Page 12 of February (New Orleans #2)

M onica had woken up early, and because she’d been so distracted by the thoughts of Bridgette sitting alone in the grass by the river, she’d forgotten to pre-order her breakfast from room service. They’d probably still make her food and send it up, but something about what Bridgette had said the night before kept entering her mind. This city was alive. The more time she spent in it, the more she realized the truth of that statement. After the car had dropped her off at her hotel, she’d not just gone inside; she’d walked around the Central Business District for about an hour, not getting too far from her hotel for safety. There were people still milling about, but not as many as had been in the Square or the Quarter, so the city felt quiet.

Oddly enough, though, despite there being cars on the road, there was no loud honking. No cabbies were yelling out their rolled-down windows for people to learn how to drive or walk faster. People here seemed to move at a slower pace, which made Monica walk slower as well. She’d left her phone on silent for her dinner with Sophie because she hadn’t seen her in years and hadn’t wanted to be rude, and she’d kept it on silent through her chat with Bridgette and on her walk. It wasn’t until she got back to her hotel room and took her long bath that she even realized she hadn’t heard her notifications going off every thirty seconds in a long time.

“This place just does something to you,” she’d said to herself.

Not wanting to go the whole day without at least eating something, Monica thought about having her regular coffee again but recalled Bridgette’s words about eating local and decided to go to the café where they’d grabbed coffee the previous day. She’d noticed they served breakfast and a light lunch, so she walked out of her hotel and headed that way. She wore the same pair of jeans as the night before, along with a green silk shirt, but this time, she also had her jacket with her in case it got chilly or rained. When Monica walked into the café, she quickly looked behind the counter for the flirty barista, wanting to avoid her.

“She’s not here. She works second shift.”

Monica looked down at a table to her right, where she saw the owner of the voice.

“Oh, hey.”

“Hi,” Bridgette said.

“What are you doing here?”

“Having breakfast. Or, I will be.” Bridgette held up a mug of coffee. “You?”

“I thought you didn’t come here often because of–”

“Not for lunch,” Bridgette clarified. “I’m here at least once a week for breakfast if I can swing it. Today, they have strawberry and coconut French toast. It’s my favorite.”

“That sounds bad for you.”

“It is, but I’ll walk it off,” Bridgette replied. “And I said strawberry and coconut. Fruit.” She held out her hands as if that should explain it.

“Right.” Monica laughed. “I just came in for some coffee.” She lied. “I liked it yesterday. Thought I’d get it again.”

Bridgette looked down at her table as if she were considering something.

“Do you want to join me? I just ordered. If you want something to eat, we could…”

“Eat together?” Monica finished.

“Yeah.”

Monica thought about it for a minute herself before she nodded and sat down in the chair across from Bridgette, placing her bag in the third chair at the table.

“You’ve got to stop bringing that thing everywhere,” Bridgette said with a chuckle.

“It has my laptop in it.”

“I guess for work, it makes sense.”

“I’m only here for work,” Monica replied.

“Right,” Bridgette said, repeating Monica’s word from earlier.

“What can I get you?” the waitress, wearing a burgundy half-apron, asked when she approached their table.

“Soy caramel latte,” Monica said. “And the French toast special that she’s having.” She pointed at Bridgette.

“I’ll be right back with your coffee,” the waitress replied.

“So, how was your night after I left you at the water?”

“I just went home and sketched,” Bridgette said. “You?”

“Walked around a little.”

“Really? Where?”

“Just around my hotel. It was dark, so I didn’t want to go too far, but I felt like I needed to be outdoors for some reason.”

“I would’ve walked with you,” Bridgette said before she lifted her mug to her lips as if to cover her reaction, which seemed surprised that she’d said that out loud.

“I didn’t plan it. I caught up on work after, but it was strange: I just didn’t want to go into my room yet. I knew it would feel claustrophobic.”

“Your presidential suite at the Four Seasons felt claustrophobic? How big is your apartment in New York?”

Monica smiled but didn’t answer the question.

“I never really want to be outdoors in New York. It was odd, so I just went with it.”

“Why? Not a lot of grass there, right?”

“You’ve never been?”

“No.” Bridgette shook her head.

“Oh, you have to go,” Monica said as she leaned forward.

“Because of all the nice things you say about it?” Bridgette replied sarcastically.

“It’s a beautiful city. I just don’t get to enjoy it.”

“Seems hectic. I like it down here better.”

“It is.” Monica sighed. “Busy and never stops.”

“You sound like you’re not really a fan of that,” Bridgette noted.

“It has its benefits, but it has drawbacks, too.”

“Like?”

“Well, for some people, there’s never enough.”

“Some people? I assume you have someone in mind?”

“Soy caramel latte,” the waitress said, placing Monica’s mug down in front of her.

“Thank you,” she replied, giving her a smile before she returned her gaze to Bridgette and added, “My ex. There’s never enough work, power, money, young women.”

“I sense a story there,” Bridgette said as she leaned in conspiratorially. “Did he… cheat?”

“She,” Monica corrected. “And yes, but I actually didn’t know that when I filed for divorce.”

“She?” Bridgette sat back abruptly.

“Yeah, she. My ex-wife, Lily. She essentially left me for a woman who’s younger than me, and Lily’s ten years older than me.”

“She?” Bridgette repeated.

Monica laughed and said, “Yes. I thought you knew.”

“How would I know?”

“I told you a woman bought me a drink and asked for my number.”

“Yeah, and you acted like that was the worst thing in the world. I had to get you out of there,” Bridgette reminded.

“Oh,” Monica said in realization. “You thought I had a problem with her being a woman?”

“Yes, Monica.”

“No, I just wasn’t interested,” she explained. “You’ve thought I was straight this whole time?”

“Obviously. Why would I think you weren’t?”

“I don’t know. Maybe your gaydar is broken,” Monica replied.

“My gaydar is fine. It’s just a little wonky on femmes.”

“What makes you think I’m a femme?”

“See designer bag, designer heels, designer–”

“Business suits?”

“Yes.”

“Ever see me wear a skirt instead of pants?”

“No, but–”

“I wear business suits to the office because I have to. I do like them, but I wouldn’t choose them, I don’t think, if I could.”

“You don’t think ?”

“I’m still in my post-divorce self-discovery mode,” she admitted. “I like heels every now and then, but I wore flats out the other night. And yes, I have a designer bag, but that’s because I like nice things and I need to fit in at work. Call me pretentious, if you want, but I’m wearing ChapStick, not lipstick, and I don’t have mascara on or eyeliner, either.”

“As if those are the defining elements of a femme.” Bridgette laughed.

“True. I suppose I’m somewhere in the middle; probably a little like you,” Monica said.

Bridgette nodded but didn’t say anything, and suddenly, they both had French toast in front of them.

“This looks amazing,” Monica noted as she looked up at Bridgette, thinking the same applied to her.

“Tastes even better,” Bridgette replied.

Monica cleared her throat and looked down just as her phone rang in her bag.

“Sorry. Let me just see who it is.”

“No problem,” Bridgette replied as she dove into her breakfast.

Monica pulled out her phone and saw that it was Aaron calling.

“It’s my son. Let me just see what he wants,” she said.

“You have a son?”

Monica winked at her and put the phone to her ear.

“Aaron?”

“Hey, Mom. Lillian is hell-bent on this Columbia thing. Can you please talk to her for me?”

“Don’t call your mother by her name, Aaron.”

“Fine. Mom doesn’t want me to visit Tulane or LSU, but I want to go this weekend.”

“This weekend?”

“Yeah, they’re doing a whole thing for prospects this weekend, and I was going to go. I wanted to spend a day at Tulane and one at LSU.”

“I didn’t know that. I’m here right now.”

“Where?”

“In New Orleans.”

“You’re in New Orleans?”

“Yes, for work. It was a last-minute thing, and I haven’t talked to you in a couple of weeks.”

“Mom, that’s so cool. Maybe she’ll let me go if you’re there.”

‘Oh, I doubt that,’ Monica thought to herself.

“She doesn’t want me to go alone but can’t get away from work. I’m eighteen. I’ll be on my own in, like, six months.”

“I might regret this, but does she have any reason other than she wants you to go to Columbia?”

“No.”

“Okay. I’ll have my assistant book you a flight and a hotel room, but you’re staying in the Four Seasons with me, and we’ll do a day trip to LSU. Is that good?”

“That would be awesome,” he said, sounding excited. “I want Tulane more, anyway, like Grandpa.”

Monica loved that Aaron still called her Mom and her dad Grandpa. She was technically his stepmother, but she’d been with Lily for a decade and had watched him grow. She’d taken care of him, went to his soccer and baseball games, even when Lily couldn’t, and she’d wanted to help him with college, but Lily had been insistent that he was going to Columbia, so she’d stayed out of it.

“I’ll have something booked and sent to you, but you have to tell your mom about this. Tell her she can call me to talk it through if she needs to.”

“Thanks, Mom,” he replied.

They said their goodbyes, and Monica returned her attention to Bridgette, who was drinking her coffee and pretending she didn’t overhear the conversation.

“That’s Aaron.”

“Your son? How old is he?”

“He’s eighteen,” Monica replied before she picked up her knife and fork.

“College choices? I heard Tulane and LSU.”

“Yes. His other mother wants him to stay in New York. She went to Columbia, so she wants him to go to Columbia. His other mother doesn’t really care where he goes, but she hasn’t been a big part of his life since their divorce. Lily had primary custody when we got married.”

“Sorry; how many mothers does he have, exactly?”

“Oh.” Monica laughed. “He’s technically my stepson. Lily was married before me. They had Aaron together.”

“Ah,” Bridgette said. “So, you two never had kids? Not that Aaron isn’t your kid; just that–”

“I honestly never saw myself as a mother. If Lily didn’t have Aaron already, we wouldn’t have had kids together. So, no. I love Aaron like he’s my own, though.”

“You sound close.”

“We are. Sometimes, I think Lily had Aaron with her ex because she wanted something else to brag about, not because she really wanted a kid. Aaron had nannies until he was ten. I finally had to convince her to let them go, and I stepped in when I could so that he felt like he had a parent. She wants him to go to Columbia and then Harvard Law, like she did, but at least right now, Aaron doesn’t want to be a lawyer.”

“You sound like you might be his only hope,” Bridgette noted.

Monica chuckled and said, “I just want him to be happy. If it was Columbia that he wanted, I’d want him to have that, but he’s been insistent that he wants Tulane or LSU. My dad met your grandfather at Tulane, and Aaron is close with my father.”

“Why LSU?”

“My mom went to LSU.”

“So, they were rivals?” Bridgette smiled.

Monica laughed and replied, “I guess so.”

“I went to Tulane, you know?”

“I remember,” Monica said before she took her first bite. “This is heaven.”

“I told you,” Bridgette said, pointing her fork at Monica’s plate. “Amazing, right?”

“Can we come here tomorrow, too?”

Bridgette laughed and said, “It won’t be the special tomorrow.”

“I can ask them to make it, though, right? I’ll pay them more. Hell, I’ll bring my own strawberries.” She took another bite while Bridgette continued laughing.

“I can help if you want.”

“Help with the strawberries?”

“No, I can help with Tulane. If you need a tour guide.”

“Oh,” she let out. “I assume they’d have those there. He said it’s a prospective student weekend.”

“Never mind, then,” Bridgette said.

Monica watched the woman’s facial expression change from happy to disappointed, which made her smile.

“But I’m sure he’d love to have an insider’s look at the place.”

“Tour guides are insiders.”

“Yes, but they’re paid to say all the good things about the school. You wouldn’t be.”

“Paid? We hadn’t negotiated my fee yet.” Bridgette gave her a wink.

“You’d tell him the truth, right?”

“Of course,” Bridgette said.

“I want him to make the right decision for himself.”

“Even if it means he’d be down here, and you’d be in New York?” Bridgette asked.

“Even if it means that. If he ends up at Tulane, we’d be down here all the time, visiting.”

“You and your ex-wife?”

“No, me and my dad. He loves Tulane. He gives them a lot of money, and Aaron applying is one of those forgone conclusions. He has the grades and the extracurriculars and test scores. He’d get in.”

“Ah, rich people connections,” Bridgette said.

“He would have earned it on his own,” Monica replied. “My dad would just make a call to make sure his application got an extra look.”

“I wish my grandpa would’ve donated to Tulane so that I didn’t have to worry like crazy when I applied.”

“No, you don’t,” Monica said. “You like that you got in all on your own.”

“How do you know that ?”

“Call it a hunch,” she replied with a shrug.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Bridgette teased and gave her a smile. “Just tell me when and where, and I’ll show him around campus.”

“Thank you,” Monica said. “This really means a lot.”

“In return…”

“Oh, here it comes.” Monica laughed.

“Can you just… take care of them?”

“Them?”

“My parents. I don’t care about me. I’ll find something else. I have some savings, and if I have to, I can give tours with Mel and Jill until I find something more permanent. They make decent money, and if tourists like you show up once a month, they make really good tips, too. I’ll be fine. I’m young. I can always go back to school if I want. I have options. They really don’t. I just want to make sure they can retire young if they want or that they can at least pay the mortgage while they figure out their next step.”

Monica stared at the sincerity in Bridgette’s eyes and nodded. It was all she could do because if she said something out loud, she might tell Bridgette how funny and amazing and caring she was, and she didn’t think that would be appropriate.

“So, another coffee?” Bridgette asked, changing the subject.

“We have to get to the office.”

“Things move slower down here, and nine really means nine-fifteen or nine-thirty, depending on who you talk to.”

“If it depends, how will I ever know when to show up?”

“Just show up whenever you show up. That’s kind of the point.”

“That’s going to take some adjusting to,” Monica said.

“Then, let’s practice right now. Another coffee.”

Monica just smiled at her and took another bite of her French toast.