The Forever of Ella and Micha

know.”
    Forcing back an eye roll, I leave the couch and meet up with my mom in the kitchen. “Okay, so I don’t get it.”
    She’s unloading a sack of groceries into the fridge and peeks up of over the fridge door. “Don’t get what?”
    I motion my thumb over my shoulder at the living room where Thomas is channel surfing. “He seems like an idiot.”
    “He’s really nice, Micha.” She rummages around in a plastic bag on the counter and takes out a few cans of pumpkin. “And he makes me happy.”
    I eye her white button-down shirt that’s tied at the waist and her jeans with diamond studs on them. “He’s making you dress weird.”
    “So I’m dressing younger.” She lifts her chin up with confidence. “I lost a lot of my youth and if I want to have fun now then I can.”
    “Because you had me?” I steal a bag of chips from her hand. “Or because of dad?”
    She shakes her head as I pop the bag open. “No, you were the best thing that ever happened to me. I lost my youth because of my choices, but now I’d like to make the choice to get some of it back and enjoy life a little.”
    I cast a glance back at Thomas, who’s laughing at something on the television. “With him?”
    She closes the cupboard. “With him.”
    I grab a handful of chips, making a mess on the floor. “Fine, if that’s what you want right now then I’ll back down.” I pop my knuckles. “But if he hurts you, I’m punching him in the face.”
    She ruffles the top of my head tolerantly like I’m still a kid, then takes out two beers from the fridge and heads for the living room. “And if you’re wanting to make up with Ella, you should know that I just saw her climb inside the window to her house.”
    I pick up the chips I dropped on the ground. “How did you know we were fighting?”
    She laughs. “Honey, when you two fight the whole world knows.”
    I have no idea what she means, but I slip my jacket on and step outside into the freezing cold. Snow drifts down from the sky and coats the ground as I hike over to the chain-link fence. The metal freezes the palms of my hands as I hop over it and knock on the back door.
    After two knocks, Lila answers. She has on pink boots with fur on top, a coat, a hat, and a scarf. “Yes.”
    “Cold?” I joke, trying to lighten the mood, but all she does is frown. “Sorry, not the best time for jokes, huh?”
    She crosses her arms, her blue eyes very unwelcoming. “You know how much I encouraged her to let you in—that you loved her so much and would never hurt her? You’ve basically crushed her and I look like a liar.”
    “I’m going to make it better,” I insist, stepping toward the threshold, hoping she’ll move over and let me through.
    She stays still, blocking the doorway. “Before I let you in, you have to promise no more drinking when you’re upset and no more hurting her. I swear to God if you continue to hurt her, I’ll rip out your lip ring.”
    I put a hand over my mouth to protect my lips. “I promise, never again.”
    She moves back to let me in and then shuts the door behind us. “She’s upstairs in her room.”
    I head for the stairway. “You know, Lila, you’re pretty hard core. Not many people would dare threaten the lip ring.”
    “Well, I’m not most people,” she calls out. “Ella’s my best friend and she needs protecting. Something you usually do, only this time you were the cause of her needing it.”
    I leave her in the kitchen and climb the stairs. The house is freezing and the sound of music flows through the air: “One Thing” by Finger Eleven. The door to the bathroom where her mom died is wide open and there’s something colorful all over the tile.
    “Ella,” I say, walking toward the door. “Are you up here?”
    She walks out of her room with a handful of markers and her eyes widen when she sees me. “How did you get in here?”
    “Lila, let me in,” I explain, my breath fogging out in front of me. “Didn’t you turn the heat on?”
    She shakes her head and dismisses me, heading to the bathroom. She has her leather jacket and fingerless gloves on. When she reaches the bathroom, she crouches down and scribbles something on the floor.
    I approach the scene with caution, knowing it has to mean something important. “Pretty girl, what are you doing?”
    She sketches a black line along the tile. “I’m making a shrine… And don’t call me pretty girl, please.”
    I squat down behind her and hold my breath as I set