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.”