70

EMBER

Tonight is my last night before I return to campus. Pat and Raveena wanted me to stay an extra night, but I lied and told them I had something to set up for my second semester chemistry class. They were proud at my non-existent initiative.

I can't be here anymore, waiting for someone who I shouldn't be waiting for, and feeling the dangerously dark pull from next door.

Cade never showed up this time, and why should I care? Why the fuck do I miss him so much? I shouldn't. At least I don't think I should. Maybe I feel sorry for him, or for how I acted.

Regardless, it hurts.

I step out of my bed and pad over to my front facing window, drawing the curtain to look at the front lawn. The whole world is white tonight.

No truck. No tracks. No dark haired, green-eyed boy.

I walk back into my bed as one lone tear slips from my eye. I wipe it away.

I flip onto my back, staring at my darkened ceiling. I count the chips of white paint for the hundredth time tonight.

My phone buzzes softly on the wood of my nightstand. I reach over and pick it up, holding it above my face. The light is harsh against my eyes.

Are you awake?

Part of me is shocked to see Michael's text, but really, deep in my heart, I'm neither surprised nor unhappy about it. Actually, a small smile graces my lips, my sadness pushed aside.

Always.

Within thirty seconds, he's calling me. I answer and press the speaker button, setting the phone on my chest, on the thin fabric over my skin.

"Ember?" His voice is soft and clear in the dead silence of my room.

"Hi," I reply quietly, "you've reached Toys R Us."

He chuckles on the other end. "Damn. I was looking for Babies R Us. Mademoiselle, could you transfer me?"

"No problem, sir. One moment." I pause, holding in a laugh. "Beep. Hello, this is Babies R Us. How can I help you?"

"I was calling because I'm lacking a crucial piece of information about...strollers."

"Well, lucky for you, I'm the store's resident expert on such matters. I know everything from prices to colours to infant airbags. Hit me with your best shot, you average consumer."

"Well," Michael begins, sounding slightly less sure than a second ago. "I woke up and had a thought. I have no idea what the stroller's middle name is."

"Wait—what?" I laugh.

Michael clears his throat. "I don't know the stroller's middle name."

"'Buggy'?" I try, laughing at myself.

He groans on the other line, but there's a playfulness to it. "That's not what I mean."

"Well I have to be honest with you, I'm lost," I admit, absentmindedly tracing my fingers over my stomach.

"Okay, that's my fault," Michael says. "I was trying to ask what your middle name is."

There's a pause when I don't respond.

"Ember?"

I purse my lips together, holding in a laugh.

"Say something," he pleads.

"Did you just call me at one o'clock in the morning to ask my middle name?" I can't keep the smile out of my voice.

Silence.

"Michael, helloooo," I singsong. "Where'd you go, blondie?"

More silence.

"You know," I taunt, "you could have just asked at school, or at Skyfall, or at Walt's group, you know...like a normal person."

I hear a small, dejected exhale on his end. Then nothing.

"Did you hang up?" I whisper.

I pick up my phone to see that he's still, in fact, on the line.

"No, you didn't. Did you pass away from mortification? I hope not, because then you'll never know," I tease.

A slight pause before he answers.

"I'll never know what?"

I smirk. "My middle name."

I practically hear his eye roll. "Well, are you going to tell me or let me bask in the embarrassment?"

"Don't be embarrassed. It's cute."

"Cute," he grumbles. "Ember just tell me so I can hang up on you."

I put a hand to my chest and frown. "So you only want me for my name?"

"You caught me," Michael exhales.

"Okay," I relent. "I'll tell you because you seem very desperate and—"

"Stop," he groans through a laugh.

"—and I just want to put you out of your misery," I continue with a laugh. "It's Amora."

There's a pause.

"Ember Amora," he says quietly, slowly.

I flush once more and try to pretend I don't love the way that just sounded.

"Yeah," I breathe out, my voice giving me away. "Not too exciting."

"Really beautiful," he says.

I swallow hard. "I...I had a Spanish grandfather. Pat says my mom chose Amora because it meant love in Spanish."

Michael hums. "I like it."

"Better than buggy?" I joke.

He laughs loudly and boldly, then sighs. "'Buggy' has a certain ring to it, don't you think? Ember Buggy Chapman..."

If he were in front of me, I'd hit his arm or shove his shoulder, something to shut him up. I actually wish he was here.

"Well, your turn then," I say.

"Hm?" He's still chuckling a bit.

"It's your turn. What's your middle name?" I ask.

There's a long pause.

"Maybe I'll tell you later."

"What? No. You literally called me to ask so now I get to know yours, too."

"It's too weird."

I huff and roll my eyes. "Well now I'm even more curious."

"I'm serious," he laments. "It's so...odd. My mom chose it. I don't tell anyone. Not even Cam."

"So?" I push. "Best friends know these things. Come on, tell me."

"I can't."

"You can and you will, sir!" I laugh.

He groans and I hear something like sheets rustling.

"Fine," he sighs. "But before I say it, you need some backstory."

I nod excitedly to myself and rest my hands behind my head, getting comfortable in my sheets.

"Okay. Lay it on me, blondie."

"My mom was born in Norway and moved to Canada when she was pretty young, right after she had me."

"Have you ever been back?" I ask.

"No. I don't remember any of it, but I'm going to go someday. Maybe after graduation. But it doesn't matter when. I'm definitely going at some point."

My chest fills with warmth at his plan. I'm so overwhelmingly happy that he even has a plan. And he sounds so sure, so hopeful.

It's stunning.

"Send me a postcard?" I whisper through a smile.

"I'm sure that wouldn't do it justice. I'll have to take you with me." His voice is nothing but genuine confidence and honesty.

I swallow the lump in my throat. "You'd take me to Norway?"

"Of course. We'll see the sites, learn about Vikings, my people, and we'll tour all the museums. Maybe we'll stay by the ocean and fall asleep to the waves. That's always been a goal of mine."

I close my eyes as my heart skips. If I try, I can hear the ocean now like my ear is pressed to a seashell.

I think back to the night Michael got his wisdom teeth removed. He begged for the beach, but that was only a Great Lake. If my geography knowledge is correct, he's talking about the North Sea, the body of water off Norway's coast.

Just the idea of all this, even if it's pretend, has my heart beating a bit faster.

"That sounds like a dream," I venture in a dazed whisper. "You really like the ocean, eh?"

"Love it. You?"

"I'm more of a small body of water kinda person," I joke lamely, remembering what we talked about once. "I like a nice pond. Maybe a swamp if I'm feeling edgy."

Michael laughs. "Swamps are cool, but to me, nothing beats the raw power of open water..." he trails off.

I find myself wondering if I could ever not be scared of the sea. I'd love to see it like he does.

I clear my throat, squinting at my dark ceiling. "You're distracting me."

"And it's working," he says, and I can hear the cocky grin in his voice.

"I believe you were divulging a critical piece of information, sir."

"Which would be what?"

I roll my eyes. "Come on, just tell me. Is it a Norwegian name? Hard to pronounce?"

"Yes and yes," he laughs. "Well...I was born with a birthmark on my left hip. Apparently, when I was young, it looked like a Norse sword, but I never really saw it. My middle name is one that's been used for those types of swords. Mom actually tried to make it my first name, but from what I've heard, one of the delivery room nurses convinced her to change it."

I laugh at that, very intrigued.

There's a shuffling sound on the other end, like he's shifting around in his own bed. I feel my cheeks heat up as I picture him. And that birthmark.

Does he wear a shirt to bed? Shorts?

...Nothing?

That's enough, I command my stupid, tired brain.

I clear my throat as my eyes start to close on their own accord, exhaustion finally blanketing me.

"Now or never, blondie," I mumble. "I'm fading fast over here."

"Ember Amora, so impatient," he murmurs.

He has me flushing again at that name. My name.

"It's Eindride," Michael finally says.

"I'm sorry?"

He laughs and then repeats it, but changes the syllables. "Ien-dree-de. See, I told you. Weird."

"You're going to have to spell that one out."

"I'll text it to you."

I wait and then my phone buzzes on my chest, the vibration tickling my lungs. I reach for it and study the word.

Eindride :(

"Unique," I murmur.

Michael hums through the phone. "Not as nice as Amora, which I really like by the way."

I continue to stare at the word. It holds a certain strength, like the letters themselves are built up somehow. Eindride. I find that I really, really like it.

"What does it mean?" I ask in a whisper, bringing the phone up to my head, off speaker.

When Michael speaks, his voice is deeper, a little serious, and more melodic right by my ear.

"The one who rides alone."

Eindride, the one who rides alone.

Michael Eindride Lund. I'd say it out loud if I could.

"I love it," I whisper. Then I squeeze my eyes shut. Heat finds the tips of my ears, the apples of my cheeks. "I mean, it's cool."

"I don't know," Michael says quietly. "It's always felt a little sad to me."

I shake my head, quick to challenge him. "No, it's strong, like you. It holds a...leadership quality, I think."

He doesn't say anything. I try and backtrack.

"Well, maybe that sounds weird. I guess it's—"

"No," he breaks in softly. "I've just never thought of it like that. But maybe you're right. Thank you."

I wince, but try and smile. "Yeah, no problem," I laugh.

We stay on the phone for a few minutes of silence and I hear Michael's breathing start to slow as my eyelids begin to feel like weights I can't hold up.

"You still there?" he whispers, almost unheard.

"Yeah," I whisper back.

"I guess I should let you go, then," he says slowly.

"I'll see you in a matter of days, anyway," I point out, barely holding the phone to my ear.

"Very true," he agrees.

"But I don't want to hang up," I admit in a whisper.

"Neither do I."

"Are we fourteen?" I joke.

"Pretty much," he agrees, "but I don't mind. I miss having you around, ghost girl." And then he adds quietly, "Can I ask you one last time?"

I frown. "Ask me...what?"

I hear him intake a large breath. "Can I ask you on a date...one last time?"

I take the phone from my ear and press it into my chest as my breathing kicks up.

Oh no.

I bring the phone back to my ear.

"Ember?"

"I'm here."

"If you say no, I promise I won't bother you again, I just..." He laughs, although it's strained. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable, or push you away. I'd rather be friends than be nothing. But...Can I ask you one more time?"

Butterflies. I have butterflies.

Soft, little blue butterflies fluttering around in my belly saying, Ember, you're falling in love with him, and I say back, I know, I know, and I'm scared and unworthy of him.

I don't think about it. I throw everything I've thought was logical out the window and focus on the gorgeous, blooming feeling of affection in my chest.

"Ask," I barely say.

Michael says, "Ember Amora, will you—"

"Yes."

I hear him physically choke.

"Pardon?"

"Yes," I repeat.

"R-Really?"

"I've missed you too, and it's only been a week. Eye-opening, really."

"As much as I'm elated to hear that, can you let me finish my question?"

"Yeah, okay," I say, feeling like I'm in the clouds. "Go ahead, blondie."

He laughs lightly. "Ember Amora, will you accompany me to the upcoming Winter Recital?"

"Which is...?"

Michael takes a big breath. "Fourth year students playing their final compositions in front of the entire department and faculty, trying not to puke from nervousness while our grades are on the line, while dressed in only the fanciest clothes, drinking fine wine to kill the anxiety and pretending like we're not going to pass out before we take the stage."

I blink at my ceiling. "Do I have to wear a dress?"

"That, or a suit. Up to you."

"Hm. And I'll get to hear your music? Like, your music?" I smile at the thought.

"You will," he tells me. "And maybe you'll hear the sound of my body hitting the floor as I faint. Bonus."

"Don't worry, I'll catch you," I say.

"Promise?"

I draw an x on my chest. "I crossed my heart, just so you know."

"Okay," he laughs. "So is that a yes?"

"I wouldn't have missed it. Even if I just went as your friend."

"Really?" His voice is laced with vulnerability.

"If you wanted me there, I'd be there."

"But now you're my date," he says, and I can hear his cocky grin once more.

"I am."

"And...I can kiss you after?"

I flush again, thinking about his lips on my skin and how good it felt.

"Maybe," I say carefully.

"I could kiss your neck," he says in a low, soft voice. "That spot just under your ear."

"Don't push your luck," I laugh, trying to cool down my cheeks with the back of my hand. A yawn escapes me. Then Michael yawns too and I smile at the sheer contagion of it.

"You're tired," he whispers, and his voice is so deep and warm, so hypnotic, that my eyelids droop.

"Hey, Michael?" I whisper. "Thanks for calling and asking my middle name."

"Thanks for answering," he responds gently. "Sweet dreams, Ember Amora."

"Goodnight, Lone Rider."

I don't last long after that, but as I drift off and my phone falls from my fingers, I have a feeling that the nightmares won't be able to touch me tonight.

At least I really, really hope so.

PLEASE give me all your thoughts!

I'VE HAD THIS 'DATE' PLANNED FOR OVER A YEAR OF MY ACTUAL LIFE AND I'M SO DAMN EXCITED TO COMPLETE THAT SCENE.

Anyway...I'm calm now.

Thank you for reading ♥️ and remember to vote!

-Your Floral Laurel