Page 264 of Hide and Keep

So is my little bat.

My butterfly kissed me.

My little bat…won’t. And she doesn’t have a real excuse why she won’t either, at least not one she’s willing to share with me.

Did Ever technically say she didn’t go to Hide and Keep? Or did she just use evasion as a way not to answer?

“Do you have any monarchs in here?” I ask despite spotting several already.

Ever’s gaze shoots to my tattoo, so I twist my arm to give her a better view. She immediately looks away though.

“Probably,” she says noncommittally, suddenly silent on the subject when all she’s done since we stepped foot in here is talk about butterflies. All of them except for monarchs.

Now why is that?

“Tell me something about monarchs.”

“Um…” She keeps her focus locked on the feeding frenzy. “They’re beautiful.”

“That’s an understatement,” I say without taking my eyes off her. “What else?”

“They’re interesting.”

Another understatement.

“What’s so interesting about them?”

“Uh, let’s see. Eastern monarchs do this insane migration every year to reproduce. It spans from Mexico all the way up to the Canadian border. After hibernating all winter on trees in certain Mexican forests, they wake up in the spring and mate before heading north to reproduce. Then in the fall, their great-grandchildren, with no one to guide them, no map to use, nothing to go off of besides some sort of inherited internal GPS, return to the same forests to hibernate.”

“How come their great-grandparents don’t go back with them?”

“Their great-grandparents aren’t alive by then. During the trip, monarchs only live between two and six weeks, so the entire migration cycle usually takes about four generations to complete. The monarchs that hibernate over the winter can live up to nine months, but once they lay those first eggs in the spring, they die shortly after.”

“Shit. I had no idea.”

“Doesn’t surprise me. Most people don’t.” Ever shakes her head.

During the motion, I catch a glimpse of orange and black on the back of her head and it’s like I’m seeing her for the first time all over again. Not Ever Munreaux. My butterfly.

“What’s something else most people don’t know about monarchs?” I ask.

The great orange tip takes flight when I stand up.

“They can mate up to sixteen hours.”

“Sixteenhours?”

Ever jolts at my voice, at my proximity. She tries to play it off by smiling but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“You can grab a handful,” she says, talking about the fish food.

Instead of doing that, I grab her face, careful of the monarch on her hair, and turn her to me. Both my thumbs on her cheeks, I run my eyes over her face, searching for the similarities now that I know what I’m looking for.

It’s all so fucking clear. Her reaction when she first saw me in her father’s office. Her many drawings of me. Her refusal to kiss me. It’s the only identifier I got from her that night.

I hinge one thumb over to cover her mouth like I always do. I don’t kiss her though. I massage her lips with the pad.

Another memory loses its haze, sharpening in stark clarity without a filter of delirium over it.

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