Page 29 of Love You Madly

By the time we reach New Orleans, the sun is setting, painting the sky with brilliant hues of orange and pink. The French Quarter is alive with music and laughter, its ironwork balconies and vibrant colors a feast for the eyes. The aroma of Cajun spices fills the air, mingling with the sound of jazz spilling out from nearby bars.

This city has a heartbeat all its own, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I might just find mine again here.

Our dad, Edward, is waiting for us on the porch of his weathered house in the Marigny district, the kind of place that feels like it holds centuries of stories. As we pull up, his broad smile is the first thing we see. He strides toward us with open arms, his laughter ringing out like music, making everything feel lighter, if only for a moment.

“Welcome, my girls!” he exclaims, his eyes gleaming with joy as he pulls us into a bear hug. His warmth is infectious, the kind of embrace that promises everything’s going to be okay, even when it isn’t.

Inside the house, the scent of gumbo bubbling away on the stove fills the air, mixing with the scratchy sounds of Dad’s old vinyl records playing in the background. It's like stepping back in time—before everything got complicated, before the heartache and the mess of adulthood. The weight I’ve been carrying around feels a little lighter, just being here.

Friday morning, we venture into the vibrant streets of the French Quarter. The city hums with life—street performers fill the air with music, and artists sketch passersby with quick strokes of charcoal. The unmistakable scent of beignets from Café du Monde floats through the air, sweet and rich, tempting us at every corner.

Sara’s eyes are wide with wonder, taking in the kaleidoscope of sights and sounds, and I tighten my grip on her tiny hand, feeling that fierce pull of love and protectiveness. This trip isn’t just for me; it’s for her too—a glimpse into a world beyond the walls of our messy, broken home.

At Jackson Square, we weave through artists’ stalls filled with vivid paintings, pausing every so oftento watch horse-drawn carriages clatter by. The city’s pulse beats around us, each moment more alive than the last. Taylor and I take turns snapping pictures of Sara, capturing the pure joy that dances in her eyes. I can feel my own shoulders loosening, the knots of stress untangling bit by bit.

As we wander further through the lively streets, something inside me shifts. The vibrant energy of New Orleans seeps into my bones, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I allow myself to imagine a future that isn’t clouded by the past. Maybe—just maybe—this trip is the start of something new. The beginning of a chapter where freedom and happiness aren’t just fleeting, but possible.

As the night deepens, the vibrant energy of the city slowly fades, replaced by the rhythmic hum of cicadas and the distant murmur of voices winding down for the evening. I sit outside, the warm New Orleans breeze brushing my skin, and reflect on the past few days—the road trip, the laughter, the fleeting sense of freedom I haven’t felt in what seems like a lifetime. It’s a sharp contrast to the suffocating reality I’ve been trapped in with Adam.

Taylor breaks the silence, her voice soft but steady, like she’s anchoring me back to solid ground. “You know, we’ve been through a lot, Callie. But we’ve always had each other. And we always will.”

Her words settle over me like a comforting blanket, and suddenly, the tears I’ve been holding back spill over, hot and uninvited. I nod, my throat tight, struggling to find my voice. “Thank you, Taylor. For everything. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.” Each word feels heavy with thegratitude I’ve been carrying for her. Through every storm, she’s been my constant—my anchor when everything else was slipping away.

She reaches over and gives my hand a firm squeeze, her grip grounding me even more. “You’ll never have to find out. We’re in this together, no matter what.”

For a moment, we sit in that quiet understanding, and then Taylor breaks the silence again, her voice more reflective now. “I was scared too, you know. When I left Nick, I didn’t know if I could make it on my own. But I did. And so will you.”

I turn to her, meeting the fierce determination in her eyes. “It’s just... sometimes it feels impossible to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Especially with everything that’s happened.”

She nods, her expression softening but still resolute. “I get that. But, Callie, you’ve got so much ahead of you. And you deserve to be happy. You deserve more than what you’ve been settling for.”

I inhale deeply, feeling a shift inside, a small flicker of resolve rekindling. “You’re right. It’s time to stop dwelling on the past. It’s time to start thinking about what’s best for me.”

Taylor smiles, her support unwavering. “Absolutely. And no matter what you decide, I’ll be right there, cheering you on.”

We sit together in a peaceful silence, the cool night air wrapping around us like a quiet reminder that things can change, that maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay. I feel lighter, like I can finally breathe, and for the first time in a long while, hope doesn’t feel like such a foreign concept. Whether it’s this city’s magic or the warmth of being with family, I start to believe that things can get better.

Resting back in my chair, I pull out my phone, its familiar weight grounding me again. I start scrolling through socialmedia, watching the endless parade of curated lives and picture-perfect moments, but none of it grabs my attention. Boredom sets in quickly, and my thoughts drift. Maybe I should check FlameFinder, just for a distraction. Anything to pull me away from the tangled mess of my own thoughts.

Taylor, as if reading my mind, glances over with a knowing look, casually leaning back in her chair but not-so-subtly trying to peek at my screen. “Have you checked your messages on the app since you updated your profile?” she asks, her tone both playful and teasing.

I chuckle, rolling my eyes. “Your timing is impeccable. Were your spidey senses tingling or something?”

Taylor grins, her excitement contagious. “Come on,” she nudges. “Check your messages. Let’s see if there’s anything in there that isn’t a disaster pickup line!”

With a deep breath, I open the app and navigate to my inbox. Sure enough, the messages have piled up. Most of them are cringeworthy at best, but as I scroll, one message catches my eye—different from the rest. I pause, intrigued, as a mix of curiosity and hesitation bubbles up inside me. Maybe this isn’t such a bad idea after all.

fourteen

THE BAD TOUCH - BLOODHOUND GANG

OWEN - MAY 24, 2013

Iget home from my disaster of a date with Heather and toss my keys on the counter, frustration coursing through me. Alright, maybe it wasn’t a complete disaster, but it sure wasn’t good either. No spark, no real connection—just a reminder of how complicated dating can be. I shrug off my jacket and slump onto the couch, pulling out my phone, the quiet of the apartment settling around me like a weight.

Out of boredom and curiosity, I decide to scroll through the dating app I had downloaded a while back. At this point, it can’t get any worse, right? Faces blur together as I swipe, not expecting anything interesting—until I see her. Dark hair, striking green eyes, and a username that jumps out at me: ChaosCallie. Something about her stops me mid-swipe. She looks familiar, though I can’t quite place why.

Intrigued, I click on her profile. Her headline makes me chuckle:

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