Page 24 of February

“They asked you if you liked New Orleans, not your hotel. You haven’t even been to New Orleans yet.”

“I’m sitting in New Orleans right now.”

“Yeah, at your firstrealrestaurant,” Bridgette replied. “You’ve got some fancy hotel room and your own private garden or something, but that’s not New Orleans. That’s rich-business-travel New Orleans.”

“Well, I’ve only been here for a day, so maybe give me a little time.”

“You’re going back to your hotel tonight and probably every night you’re in town,” Bridgette rebuffed and took a drink.

“Bridgette, enough,” Margery told her. “We’re having dinner.”

“Yeah, Bridgette, we’re having dinner,” Monica teased.

That earned her another lifted eyebrow, but this one wasn’t from annoyance. It felt like it was surprise mixed with a littlerespect.Wasit respect? Monica wasn’t sure, but before she could keep staring to find out, Bridgette dropped it, and the waiter arrived to take their order.

“You’re not a vegetarian, are you?” Bridgette asked.

“No. Why?”

“Because this is a barbeque place.” Bridgette turned to the waiter just as her mother finished ordering. “Can I get the three-meat plate with pulled pork, chicken, and brisket?”

“Sauce on the side or on?” the waiter asked.

“On is fine. Spicy, please.”

Monica hadn’t even looked at the menu yet. She didn’t know what to order, but the waiter was now staring at her expectantly.

“Same is fine.”

“Um… You might want to rethink that,” Bridgette said.

“What? Why?”

“I ordered their spiciest sauce.”

“So? I can do spicy.”

“Not in the South, you can’t. Get their sweet sauce on the side, and thank me later.”

Monica looked at this woman defiantly and then up at the waiter and said, “I’ll have the same.”

Bridgette chuckled and said, “Suit yourself.”

For fifteen minutes, they talked about the business, with Bridgette being mostly silent. When their food arrived, it was on plastic plates, and each meat was separated. It was served with collard greens and cornbread. It looked delicious, so Monica dove in and instantly regretted it. Bridgette had been prepared for this, apparently, because she’d been watching her and was now laughing.

“Bridgette, be quiet,” her mother said.

“That’s…” Monica couldn’t finish.

She reached for her tea, took a drink, and was instantly met with an intense amount of sugar, which really didn’t help, so shepicked up a piece of cornbread and took a bite, hoping the bread would help.

“I wouldn’t,” Bridgette said, squinting her face. “That’s jalapeño cornbread.”

Monica’s eyes went wide.

“I’ll ask them for a milk for you,” Bridgette added with a satisfied grin on her face.

CHAPTER 7

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