I’m not sure who I am anymore. I feel like I’m lost all the time. When I look in the mirror, the person I see isn’t the person I used to be. Instead of eyes, I see two empty holes. Instead of a mouth, I see lips sewn together. I don’t know what’s happening to me. What changed in me. What made me feel like my skin is molting off as I turn into a different person who can’t even walk anymore without a lot of effort. If I had my way, I’d sit in bed forever.

Until I died.

But I can’t do that now. I have a responsibility. A child growing in my belly and a man who will be my husband in just a few weeks. It’s terrifying and not the life I think I want. But there’s nowhere else to go and really any other alternative is just as bleak as the one before me. Any future is, and sometimes just having one is frightening.

The entry was written when she was eighteen, right before she married my dad. She was pregnant with my older brother, Dean, something I didn’t know. Her thoughts are terrifying, especially since I’ve recently been contemplating my future and where kids fit into the mix. But I don’t get it. My dad once told me that she used to be happy in the beginning, but if that’s the case, then when was he talking about? When was the beginning? Because in the journal entry she’d known him for only six months and she already seemed to be falling into the dark hole of despair that I’m very familiar with, no matter what I do or try to change about my life. In the end, I have depression. It’ll always be with me—with Micha and me. I’ve known this for a while and yet I’m still going forward with him, always crossing my fingers he never regrets it.

But what if he does?

I take out a drawing that’s folded up in back of the journal along with a photo of my mom on a bed with her chin on her knees and her hair falling into her green eyes that look exactly like mine. She’s smiling, but there’s something off about the snapshot, like she’s forcing herself to look happy, or maybe that’s just what she looked like when she was happy. It’s hard to tell sometimes and most of the time when I knew her, she just looked lost. She doesn’t look lost here, but she doesn’t look like she’s someone who’s got everything figured out. I wonder if that’s what I look like?

The drawing is of this vase with a single rose inside it and the petals are cracked and wilting, piling up around the bottom. It hurts my heart looking at it, because as an artist, I can guess what place her thoughts were at when she drew it because I’ve been in that place.

“Oh my God, Ella, you did not ball up your wedding dress and shove it in a duffel bag.” Lila huffs as she stomps into the kitchen with an overflowing armful of fabric and a rolled-up magazine. She’s wearing a holey pair of jeans and a plain pink T-shirt, her blond and black hair damp. “Seriously, why would you do that?”

“I’m sorry.” I quickly shut the journal, regretting having opened it in the first place. Maybe I wasn’t ready to read it. Maybe I should just let the past go. I’d been doing so well and I’ve even been off my medication. But I want to understand her. “I didn’t even think about it when I stuffed it in there.”

Lila lets the bottom of the dress go, but holds onto the top, examining the fabric. “It’s all wrinkled now.” She scrunches her nose at the front of the dress as she fiddles with one of the black roses on it. “We’re going to, like, have to hang it up in the bathroom and steam the wrinkles out.”

“The bathroom should be all steamed up from your shower.” I bring the brim of the mug to my mouth. “So you could hang it up now.”

“Yeah, it was already steamed up from your shower.” She rolls her eyes and then laughs off her irritation. “You two and showers… I don’t get it.”

“Well, you really should,” I say, unable to restrain a smile as thoughts of Micha and his hands and tongue overtake me. The dark thoughts the journal instilled in my head evaporate like the steam coming from the mug, although I’m fairly sure they’ll be back if I continue to read it. “You’re really missing out.”

She drapes the dress on the back of the chair and sits down across the table from me. “Then maybe I’ll have to try it sometime with Ethan.”

Quiet settles between us as she opens up the magazine she was carrying and I realize it’s a wedding magazine. We’ve been friends for almost two and a half years now and it still feels like we hardly know each other sometimes. Perhaps it’s because of my lack of being able to talk deeply about things or because it seems like we both like to carry our secrets.

“So you and Ethan,” I start, setting the mug down on the table. “How’s that going?”

She shrugs, restraining a grin as she flips a page of the magazine. “Good, I guess.”

“Do you, like, love him?” I make a mocking swoon face. I never had any girlfriends when I was growing up. Instead I was mostly surrounded by Micha and his friends or my brother and his friends, so sometimes acting girly is weird.

Lila lowers her hand onto the table and then crosses her arms. “I think I do.”

“Think?” I ask. “Or know? Because I heard you both know.”

Her brows furrow. “Did Ethan tell Micha that we said I love you?”

I nod and take another sip of my coffee. “They do that sometimes, you know. Tell each other their secrets like a couple of girls.”

“Well, they are friends,” she says. “They should tell each other stuff.”

I nod and wonder if I should tell her about my fear of writing and saying my vows, since I can’t discuss it with Micha. She could help me figure stuff out. Maybe. Although I don’t think she could help me with the fear of getting married, which might be behind the reason why I can’t write my vows.

Before I can say anything, though, she suddenly rises from her chair with a big grin on her face. “I almost forgot. I got you a present.”

“Why?” My expression falls. No one’s ever given me presents except Micha and I’m not really a fan of getting them.

“For your wedding, duh.” She rolls her eyes like I’m being absurd and then heads back to the guest room. A few minutes later, she returns with a big pink gift bag in her hand. “Here you go, bride-to-be,” she singsongs and then hands it to me. “I was going to give it to you yesterday, but… well, you know. Things happened.”

“Yeah, I know.” I set the bag down on the table. “That really wasn’t about my panicking about getting married. I promise.”

She plops down in the chair and props her elbow on the table. “Then what was it about?”

“Stuff.” I’m hesitant, and when she presses me with a look, I decide to let her in on my life just a little, especially since I recently learned her parents haven’t always been that great to her either. “I’m just worried about stuff in the future.”

She slumps back in the chair. “Well, that’s normal, Ella. Everyone worries about their future, especially when they’re about to get married and are starting a future with someone else.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I should probably just try to relax.” But even when I say it, it doesn’t seem possible. Relax. Sure, it’s easy when I’m in Micha’s arms or he’s inside me and everything else around me—life—feels nonexistent. But alone without his comfort I’m hyperaware of the things that lie inside me, the dark things that could overwhelm me with sadness at any moment—I could lose myself at any moment.

We sit quietly as fluffy snowflakes melt against the windows and leave thin trails of water on the glass.

Eventually Lila sits up and attempts to look happier. “Okay, enough with the sad. You need to open my present.”

I make a wary face at the gift bag and then open it up. There’s decorative paper inside and a box sealed with a bow. I set it down on the table, then untie the bow and lift the lid. The first thing I come across is a blue garter trimmed with white lace. I take it out and put it around my wrist.

“You know that doesn’t go there, right?” Lila teases, sitting up in the chair. “And it’s your something blue.”

“How very traditional of you,” I say playfully and Lila smiles as I move onto the next item, a silver bracelet with a heart charm on it.

“And that’s your something borrowed,” she informs me. “You have to give it back to me when the wedding’s over.”

“It’s pretty,” I tell her, even though it’s not really my style. But I appreciate it—her making the effort. “But I thought the dress was my something borrowed?”

She shoves the magazine aside and crosses her arms on the table. “Nah, you can keep the dress and consider it your something old. It doesn’t hold anything but painful memories for me anyway.”

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“I’m positive,” she assures me and then gestures at the box. “Take the next thing out. It can be your something new.”

I direct my attention back to the box and remove a much smaller box inside it. Inside, there’s some red, lacy fabric, which I take out and hold up. “Jesus, this is skanky,” I say wiggling my fingers through what looks like nipple holes.

She giggles. “Skanky but fun.”

I sigh, stick my hand into the box, and pull out a sequined thong. “Is this the bottom part or something?”

“It’s whatever you want, I guess,” she says with humor in her voice. “It could even be for Micha.”

I snort a laugh and drop the thong onto the lacy fabric. “This is like a sex kit, isn’t it?”

She shrugs, examining her nails. “I went into this really questionable store with sex toys and lingerie and told the clerk to pick out the best newlywed gifts.”

I slip the garter off my wrist and add it to the pile with the thong. “So you have no idea what’s in here?”

“Not a clue except for the garter and the bracelet—I added those myself. But I’m dying to find out.”