I thought about wanting to confront Lauren about the truth. I have imagined telling it to her in a variety of ways, but I would still hesitate whenever a good opportunity arises. Maybe I'm scared she'll see me differently after that—someone who pities her. It'll most likely be my fault if she decides to not talk to anyone ever again.

This secret of ours with my aunt, on the other hand, is practically crushing me to the core. Not telling her is like breaking the code of ethics or some law—a friendship law. I should tell her sooner, I'm just not too sure when sooner is sooner. The only question that would come before and after that is what would happen to us if she finds out the truth.

"It's a good thing it's a weekend today," Lauren says, taking a huge bite of the double cheeseburger she ordered.

The diner seemed to be our go-to place now. If she and I weren't discussing about the notes, we're either playing the game "would you rather". Most of the time, though, I would just listen to her talk about her sister. And she'd also talk about her parents, although, less of her mom, more about her paintings. More of her dad's dad jokes, less about his profession.

We still laugh about what happened back at her house, the night after receiving the note. I recall her saying that she never imagined the place to be left in such a condition after what happened two years ago.

When she stood there outside her old home, I knew that a wave of nostalgia brought her back home and as she walked inside the door, I could tell something was upsetting her, but I couldn't bring myself to ask her why or what it was.

"My sister loves to write. I would see her stack poems inside her drawer, and sometimes, my mom, dad, and I would force her to read them out loud during our family night."

Lauren admired Elise's ability to transform her emotions into profound poetry that allowed people to read and feel what she wrote. She said that it filled her with so many emotions that her poetry was unbearable and that she missed the feeling she gets when her sister reads her poems.

"It was an insurmountable joy that I never wanted to escape from," she says, as she thought about that time.

"What's that?" Lauren points at the notebook in front of me.

"Just a notebook filled with written poems," I say as I exaggeratedly erased a sentence on the notebook before Lauren could even grab it from me.

She starts flipping through some pages and starts reading poems randomly.

a cold place, a cold home

snow wrinkles,

falling mist.

as it falls, it fades between my fingertips.

all that remains,

are the ripples on the shore.

with your hopeful eyes,

a path paves that leads me home.

She reads it aloud, then looks at me with her lips pursed and her head nodding slowly as I take the notebook from her before she continues reading more of the poems I wrote.

"I didn't know you can write," Lauren says as she takes a sip from her rainbow milkshake. A combination of vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry all in one that she requested to concoct. She says it's the best combination out of all milkshakes combined, despite actually missing all of the colors of the rainbow.

I scoff at what she said, "Anyone can write." I say as I continue to erase a few lines on some poetry I've written in the previous days.

I haven't had much time to write lately, but I appreciate the feeling it brings me when I do. It allows me to enter a space where my emotions are at ease. My voice is steady, and my thoughts are being held at bay. And in that, the sense of inner tranquility it brought me was the strongest feeling I've ever felt.

"Well, I would love to read more of your poems," she smiles at me, "But I want to hear you reading them."

I furrowed my eyebrows as I snickered along, saying, "Why?" as if she's crazy for thinking that.

"Because I want to feel the emotions you've put into your words," Lauren rests her back on the leathered backrest of the red couch. I watch her as she wiggles her eyebrows at me, and I couldn't help but smile and laugh at her.

❀

It took us about five hours to arrive at Pismo Beach. I'm not much of a morning person but it was a great idea that Lauren had recommended to leave the town early in the morning.

It was seven o'clock when I left the house earlier, and it's almost two o'clock now. I wasn't supposed to be out today because I needed to look after my mom, but she insisted on calling my aunt to come over so I could do whatever I wanted, saying that I deserved it.

We ate breakfast at Ruby's diner to get some nutrients and be energized before driving for five to six hours for some note.

"We're a few minutes away from the location," I told Lauren as I read what appeared on my phone on the Google Maps app.

"You know," She says, "Clarissa said that my mom knew that my dad was planning to propose to her at that time. She said that she had a gut feeling that day, so my mom decided to get her nails done and purchase the most adorable dress she had been eyeing, which she knew that she could never afford but bought it anyway," I see the smile on Lauren's face even as she strains her neck towards her side of the window.

"She was twenty-four at that time, my mom. When I asked my aunt how my dad proposed to her mom, what I remember was that she said my mom was wearing a navy-blue dress. My aunt also told me that my dad says she had her art supplies with her at the time and told him after she had said yes that she wanted to paint the scene to give them something to remember and cherish for the remainder of their lives."

She turns her head towards me.

"Do you miss them?" I asked genuinely.

She nods her head and continues to smile at me as she says, "Every single day."

We passed a large green sign on our right that said in bold white letters, and I knew we had finally arrived at our destination. Lauren takes a note from her brown leather crossbody bag after I parked the car and watched her head out first.

"There were capital letters that spelled out May R," Lauren reads the note she was holding as she looks at me. "I have no idea if this is a location, a person, or the name of the painting that my mom painted."

I shrugged my shoulders, "Guess we just have to find out like we always do," I wink at her as I grabbed her hand, running towards the entrance of the grove.

As we enter the grounds, a few people were gathering in certain areas. I turn back to Lauren and say, "I looked up this location on Google, and it appears that thousands of monarch butterflies can be found from around late October to February. But, don't get your hopes up if we don't see thousands of them today."

Lauren nods her head.

"Hello, everyone!" A woman who appears to be in her mid-30s gathers most of the visitors around at sight. "We will be starting the tour in a few minutes."

Lauren taps me on the back to get my attention.

"Her name is May," she says as I turn around to face her, pointing at the name that was stitched onto the woman's khaki-colored shirt.

"Wow. I bet there's a person named June in here, too," I said.

She looks at me and said nothing, "So, are we supposed to hunt down people whose names are May?"

Lauren rolls her eyes at me then says, "Or maybe we or I could ask her if she knows where the next note is?"

"Yes," I say, "Makes more sense that way."

Before Lauren could even walk up to her, May said, "Let's start the tour!" as we all tailed behind her like some group of baby geese following their mother goose. I grabbed Lauren's wrist, stopping her from possibly intervening in the tour.

"How about we do that later and let's just enjoy the tour first?" I told her.

She shrugs, "I guess so."

When I let go of Lauren's arm, she gives me a look. She smiles and starts speed-walking up to catch up with May and the other visitors we were with just a few moments earlier.

May started off with the history of the place, and then right off the bat, a child raises his hand and asks where the butterflies came from. She answers, "Monarch butterflies can be seen as far as north Canada during the season. In late summer and fall, butterflies migrate south or west to their overwintering grounds as winter approaches. Monarchs west of the Rocky Mountains migrate to coastal California because they can't bear the cold in the winter!"

Which sparked a question in my mind that made me immediately raise my hand to ask, "How do they find their way over here? Do they use some sort of GPS location or something?"

I cracked at my own joke, which made everyone fall silent in return. Another failed attempt today. I hear Lauren snickering beside me as she witnesses my trip down towards clown town.

"To answer your question, according to research, sensors in the monarch's antenna are important for migration because they provide information about the time of day in the same way that a clock does. Researchers agree that this knowledge, along with data on the sun's location, is critical for navigation. Monarchs use a UV light-triggered geomagnetic compass as a secondary navigational device on overcast days," The other tour guide said.

Following the tour guides, we continued our stroll as they took us to a spot where butterflies could be seen. Others were already taking photos of the butterflies that were in sight, while others were too preoccupied admiring them, and Lauren was preoccupied with her own thoughts.

When she begins walking toward May (the tour guide) and then says something to her, I stare at her in silence. I jogged towards her to hear their conversation better, "Do you know my sister?" as she pulls out her phone from her back pocket, showing a picture of Elise on her cellphone.

May's eyes widened in surprise and a wide smile emerged on her lips. When she placed a hand on Lauren's shoulder, her eyes softened.

"Cora and Jack Sanders," May mentions. "You look just like your mom."

I look at Lauren, who is stunned as she struggles to choke back tears after hearing her parents' names spoken by some stranger.

"Elijah," May calls the other tour guide. Elijah jogs his way toward us as May continues to speak, "Continue the rest of the tour. I'll call in Beck to take over."

Elijah nods and returns to the visitors, who were continuously snapping photos. Before asking us to follow her, May made a quick phone call.

Lauren was fidgeting her fingers when I came up beside her. I took her hand in mine and squeezed it. It's what my mother does to calm me down anytime she notices how stressed or agitated I am. It was her touch that helped me relax.

Lauren looks up from her hand to look at me, and I watch a smile appear on her face.

"I knew Jack Sanders back in college," May says as she looks back at us, smiling. She continues to say, "I remember he contacted me, wanting to propose here to your mom."

"But uh—" Lauren interjects, "You do know Elise, right? My sister."

May stops walking and turns around to face us.

"I knew your sister very well," She says, "She would always go here every November just to watch those butterflies."

"Well," Lauren says, "Did she ever give you anything? Like a note or something?"

May looks at me for a few seconds, then looks back at Lauren, nodding her head.

"She gave it to me almost three years ago. She said that whoever asks for it shall receive it," May says as she turns around and starts walking again. She leads us somewhere a bit far from where the visitors were and where the entrance was also far off.

"This is where your dad proposed to your mom," May says as she looks back at Lauren.

Lauren's eyes welled up with tears as she strained her gaze towards the tallest tree, which was home to a few butterflies. May reaches into her pocket for something—her wallet, then reaches for Lauren's hands to open them and hand her the piece of paper she was looking for.

"I hope you find meaning to all of this," was the last thing May said before Lauren finally receives the note in her hands.