get my very first glimpse of New Orleans from afar: Lake Pontchartrain and eventually the sprawling landscape of cottages and townhouses and bungalows. I’m in awe of it: from the Superdome, which I’ll always be able to recognize after seeing it all over the news during Katrina, to the giant, expansive oak trees that are creepy and beautiful and old, and to the people shuffling along the streets of the French Quarter, though I think most of them are tourists.
And as we drive along, I’m mesmerized by the familiar balconies, which wrap around the entire length of many of the buildings. They look just like they do on TV, except that Mardi Gras isn’t going on and no one’s flashing their boobs or throwing beads from the balconies.
Andrew smiles over at me, seeing how excited I am to be here.
“I love it already,” I say, curling back up next to him after practically pressing my face against the window looking out at everything for the past several minutes.
“It’s a great city.” He beams, proudly; I wonder just how intimate he is with this place.
“I try to come every year,” he says, “usually Mardi Gras, but anytime of the year is good, I think.”
“Oh, so you usually come when there are boobs.” I wink at him.
“Guilty!” he says, moving both hands from the steering wheel and holding them up in surrender.
We get two rooms at the Holiday Inn in walking distance to the famous Bourbon Street. I almost told him to just get a single room with two beds this time, but I stopped myself. No, Camryn, you’re just feeding the desire. Don’t move into a room with him. Stop this while you can.
And for a moment as we stood side by side at the counter when the clerk asked how he could ‘help us’, Andrew paused and I got the strangest feeling from it. But we ended up with side-by-side king rooms, like always.
I head toward mine and he strolls over to his. We look at each other in the hallway with our keycards in our hands.
“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” he says, holding the guitar in one hand, “but whenever you’re ready, just come on over and let me know.”
I nod and we smile at each other before we disappear inside our rooms.
Not five minutes in and I hear my phone buzzing around inside my purse. Pretty sure it’s my mom, I pull it out and am prepared to answer and tell her that I’m still alive and I’m having a good time, but I see that it’s not her.
It’s Natalie.
My hand just freezes around the phone as I stare down at the glowing screen. Should I answer it, or not? Well, I better figure it out quick.
“Hello?”
“Cam?” Natalie says in a careful voice on the other end.
I can’t get any words out yet. I’m not sure if enough time has passed that I should be pretend-unforgiving, or if I should be nice.
“Are you there?” she asks when I don’t say anything else.
“Yeah, Nat, I’m here.”
She sighs and makes that weird whiney, moaning sound she always does when she’s nervous about saying or doing something.
“I’m a total fucking bitch,” she says. “I know that and I’m a horrible best friend and I should be groveling at your feet right now for forgiveness, but I … well, that was the plan, but your mom said you were in … Virginia? What the hell are you doing in Virginia?”
I plop down on the bed and kick my flip-flops off.
“I’m not in Virginia,” I say, “but don’t tell my mom or anyone else.”
“Well then where are you? And where could you be for over a week?”
Wow, has it only been a week? It feels like I’ve been on the road with Andrew for a month at least.
“I’m in New Orleans, but it’s a long story.”
“Ummm, well, hell-o?” she says sarcastically, “I’ve got plenty of time.”
Getting irritated with her quickly, I sigh and say, “Natalie, you’re the one who called me. And if I remember correctly, you’re the one who called me a lying bitch and didn’t believe me when I told you what Damon did. I’m sorry, but I don’t think jumping right back into being best friends and acting like nothing happened is the best thing right now.”
“I know, you’re right and I’m sorry.” She pauses to gather her thoughts and I can hear the tab on a can of soda crack open in the background. She takes a small sip. “It wasn’t that I didn’t believe you, Cam, I was just really hurt. Damon is a bastard. I dumped him.”
“Why, because you caught him cheating in the act as opposed to believing your best friend since second grade when she tells you he’s a pig?”
“I deserved that,” she says, “but no, I didn’t catch him cheating. I just realized I missed my best friend and that I committed the worst crime against the Code of Best Friends. I finally confronted him about it and of course he lied, but I just kept nagging at him about it because I wanted him to admit it to me. Not because I needed the validation from him, but I just … Cam, I just wanted him to tell me the truth. I wanted it to come from him.”
I hear the pain in her voice. I know she means what she’s saying and I intend to fully forgive her, but I’m not ready to let her know I forgive her enough to tell her about Andrew. I don’t know what it is, but it’s like the only person that exists in my world right now is Andrew. I love Natalie with all my heart, but I’m not ready for her to know yet. I’m not ready to share him with her. She has a way of … cheapening an experience, if that’s fair to say.
“Look, Nat,” I say, “I don’t hate you and I want to forgive you, but it’s going to take some time; you really hurt me.”
“I understand,” she says, but I detect the disappointment in her voice, too. Natalie has always been an impatient, instant-gratification kind of girl.
“Well, are you alright?” she asks. “I can’t imagine why you’d run off to New Orleans of all places—is this hurricane season?”
I hear the shower running in Andrew’s room.
“Yeah, I’m doing great,” I say, thinking about Andrew. “To tell you the truth, Nat, I’ve never felt so alive and as happy as I have been this past week.”
“Oh my God … it’s a guy! You’re with a guy, aren’t you? Camryn Marybeth Bennett, you fucking bitch, you better not keep these things from me!”
That’s exactly what I mean by cheapening the experience.
“What’s his name?” She gasps loudly as though the answer to the world’s mysteries just fell into her lap. “You got laid! Is he hot?”
“Natalie, please,” I shut my eyes and pretend she’s a mature twenty-year-old and not still stuck on the high school campus. “I’m not gonna talk about this with you right
