The Forever of Ella and Micha

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.

Micha
    “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