My chapters are going to vary in length, but I'm sure most of them will sadly be not much longer than this. I have very short writing blocks. I like to move from one even to another, because I suck at filling space. So bare with me.
I am aware that Cafe du Monde does NOT serve tea! Quit notifying me, please.
The weather was nice when I stepped off the train. It wasn't much different than Mississippi, but much hotter than New York this time of year. That house in Westchester, forever wrapped in greenery, would always be home for me, but it was time for this Southern gal to be someone else for once. Someone other than a crime-fighting mutant vigilante. We were all starting over again. Logan ran off to find a little more of himself, Hank got a job at a university lab…somewhere, and Storm felt it time to go back to her village; spend some time with that growing godson of hers. Finally, we were all getting to lead happy and relatively normal lives. And, with the help of Hank, I could too.
I jiggled my wrist and listened fondly to my bracelet rattle, thinking of the furry little genius.
I'd taken a cab to the Café du Monde, my two carry-on suitcases resting at my feet. Paid movers already had the rest of my things sitting in the new house. If they were any good, the house key should sit on an outside windowsill on the upper floor.
A man in his early twenties and dressed in black came to take my order. His nametag read 'Gabriel' and he had a nice tan with soft eyes. He smiled at me and was polite enough to earn a couple dollars in tip, even though all I got was a nice cup of Earl Grey.
Grey. Always made me think of Jean. I missed her. It's been about two years now since she embraced Phoenix and disappeared to god-knows-where. Thinking of Jean made me think of Scott. And that made me wonder where he was, if he'd been able to keep going yet. I doubted it. Probably holed up and sulking somewhere.
I think I sat at that café just staring up and down Decatur St, watching traffic and the man with the cute balloons catering to children a few yards away, for a half hour or so before I managed to dig out a couple pieces of paper and a borrowed pen from Gabriel. I started writing my regular letter to Ororo since she insisted on keeping in touch. I even got a whole page filled before I heard hushed squabbling coming around the corner. I looked up just as the couple walked by.
Even in the din of the café, I could tell the petite blonde was making a verbal list, ticking each item off on a manicured finger. Things she wanted. He, on the other hand, had a cigarette between his lips and his hands deep in his pockets. He wasn't even paying attention, his eyes seemingly downcast behind his sunglasses. As they passed, though, I swear I felt him look at me. He looked long enough that I looked back. Then he cracked a half smile I'd soon never forget. It was charming, so I inclined my head in acknowledgement.
The couple got to River's Restaurant across the street when I managed to remember what it was I was doing previously. Oh. Right. Ororo. I made sure to mention my safe arrival to the city and remarked about the handful of handsome men I'd already seen, a certain one in mind. The pages, folded neatly into threes, slipped into the envelope with ease. I marked it to O. Munroe and from, simply, R. Postmarked New Orleans, LA.
Gathering my things, I left enough money for my bill and Gabriel's tip, along with his pen. My gloved fingers pushed the stamped letter into a USPS mailbox on the corner, then hailed another cab. My suitcases snuggly in the trunk, the dark-skinned cabbie asked me, "Where to, femme?" in a thick Southern accent.
I smiled and said, "Home, sugah. Jus' take me home."
His own smile revealed a few missing teeth, "A Southern Belle! Where you comin' from?" he asked as he pulled from the curb.
"An old life Ah never liked very much."
His deep voice rumbled with laughter. "You sure picked one helluvah place ta start over, chere. Welcome ta N'awlins."
There were a few reasons I picked this particular house. It was simple and white with a nice dark green trim, green being my favorite color. It had a big, unfenced front yard, a large tree on either side of the dirt walk. I really liked the freshly-soiled and ready to plant flower beds stemming from the porch to line the front of the house. Walking in, the first thing you saw was the staircase. I think I liked that because it reminded me of the mansion some. The back yard had to be the best part. Lots of grass. And more trees. It had this little dirt trail that wound and curved behind the small thicket of greenery that led to a large pond. A swimming hole. It was a little piece of Southern wilderness and it was all mine. I felt, just standing on the porch, that I could be happy here. Happy was just what I needed after the last couple of years.
When I found the door locked, I was glad that—so far—the movers had listened. But when I found the key under the Welcome mat, I frowned a little. Guess an unconventional hiding spot was just too much to ask. Nevertheless, I slid the key home, listened to the faint click of the lock and opened my door for the first time. Well, the first time for me, anyways,
All of the boxes marked for downstairs rooms were in the livingroom along with my sparse collection of furniture. A quick trek up the stairs with my suitcases in had confirmed that all boxes that needed to be were in a spare bedroom, my bed and dresser placed in the master suite. I thought about all the work ahead of me, with unpacking and rearranging, and quickly decided to go out.
The sun was setting over the Big Easy and unpacking could wait until tomorrow.
