I was craving color and life.
There was only one place on my short list of possibilities that offered all of that and more: New Orleans.
When I was in the McDonald’s parking lot, I pulled up my Airbnb app I’m always searching through, dreaming of places to go. It didn’t take me long to find a room for rent just a few blocks from the French Quarter. With it being the end of July, I knew my chances of finding something was a crap shoot, because it’s summertime and that means family vacations and the peak of tourism. When I saw a room available for less than forty dollars a night, I jumped on it. It’s only available for the next two weeks, so I’ll have to find something else eventually, but it’ll work for now.
Hopefully, within a couple weeks, I’ll be able to find a job and begin figuring out what I want to do—what makes me happy. The money I had stashed, plus the additional thousand I was able to pull out of the bank at the ATM before I left the city, will get me by until then.
I know Brant. He’ll track where I withdraw money.
When he wakes up and realizes I’m gone, he’ll be furious.
When he finds out I didn’t go home, he’ll be livid, but also relieved. Relieved, because he’ll be glad everyone else doesn’t know I left. Furiously angry, because he won’t know where I am.
That won’t have anything to do with his concern over my well-being, but everything to do with his need to control me. Plus, he’ll see my leaving as a failure, as he should, because if there’s one thing in life Brant Wilson isn’t good at, it’s loving me.
He made the biggest mistake of his life by taking his frustrations out on me.
I’m never going back.
A couple hours later, I’m exiting off of I-10 and onto Rampart Street. After a U-turn and another turn down a side street, the typical city view turns unique as I get closer to the French Quarter.
My heart stops at its first glimpse of the bright colors and old-world exteriors. And then it starts anew, beating stronger and truer than it has in a long time.
Chapter 1
Avery
I’ve been in New Orleans for about forty-eight hours and I’m already in love.
The jazz music.
The food.
The people.
So many people. Interesting people. Street performers galore—singers, musicians, wannabe singers, and wannabe musicians, mimes, one-trick ponies. Palm readers, Fortune tellers. Voodoo priestesses.
Now, that one, I seriously considered. The thought of putting some sort of voodoo spell on Brant pleases me greatly.
On my first day, I checked in and crashed on the soft bed in the airy, bright-colored bedroom. Exhaustion didn’t allow me to think much, thankfully, because when I woke up yesterday morning, the heaviness of everything hit me hard.
The adrenaline rush was gone.
The fight-or-flight mode had been neutralized with the warm breeze off the Mississippi. I was left with the bruised face and memories of Brant’s words and heavy hand. It left a mark that’s more than skin deep. Now that my fury has subsided, the pain and insecurities have surfaced.
It hit me, like really hit me.
He hit me.
And he didn’t apologize. Not that it would have mattered. The damage was done, but if he cared, at all, he wouldn’t have left me on the floor alone. He would’ve reached out.
My phone hasn’t rung since I’ve been here.
I called my mama once I was in my room and told her where I was, much to her distress and disapproval, and I promised to call her again tonight. She wants to know what happened. She said when Brant called the house yesterday morning he sounded nervous. “It’s not like him, Avery. What happened between you two? You used to be so good together.”
Not anymore, Mama. Not anymore.
She promised she didn’t tell him where I was and for that I’m grateful, but I know it’s only a matter of time before word gets around. Mine and Brant’s families frequent the same places. My mama and his mama are good friends. They’ll eventually talk.
When I woke up this morning, I set out for beignets and café au lait. Café Du Monde was calling my name, so I walked there. I had seen it on Instagram, but other people’s photos never do anything justice.
The room I’m renting is in Marigny, which is only about a fifteen-minute walk to Jackson Square. It’s a great walk. Everything about this city draws me in and makes me breathe better—freer, lighter.
After breakfast, I made my way around the square and poked my head into a few places, asking if anyone was hiring, but came up empty handed. One shop said they might be looking for someone to work weekends. If I’m staying here for a while, I’ll need more than fifteen or twenty hours a week, so I told her thank you and continued my search.
Bourbon was intimidating. Even in broad daylight, it’s full of people from every walk of life. There are suits and sororities, people of all color and levels of nudity—lots of boobs and butts—and everything in between. A couple of the bars had help wanted signs, but I kept walking, deciding Bourbon would be my last resort.
Actually, I think I passed a bar named that.
Now, I’m approaching Canal Street and when I get there, I stop to take it all in. The passing streetcars, the palm trees, the restaurants—everything is giving me life. Standing on the corner, people brushing by, cars driving in haste, yet everything still feeling slow and easy, I take a deep breath and close my eyes.
This.
I needed this.
Maybe I’ve always needed this.
The sensory overload is helpful in pushing what happened with Brant and the state of our relationship over the past year to the back of my brain. I don’t have to think about his hateful words or angry stares. I don’t have to remember the way I can still feel the back of his hand making contact with my cheek, rattling my brain. I also don’t have to think about the way my soul shrank each time he belittled me or made me feel unimportant or a burden.
Here, in New Orleans, I feel like I can reinvent myself, be the Avery Cole I’ve always dreamed of being. The Avery I’ve always felt inside. The one who came out with crazy hair colors and out-of-the-box clothing choices. Here, I’m just one of the thousands of unique people.
“Excuse me,” a lady mumbles, bumping my shoulder and pulling me out of my thoughts. It’s then I realize I’ve been standing on the corner through the light, but that’s okay. I don’t have any hard and fast plans. Sure, I need a job, but that can wait a day.
“Excuse me,” I say back to the lady who pressed past me to get closer to the street. She turns a small smile on her lips. “How do I get on one of those?” I ask, pointing at the cheerful, red streetcar coming our way.
“Where you wanna go?” she asks, keeping one eye on the light and one on me, shifting her head as she watches and waits.
I shrug, taking another deep breath, looking one way and then the next. “Anywhere, everywhere.” I can’t help the light chuckle that escapes. I just want to absorb my new surroundings, become one with the rich, vibrant city.
“Just hop on over there.” She points across the street. “It’s a buck twenty-five. You’ll need exact change. This one takes you up and down Canal.” She glances at me, motioning for me to follow her across the street. “The St. Charles line takes you down into the Garden District. I recommend that. Pretty parks and gorgeous houses.” She smiles over her shoulder as she walks quickly in the opposite way. “Bonus: they’re air conditioned.”