Chapter 7

New Orleans is great, better than I ever imagined. I made two friends almost instantly, Helen and Ria. We’re all new to this vibrant city of art and noise and life. The streets hum louder during tourist season, and I get swept up in the rhythm of it, laughing, dating, breaking up, laughing again. Time slides by like honey. Before I know it, three years blur past like a dream.

I finish my studies. Land a job teaching at one of the local high schools. I’m dating again. Life moves forward, fast and full.

Over the years, Elena and I keep in touch. Sometimes I call. Sometimes she does. Our conversations stretch for hours, warm and winding, like we’re still in the same room.

But I don’t make it in time for William’s birth.

I have something to wrap up, just a quick thing, I tell myself. It ends up taking too long. By the time I’m free, it’s too late. Elena is furious. She doesn’t answer my calls for weeks. When she finally does, her voice is clipped, angry.

“You should’ve been here,” she said. “Come home.”

But I can’t.

Even with all the time that’s passed, I still don’t want to go back. New Orleans feels like home in a way nothing else ever has. It’s mine, loud, wild, bursting at the seams. I want to keep building my life here, even if Elena doesn’t understand it. Even if it hurts her.

We fight. We make up. The cycle plays out through the phone lines. Elena swears she’ll come see me, see what’s got such a hold on me, but she never does.

And now it’s today.

I’m digging through my closet, looking for something, something that’ll make Joshua, my boyfriend of two months, stop mid-sentence and stare. Maybe even swallow hard. Tonight’s the date night I’ve been promising but constantly dodging. No more excuses.

My laptop’s propped on the bed, camera angled to give Elena a full view of my neatly arranged wardrobe. She’s on FaceTime, multitasking as usual.

“So I thought I’d go with this?” I hold up a black slip dress that hugs every curve I have—Latina hips, thick thighs, full chest. I don’t love baring my arms, though, so I’ll need to find a jacket to go over it.

“Looks great,” she says, barely glancing up. She’s feeding William off-camera, her focus divided.

I’ve only seen my nephew in photos. Elena says if I want to meet him, I need to get on a plane. Simple as that.

But it’s not simple. It never is.

“You’re not even looking,” I say, exasperated, holding the dress higher.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Elena replies, voice syrupy sweet. “I just have to feed the little apple of my eye. Aren’t you, baby? Aren’t you mama’s little Blondie?”

“Isn’t he too old for baby talk?”

Her eyes flick to me, that old testy glint in them, like she’s already bracing for a fight.

“If you needed to feed him, why’d you call me?”

“Can’t I call you and feed him at the same time, Ray?”

I sigh, loud and annoyed. “Well, I needed your help with this.”

“What’s the big deal? You can dress however you want, Ray. It doesn’t even matter.”

When I don’t answer right away, she finally gives me more than a distracted glance. “Look, I’m just saying, okay? It sounds like you don’t even like the guy.”

“Oh, is that what it sounds like from the grand total of two minutes of attention you’ve given me when I talk about him?”

She rolls her eyes like I’m being dramatic again and she’s over it. “I listen. And I know what you’re like when you really like someone.”   She doesn’t. But she shrugs like she’s just delivered truth. “Plus, he looks like a horse, so…”

I exhale sharply, any leftover excitement bleeding out of me. “I’m serious about him, Elena.”

This time she turns, really looks at me. Her expression softens. Marriage has been kind to her—her face glows, her skin golden and clear. Giving birth didn’t touch her good looks; if anything, she looks more radiant now, like motherhood cast her in a perpetual warm light.

“You always look good, Ray,” she says, smiling. “I should know—we look exactly alike. And if he’s the right guy, he won’t care what you wear. He’ll just be happy to see you. Like Noah—he lights up every time he sees me.” Her smile stretches, full of contentment. “When it’s like that, you just know. But if you’re constantly second-guessing yourself…” She shrugs. “Maybe it’s not right.”

She’s right. I hate that she’s right.

The usual pang I used to feel whenever she mentioned Noah doesn’t sting anymore. That buried irritation, the kind that used to catch in my throat like a splinter, it’s dulled now. I don’t flinch. I don’t burn. I guess I’ve really moved on.

“Speaking of Noah,” I say, tone casual, “how’s he been?”

“Since yesterday?” She lets out a tired kind of breath, the kind that slips out when you’ve made peace with something, even if you don’t like it. “Busy, as usual. I still don’t know why he became a doctor. He could’ve done anything else, but no. He’s always out of the house before William even wakes up. I don’t think he remembers what Daddy looks like anymore.”

She turns to William, out of frame. “Do you remember what Daddy looks like?” A pause. Then she coos, “Oh, you do? That’s my boy.”

She hugs him close, and I catch the edge of a golden curl at the corner of the screen. William’s hair is the color of sunlight, curly, soft, and unmistakably not from either of them. Elena once told me our mom said it might darken with time, maybe settle into Noah’s tawny waves. Maybe not.

“I’m sure it’s just the season,” I say. It’s a small town—how many sick people could there be?

“Thanks,” Elena murmurs, adjusting William on her hip, his head drooping on her shoulder like he’s made of sleep. “Just pick a dress. I still think that one looks good, but won’t you be uncomfortable with your arms out?”

Something loosens in my chest. I smile. “Yeah, I’ll just throw on a jacket or something.”

“I’m glad you let your hair grow long again,” she says, eyes softening as she glances toward the screen. “Leave it down. Let it fall down your shoulders.”

I turn to the mirror propped across from the bed and catch a glimpse of myself. Long hair, dark brown, thick, and straight, an almost perfect copy of hers. We look like twins again. Except she curls hers these days, adding bounce and volume, and I tend to twist mine into a neat bun. Tonight, I’ll wear it loose.

“Okay,” I say, voice quieter. “Wish me luck.”

That’s when the door behind her swings open, and I hear a familiar squeal, her soft, excited kind of sound. Noah’s back. Probably exhausted, coming straight from a long shift.

“I’ll let you go,” I start to say, but Elena’s already on her feet, hugging him with one arm.

She tosses her voice over her shoulder. “Wait a minute—talk to Noah.”

But I’ve already tapped the red button. The screen goes dark.

Noah and I patched things up—superficially—before the year ended, three years ago now. One long FaceTime call, skimming over everything but the thing that mattered. We talked about anything and everything except the reason we fell apart in the first place.

It still stuns me, how calmly I let thirteen years of friendship slip through my fingers. All over one moment, one rejection. But something cracked open that day, and even though we tried, we never found our way back. We talk, sometimes. But it’s never real. The awkwardness clings like fog. And honestly? I’m tired of wading through it.

Now, makeup done, dress hugging every curve and clinging to my ass like I usually avoid, I stand in front of the mirror again.

Joshua is a good man. Kind. Funny. And most importantly—he likes me. A lot. The problem?

The problem is I don’t feel anything for him. Not really. Not yet. Most of my past relationships ended for this very reason. That stubborn absence of spark, of excitement, of… something. But with Joshua, I’m willing to try. He makes me want to try. Maybe that’s rare enough to hold onto.

Helen says the spark isn’t always immediate. Sometimes it takes time, effort. A few tries to light the match. So tonight, I’m striking it.

I glance at the clock. She’s running late today. Usually, she’s home by five or six, but now it’s already eight.  

I grab my purse and step out of our shared apartment. Josh hasn’t called yet, but getting downstairs takes ages, the lift is broken, and I have to take the stairs.  

Passing through the lobby, I greet the security guard with a smile. My attention flickers toward the corner where the elevator sits, and I freeze, right in the middle of the hall.  

Helen.  

And Josh.  

I recognize that tired suit, the same one Josh always wears. He’s been here this whole time and didn’t call me first?