if you leave me.”

His words remind me that I’m not that person anymore, the one who pushes people away. I need him and he needs me. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” I blow out a breath. “But can you give me a minute?” I ask him. “I think I need to talk to my dad alone.”

He seems reluctant. “Are you sure? Because I don’t mind hanging around even if it means enduring your dad’s awkwardness.”

I nod and give his hand a comforting squeeze. “I just want to ask him a few things about my mom and I think he’ll answer more easily if it’s just me.”

Micha remains still for a few seconds longer and then, nodding, he backs away, holding onto my hand until we’re far enough away that our fingers slip apart. “If you’re not back in, like, an hour,” he says, opening the back door and letting snow and a chilly breeze gust in, “then I’m coming back for you.”