6
Chloe
Normally, I would have said no to last night.
But in an effort to be more fun—whatever that means—I went out and matched Nessie drink for drink, dance for dance, until we hit our third round. Then I accepted her whining about how we are only twenty-one once, how our time in NOLA is going to pass in the blink of an eye, and every other attempt to get me to continue partying with her. I switched to water, gathered the last of my beads from guys who undressed me with their eyes, and started to make a list of all the places I wanted to go today.
With Bourbon Street checked off the list, I planned to spend most of the day back in the French District:
Jackson Square
St. Louis Cathedral
Frenchmen Street
Shrimp po’boys and jambalaya
Find some beignets on the way back to the hotel
We traveled all thirteen blocks of Bourbon Street last night and learned why it smells so awful after witnessing several people vomit and even more relieving themselves in a shallow corner, not to mention the vast amount of trash strewn across the narrow street.
“Ness,” I say, shaking her. My patience wears thin as I catch sight of the alarm clock, which tells me it’s nearly noon. “Vanessa.” I shake her again.
She groans incoherently.
“Wake up,” I tell her. “We have places to go. Things to eat.”
She grumbles something that sounds like a threat before burying her head under her pillow.
“I’m going without you,” I warn her.
Nessie raises a hand and blindly waves.
I want to tell her she’s going to regret spending the entire day sleeping.—that the pictures of mine she’s going to see later are going to make her wish she’d gotten up and walked around and saw everything New Orleans has to offer—but I know doing so would make me sound like our dad, and after how much she drank last night, a dark and comfortable room is likely exactly where she wants to be today.
I grab my purse, checking to ensure I have my portable charger, wallet, and phone before escaping out to the smaller living room upstairs.
The room has been untouched, which is kind of a shame. It feels like either option is a loss at this point: spend time in this beautiful city I’ve never seen and have dreamed of visiting for years or spend the day in a hotel room that is fancier than anything I could have ever imagined. It’s not an easy decision.
I run my fingers gently over the telescope as I pass the window. The sky’s a bright shade of blue with fluffy white clouds that seem so perfect, they almost look fictional.
Downstairs, the kitchen has a tray of Danishes, muffins, and bagels that make me regret not having come down sooner, but after finding Cooper in a similar state as Vanessa, I spent my morning finalizing my plans for the day and taking a long shower in our en suite that had been designed by gods. The shower has five showerheads and expensive products, all in elegant French script, that smelled better than any hair salon I’ve ever visited.
I take a croissant and practically moan when my first bite exposes rich dark chocolate in the center.
I wipe my crumbs from the counter, grab one of the key cards lying beside the tray of food, and head toward the elevator that will bring me to the lobby.
When the doors open, the perfumed air greets me along with the brightly polished floor. The atrium taunts me, calling for me to discover all that a luxury hotel offers its guests—how the other half lives, as Cooper put it. But, I opt to explore it later tonight when I don’t have the distraction of a full and untouched list on my mind.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Robinson.” Natasha, my inspiration to attempt appearing elegant and put together this morning while I got ready, greets me with a smile. My khaki green shorts with the cute belt now seem simple, and my white tank top with patterned buttons down the front scream their discounted price as she wipes a piece of imaginary lint from her fitted purple blouse with an elegant and sexy neckline that she paired with a killer black pencil skirt. “How was your evening? Did you have a nice time at Taste?”
“It was amazing,” I tell her. “That was the best shrimp I’ve ever tasted.”
She smiles, but it lacks friendliness and sincerity. “Wonderful. I’m so glad to hear that. Can I help you with something? Do you need a car? A reservation? Would you like to visit the spa?” I swear she looks from my hair to my bare nails.
“Thank you, but I’m just going to head out and do some sightseeing.”
She nods. “Perfect.” Maybe it’s a coincidence that she walks me all the way to the front door, but it almost feels like she’s escorting me, like she doesn’t trust me to be in here unattended.
I smile at her before moving through the revolving doors at the front, determined not to let a stranger spoil my day. After all, this is pretty high on describing a perfect day for me: sun, summer, a new city, and a plan.
The air is thick with humidity and feels warmer after the coolness of the hotel, but I welcome it, knowing I’m about to endure ten months in the Pacific Northwest where I’ll be homesick for the humidity and warm summer days.
I pull up the map app on my phone that’s already programmed with my destinations, and follow narrow streets lined with a canopy of oak trees with thickly wavering branches covered in broad, green leaves that shield me from the sun. When I cross the street, large plots are marked with mansions that are set back from the road. Pristine yards with crepe myrtles and their two-toned trunks and millions of blooms, brightly colored bougainvillea, angel trumpets, and hibiscuses are artfully planted among massive magnolia trees with giant waxy leaves that are almost as beautiful as the
