Chapter 111: Tea Leaves and Butterfly Kisses
The suitcases waited in the foyer like quiet strangers. One large, with elegant wheels. One medium, just polished that morning. The final one — a small, steel - gray carry - on — leaned near the door, zipped shut like it carried secrets no one had time to open.
Eva stood in her bare feet on the tiled floor, watching.
Maman was leaving. Papa too.
For days she had known. For weeks, even. But Eva never truly believed in goodbyes until they were already underway — until she heard the rustle of linen being folded into neat rectangles, until she smelled the soft citrus and rosewater of Maman's travel perfume, until she saw the sad little smile on Mère's face when she passed the teacups across the table in the morning.
And now the moment had arrived.
"Maman," Eva whispered, tugging at the hem of her dress as Evelyn bent to zip her boot.
"Oui, mon trésor?" "Yes, my treasure?"
Eva didn't answer. Her throat tightened. Her lips wobbled.
Then, as if the entire weight of the moment crashed through her little chest, she burst into tears.
Silent, aching sobs. The kind that made her shoulders quake and her breath catch and her voice vanish entirely.
"Oh, ma chérie," Evelyn said, dropping to her knees in an instant. She opened her arms, and Eva tumbled into them like a wave hitting the shore. Her fingers curled into Evelyn's coat, her cheek pressed into her collarbone. "I know, I know, my darling girl…"
Eva could barely speak, but she managed: "Please don't go…"
"We'll only be gone a few days," Evelyn whispered, smoothing Eva's curls, kissing her crown between every other word. "You'll be with Mère — Aunt Vivi. And Yue. You'll have the gardens. Your books. Your poetry. Your music. And me — right here —" she tapped Eva's chest gently "— always."
Eva clung tighter. "But you make my milk warm just right. And you know the part of my hair I like. And when I cry in the night, you don't need me to explain why…"
Evelyn blinked fast. Her lips trembled. "You'll be okay, my sweet love. You have your Yue. And she always knows."
Eva leaned back just enough to press her lips to her mother's cheek.
Once. Then again. Then again. A soft constellation of kisses from her brow to her chin — like raindrops falling in secret.
And then she fluttered her lashes gently against Evelyn's skin — on her nose, her cheek, her lips.
"Those are butterfly kisses," Eva said between sniffles. "One for the road. And one in case you get sad."
"I'm already sad," Evelyn whispered, her voice caught in her throat. "But I'll carry them in my coat pocket, next to my heart. I'll use them when I miss you too much."
"You promise?"
"I promise on all the stars."
Eva sobbed again. "Take care, Maman… don't work too hard. I love you to the moon and back."
"And I love you to the edge of the universe and back again."
They held each other for a long while.
When Reginald appeared in the hallway, perfectly pressed in his travel coat, the air in the room shifted. Colder. More formal. The quiet rhythm of affection between mother and daughter ceased. Eva turned slowly, looking up.
She stepped toward him without saying anything.
Her arms reached up — just a little. Enough for a hug, maybe. Something small.
He didn't bend. Not quite.
Still, she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek into the wool of his coat. It was stiff. Scratchy. Like old books and forgotten birthdays.
"I'll be good," Eva said quietly. "I'll do my lessons. Even when you're gone. Even the self - defense. No exceptions."
Reginald placed a hand briefly on her shoulder and nodded, almost dismissively.
"You're expected to keep up. I won't be lenient because I'm not here."
And that was it.
No kiss. No words of sweetness. Only structure. Only rules.
Eva stepped back slowly, a flicker of awkwardness crossing her face. She said nothing more, and neither did he.
But from across the room, Seraphina watched the entire exchange.
She saw the way Eva's small shoulders tightened. The way she swallowed hard and turned her face quickly as though pretending it didn't sting. And though Seraphina said nothing, her hand curled into a fist behind her back.
She didn't like Reginald Ainsley.
Not at all.
Not when he spoke like that. Not when he made Eva feel like a report card.
Evelyn smoothed her coat, then reached for her gloves. "Oh, my sweet," she said as she stood. "Wait — before we go, what was that little surprise you were working on?"
Eva blinked, then gasped. "Wait — don't go yet!"
She dashed to the corner cabinet and opened the small drawer behind the painted teacups. From inside, she pulled a delicate tin box — decorated in soft pastel violets and daisies. She held it with both hands like an offering.
"I made teas," she said proudly. "With Yue's help. There's lavender - rose, lemon - mint, and one just for Mère — with violets from her garden."
Evelyn opened the lid, inhaling gently. "You blended these yourself?"
Eva nodded quickly. "Every packet has a little label. I even tied the strings. And Yue helped dry the flowers just right."
Vivienne appeared from the side hallway just then, taking the tin from Evelyn's hands to examine it.
She stared at it for a long moment, quiet.
Then she said in the softest voice, "You little miracle. You herbal sorceress."
Eva giggled.
Evelyn smiled and kissed her daughter's head. "You're a marvel, ma petite."
"I wanted you to take something soft with you," Eva whispered. "Something from home."
The final goodbye passed quickly after that — too quickly. The sound of the front door closing echoed down the long hallway.
And suddenly, it was just the quiet again.
Mère in the kitchen, humming as she set the kettle on.
Eva still on the stair landing, staring at the spot where her mother had just been.
Only Seraphina remained near her, silent, steady.
"Come on," Seraphina said, offering her hand. "Let's go somewhere that still feels like home."
The garden was cooler than usual, shaded in late afternoon mist.
The two girls wandered through the hedge arches until they reached the swing beneath the almond trees. It swayed gently in the breeze as if waiting.
Seraphina climbed on first, then opened her arms.
Eva crawled into her lap and tucked her head beneath Seraphina's chin.
For a long time, neither of them spoke. The wind rustled the branches above, and the smell of damp stone and rosemary drifted by.
Then Eva murmured, "I didn't kiss Papa goodbye."
"I know," Seraphina said.
"He didn't want me to."
"I saw."
Eva closed her eyes. "But I wanted to."
Seraphina didn't answer right away. She just kissed the top of her head.
"Sometimes, it's not about what you wanted. It's about what he didn't give."
"I try really hard."
"I know you do."
"So he will love me someday?"
"I know."
Seraphina's arms tightened slightly.
"But you don't need to try with me."
"I don't?" Eva whispered.
"Not even a little. You're already my favorite person."
They stayed there a while longer. A robin landed nearby. Eva gave it a name — Sir Featherberry — and declared him the official gardener of fairyland. Seraphina approved and offered him a crumb from her pocket.
Later, they returned to the house and declared a "Quiet Celebration of Survival." Eva brought out her plush dragon and made him the honored guest.
They wore towels as capes, ate dried apricots from porcelain bowls, and performed an impromptu piano duet — Eva on the high notes, Seraphina following behind, laughing every time she hit the wrong key.
Mère peeked in from the kitchen doorway.
"You two sound like mischievous little fairies."
"We are," Eva declared. "Fairies of music. And moodiness."
Seraphina added, "She's the moody one."
"I'm emotionally complex," Eva corrected.
They both fell sideways into giggles.
When they calmed down, Eva made a crown of lavender and parsley and placed it solemnly on Seraphina's head. "For your grace in battle and brilliance in piano."
Seraphina bowed. "I accept this high honor."
Before bedtime, Eva insisted on brushing Seraphina's hair instead of the other way around.
"You did mine yesterday. And I was very cooperative," Eva said, holding the brush like a wand.
Seraphina sat still as Eva worked through the strands, humming a made - up lullaby. She braided slowly, clumsily, but with great focus.
Then she added a bow at the bottom.
"For elegance."
"It looks like a hedgehog did it."
"You're welcome."
"Your hedgehog majesty accepts."
When it was time to sleep, they lay beneath the star - lantern lamp Maman had left plugged in for Eva, casting constellations on the ceiling.
Eva traced one of them with her finger. "That one's the Serapheenix. It only glows when you love someone too much."
"Ina," Eva said in a small voice. "Are you mad that I try to be loved by him?"
Seraphina shook her head. "I'm not mad at you."
"I always say yes. Even when it hurts."
"You want to be wanted," Seraphina said gently. "That's not wrong."
"I know he doesn't love me like Maman does."
"No one loves you like your Maman."
Eva paused. "Except you."
Seraphina turned toward her. "I love you more than anything."
"Even books?"
"Even breathing."
Eva smiled and leaned in, whispering, "Butterfly kiss?"
Seraphina closed her eyes and tilted her cheek. Eva fluttered her lashes across her skin.
Then again.
Then again.
"You're mine," Eva said softly. "Even when I'm sad. Even when Papa doesn't see me."
"I see you," Seraphina said.
"And you love all of me?"
"All of you," she whispered. "Forever."
Eva pressed close, a tiny sigh escaping her lips. "Then I'll be okay. If I have you."
"You always have me," Seraphina murmured. "Always."
And together, beneath constellations both real and imagined, the world exhaled with them — quiet, safe, and filled with love.