“I like that you’re thinking in advance.” Micha drops his duffel bag on our bed and prods me with his elbow to move out of the way. Seconds later, he has the bag zipped up and the dress securely inside it. “But still, Christmas also marks the anniversary of when we got engaged.” He looks down at the ring on my finger. “It’ll be one year since I gave you that.”

I lift my hand up in front of me and the black stone glimmers in the light, which highlights the scratches, marks, and dings. The beauty. Perfection. The meaning. “I like the idea of a Christmas wedding I guess, just as long as we don’t have to have tacky Christmas decorations, like Santa’s and reindeer or something.”

“You can have whatever kind of decorations that you want,” he says as he drapes the black bag with the tux over his shoulder and then collects our bags. “Just as long as you’ll marry me.”

“You’re too easy on me.” I lower my hand to my side and smile, even though my nerves make my stomach roll. “But it’s a deal. A Christmas-day wedding with no Christmas decorations.”

He looks happy as he embraces and kisses me and then we go outside into the cool ocean air and put our bags next to Micha’s 1969 Chevelle SS. He then runs back inside to get his keys because he left them on the counter. I stare at the inflatable Santa across the street waving at me, or maybe it’s just the wind blowing him around. There’s hardly a breeze here though, and nothing compared to the winter wonderland I’m willingly about to go back to. Star Grove. My hometown. The place where I broke apart and was put together again. The place that holds so many memories, both good and bad. I hope it’s worth it. I hope nothing bad happens. I hope this trip will finally hold only good.

For some reason, I’m doubtful and the longer I stand there in the driveway, staring at the Santa, the more anxious I get. Finally Micha comes out of the house with Lila right behind him, heaving her suitcase down the steps and up the path. Micha kisses me when he reaches me, then unlocks the trunk and sets Lila’s suitcase inside.

“Are you going to ask your dad to walk you down the aisle?” Lila asks cheerfully as I hand Micha my suitcase.

Micha looks at me curiously, waiting to hear my answer as he drops my bag into the trunk.

“There’s not going to be an aisle.” And I don’t want my dad to walk me down it. Yeah, I don’t mind him at the wedding, but I don’t want him to be the person who guides me to the finish line when he wasn’t that great for most of the journey.