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“Woman, what is your name, and where have you been all my life?” he asks with a hand to his chest. I elbow him out of the way and discreetly shuffle Greer to my side as she answers.
“Greer Hudson, and I’ve lived in New Orleans since the day I was born.”
Seemingly waking up from his spell, he does a double take, looking from her to me and back again as he confirms, “Greer Hudson?”
“That’s me.” She smiles. “My grandfather named me after Greer Garson, his absolute favorite actress.”
“You’re even better than expected,” Cap says while I’m busy pondering the little nugget of information about herself she’s just given so freely.
“I’m sorry,” Greer responds. “It seems you know me, but I have no idea who you are.”
Caplin offers a hand and a beaming smile. “Caplin Hawkins. Lawyer and friend to both of these bozos.”
He jerks a thumb back and forth between Quincy and me, and Emory jumps in with a comment of her own. “And the most annoying human being on earth.”
Greer laughs. “I thought that was me?”
Emory shakes her head and grabs the drink clearly meant for her out of my hand. “I know. So did I. Apparently, the world is full of all kinds of surprises.”
I’m left with a beer, and though it’s not my preferred drink, it’s a hell of a lot better than most of the other options she could have chosen at random. Including the mystery wine Greer is taking sips of and the fruity-looking cocktail Emory just procured.
The conversation only devolves from there.
On the one hand, it’s extremely disappointing not to have the alone time with Greer I was expecting. But on the other, it’s really great to have a night out with her and my friends.
I haven’t done anything like this since before my mom was diagnosed, and it feels good to kick back and have a good time with people who know me.
As an added bonus, Greer and Caplin’s banter is among the best I’ve ever witnessed.
I was jealous at first. Almost wildly so, but the more the night’s gone on, the more and more obvious it is what a disaster they’d be if they ever tried to get together.
“No!” Greer yells now, bouncing on the seat next to me and climbing up onto her knees to make herself seem bigger. I’m not sure if she thinks it’ll make her argument more convincing or what, but it’s fucking adorable. “Married at First Sight is the one where they get married without knowing the other person. 90 Day Fiancé is where they mail-order brides and grooms.”
Clearly, they’re arguing over groundbreakingly important things.
“What’s the difference?” Caplin snorts. “Neither one of them knows anything about the person they’re marrying. And for what? Just so they can say they have some shitty piece of paper?”
“Ha!” Greer shrieks. “It’s obvious you don’t watch them. You’re just another man who’s cynical about marriage. How motherfucking original.”
I wince at her volume, putting a hand over my ear closest to her to protect my hearing, but I laugh at her impassioned debate about reality TV.
Caplin sits back, officially frustrated. “I give up.”
“Thank God,” Emory mutters, dropping her head into her hands while Greer does a victory dance beside me. “Please, baby Jesus, can we have some fun now?”
Greer nods and Caplin shrugs. Quincy throws both of his hands up in the air to shout “Hallelujah!”
I hold out a hand to help Greer up, and she takes it without hesitation. Caplin takes notice, raising an eyebrow at me in question, but I ignore him completely.
There’s no fucking way I’m getting into the convoluted details of all this shit with him now. I’ve already wasted enough of my time with Greer tonight listening to him talk.
As we leave the party and walk down Bourbon Street, the excitement of Carnival dances on all around us. It’s still a little while until actual Mardi Gras, but it’s safe to say the partying that comes along with it is in full swing.
People hang out on balconies and toss beads down to passersby, and the music booms loudly from every restaurant and bar we pass.
Confetti from the parade earlier today litters the streets, and you can’t go five feet without bumping into another body.
The crowds and chaos are everything I hate about being in New Orleans, and yet, I’m having the time of my life.
And I have a feeling it’s mostly because Greer is walking next to me, holding my hand.
I take the opportunity as we stroll along to get in some private conversation with her. Her eyes are everywhere, taking in everything like a kid in a candy store for the first time.
“Have you ever celebrated Mardi Gras on Bourbon Street before?”
She shakes her head and laughs. “Nope. Thirty-three years in this city, and I’ve never done it.”
