Page 20 of Easy Reunion
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Angeland I wander through Jackson Square. Along the way, we laughingly sit for a caricature of the two of us to hang in her daughter’s nursery. I’m gasping for breath when the artist cleverly transforms our likeness into Minnie Mouse and Daisy Duck, respectively. Pursing my lips, I try to squeak in a high pitch, “Well, I never!”
Angel almost knocks over the artist’s easel as she pays him. Tears are falling down her cheeks. “Just don’t start singing the song that never ends,” she warns me.
Narrowing my eyes at her, I curse. “Great, now that’s stuck in my head.”
Linking her arm through mine, she says, “Then let’s distract it with some sugar.”
Thanking the artists, we continue past talented street performers juggling more items than I can hold let alone toss. Musicians render the air with the blues, everything from the sweet and sad to the haunting and seductive. Finally, we make our way around the square and cross the street to the ever busy Cafe Du Monde.
“Do you want me to wait in line while you get a table?” I suggest, but Angel shakes her head.
“Nope. I figure you can use the time to tell me why you chained yourself in your room for three days.” The woman waiting in line in front of us turns around, startled. Angel winks. “It’s not what you think.”
I decide to mess with her. “Maybe it is. You keep telling people you don’t like chaining me up, but we both know that’s a lie.”
“You know there are bars for that kind of stuff here in the Quarter if you were into that,” Angel snickers.
The pretty brunette smirks. “I can tell y’all get into the right kind of games for women to play.”
I tilt my head. “Really? What kind of games are those?”
“Your shirt. Totally gives your secrets away. I love it.” Her smirk turns to a beautiful smile that lightens her deep blue eyes that, unfortunately, remind me of a pair I stared into in great depth just a couple of days ago. Shaking my head in bemusement, I wonder if all blue eyes from now on will remind me of Rierson’s. Trembling a bit, I smile back.
“All women should.” I’m wearing a T-shirt that declares I’ll work for shoes and wine over a pair of Bermuda shorts with matching espadrilles.
“If you like shoes, you should drop by this amazing store on Royal,” the woman mentions casually.
“See, you can’t get away from temptation anywhere,” Angel teases.
I shake my head vehemently. “No. Just no. I told her”—I stick my thumb out at my laughing best friend—“I need to buy a home. I seriously debated a beachfront getaway in Rhode Island due to its proximity to a shoe store. I’m not picking my forever home because of another,” I declare triumphantly.
A weird look flashes across the woman’s face. “Beachfront? Due to shoes?”
“You’d have to know me to get it. I’m obsessed with them.” And have been since I dropped two shoe sizes with my weight loss.
“This store causes obsessions,” the woman assures me. Even as the line surges forward, I remain in place, gaping at the petite brunette with dawning horror.
“Nooo,” I whine pathetically. I glare at Angel accusingly, who’s trying to look innocent. “You! You lured me to move here knowing I’d fall prey to the demons inside of me. I’m trying to behave, damn you.”
We’ve made our way to the counter. The woman quickly places her order and steps aside, shoulders shaking. Angel and I order two large ice coffees and an order of beignets. “You two are a stitch. But if I don’t get this order to the guy who asked for it, he’ll be ready to kill his coworkers with his bare hands. If you’ll excuse me.” She turns to accept a to-go order handed to her. Before she leaves, a devilish smile crosses her lips. “But seriously, you really should go visit Head Over Heels. Charly owns the place. She could hook you up.” With a laugh at the groan that erupts from my chest, she waves, then begins edging toward the fringes of the crowd.
After Angel and I get our food and find a table, I take a long drink of my chicory coffee, lightened only with a splash of milk. There’s a smile flirting around my mouth. Now, I have it all: Angel, my future niece to love, a city filled with a hugely creative vibe, and shoes. Who could ask for anything more?
“Listen, it’s not like you can’t afford to indulge yourself,” Angel protests with a smile.
Putting my cup back down on the white-topped table, I lean in to take a nibble of the flaky square donut heaped in powdered sugar. “So delicious,” I moan. Which is why I’ll only allow myself half, I think determinedly.
I’ll never go back to being that beast of a girl, but I can go forward to being more.
“I’ve been thinking,” I say slowly. “Once I’m a little more settled, maybe it’s time to stop being so…closed off like I was when I lived in Connecticut. I mean, I lived there for years, and I never felt like I got to know anyone who lived there.”
“True, but maybe that’s because you have family there? Maybe you didn’t have to make an effort?”
Taking another sip of the delicious coffee, I think about my Mom’s cousin Ava and the coffee shop she and her husband own in Collyer. How many days did I curl up in the back corner booth going unnoticed, writing away while Ava spun around serving the patrons? “Maybe,” I answer, doubtfully. “I think that there’s something I’m missing, someone I could help. I write books about being bullied. But I wandered through life in Connecticut, and I feel like I shouldn’t here. I feel like there’s something I can do—help more.” I’m frustrated. I can’t put into words what I want to say. “Maybe I can do something at Le Cadeau,” I say, naming the center where Angel volunteers. With a whisper, I add, “Maybe someone out there is waiting for someone like me, but I’m too closed off for them to reach out to?”
Angel jerks back in surprise, spilling heaps of sugar down the front of her purple tee. “Whoa, Kels. What makes you think you’re closed off? You talk with your fans all the time online, right?” At my emphatic nod, she adds on hurriedly, “Not that I don’t think it’s wonderful. I have some ideas we can talk about when you’re ready.”
