Page 110 of Hide and Keep

Last night at dinner, sans Arthur again, she did this, too—give name suggestions, none of which I liked. The bear wasn’t meant to be a gift. More of an exemplification. She wanted a prop. I gave her one. But for some reason, she’s taken a real liking to the thing and now she’s obsessed with naming it. I don’t actually care what she names it, as long as it’s not Crue. I’m not her fucking prop.

I’m not a prop, period.

Before I can give my verdict on the name, she says, “Mm, too close to Milan.”

Another weird thing that happened when I gave Ever that bear is she stopped beingsucha raging bitch.

“You don’t like Milan?”

She glances over at me. “You do?”

We’re on the way to the Flower Fest and she’s trying to do…something to her hair. It looks fine to me, but she hasn’t stopped fucking with it since we got in the car. Lots of pulling and huffing and inspecting from all angles, followed by more pulling and huffing. What does she expect? She’s using a five-by-two-inch mirror on a visor.

“I’ve never been there…or anywhere.”

Ever’s quiet for a minute, then returns her attention to the mirror, allowing me to breathe a little easier. Ever Munreaux is hands down the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, including airbrushed models on magazines. I’ve become immune to everyday Ever, but this is not everyday Ever. She’s wearing a lot of makeup, more than she puts on for school, and she’s…overwhelming. My lungs are overwhelmed by her right now.Iam overwhelmed by her right now. If this isn’t what breathtaking is, I don’t know what is because she’s literally interrupting my breathing pattern over here.

“You’d like Milan.”

“I thought you said you didn’t like it.”

“I didn’t say that. I just don’t want to name my bear after it.”

“Something bad happen there?”

She groans, Ithinkmore about her hair than the question because she drops her hands to her thighs in a defeated gesture before turning and telling me, “No. I just associate Milan with my father. There’s a big convention there every year that Munreaux Motorcycles is always front and center at.”

“Isn’t being front and center your thing?”

Without answering she returns to yanking at her hair.

“What’s the problem?” I ask after the seventeenth huff in thirty seconds.

“It’s this piece. It keeps coming out.”

A piece? The way she’s been tugging at her head I thought it was the whole damn scalp that was the issue.

“No one’s gonna notice a fucking piece of your hair when you’ve got…” I wave my right hand over at her vaguely. “Other stuff going on.”

“Like my boobs, belly button, short skirt, pom-poms, clapping, and…what else was it?”

“Chants,” I supply for her, even though it hurts my ego. “In my defense, I didn’t know what cheer was.” I don’t think most people do.

Ever twists her head my way, and without taking my eyes off the road I can tell she’s grinning.

My lungs struggle to perform their basic functions.

I shake my head at myself. I should’ve called it cheerleading just to get under her skin. We’ve gone too long without fighting. I don’t like it.

I don’t likeher. She may be drop-dead gorgeous outside, but she’s ugly as fuck inside. That’s what I have to remember.

That and how to draw air. God. Damn.

“You think you know what cheer is?”

“After the other night, seeing you…and Eighmey, I think I have a pretty good idea.”

She faces forward again.

---