“That good?” I said, already going in for another bite. “Maison, this food is emotionally manipulative. I might call my ex just to tell him I forgive him.”
He laughed so hard he had to lean back in his seat. “Don’t do that. We don’t want him thinking it’s him that healed you.”
I pointed my fork at him. “You right. It’s the catfish.”
Then I tried the duck bacon. It tasted like regular bacon’s fancy cousin who studied abroad in Paris. I had to pause andstare at the plate for a second. “What is this? Who thinks of this?”
He smirked. “You in the South, baby. We fry everything but the napkins.”
By the time I got to the pancakes with the catfish on top, mind you—I was fully committed. The sweet syrup mixed with the savory fish in a way that shouldn’t have made sense but absolutely did.
“Catfish and pancakes?” I mumbled through a bite. “Who hurt y’all?”
I don’t even know how or why, but my eyes started watering. Real tears. I tried to blink them away, but they kept coming.
He noticed immediately. “Whoa, are you crying?”
I covered my face with my napkin. “Don’t look at me. It’s just… it’s too good.”
He was grinning now, trying not to laugh. “You crying over brunch?”
“I’m crying over balance, Maison. The universe is in harmony. The fish is crispy, the grits are creamy, the pancakes are fluffy. This is therapy.”
He laughed until his eyes crinkled at the corners. “You dramatic as hell, you know that?”
“I warned you this was a spiritual experience,” I said, dabbing at my eyes. “I just didn’t know the Lord would show up so fast.”
He shook his head, still smiling. “You wild.”
I looked up at him, laughing too hard to care. “I mean, don’t act like you’ve never cried over good food.”
“I haven’t,” he said, leaning in a little, “but I’m kinda jealous watching you do it.”
Something about the way he said it made me pause. The laughter softened between us, turning into this easy, comfortable silence filled with warmth.
He tilted his head slightly. “So tell me, Lyrix, what really brings you to New Orleans? You here for work, pleasure, or redemption after that tequila incident?”
I smiled, setting down my fork. “A little bit of everything. Mostly… I’m here to feel alive.”
“Alive?” he repeated, curious.
“Yeah,” I said, shrugging. “I spent the last year trying to be still. Patient. Healing and journaling and all that responsible adult stuff. But now…” I smiled at him. “Now I just wanna feel something again.”
He leaned back a little, studying me. “Elaborate on feel something.”
I nodded, stirring my straw through the condensation on my glass. “Well. It’s been over a year since I’ve been single. My therapist told me to take that time to ‘heal’ and let love find me.” I made air quotes aroundhealbecause it sounded noble until you realized how lonely it was. “So I did the work. I went to therapy, wrote affirmations, stopped answering texts that started with ‘wyd.’ I thought peace was supposed to feel good, but it just got quiet. Too quiet.”
Maison nodded, his expression soft but curious. “So this trip is about… noise?”
“This trip,” I said, smiling, “is about chaos. Controlled chaos, but chaos nonetheless.”
He laughed. “I can respect that.”
I grinned, leaning in a little. “Well, actually, I didn’t come up with the idea myself. I listened to this podcast calledThe Heaux Bible.Two women from here, funny as hell and completely unhinged, but they were talking about something they called aHeaux Phase.”
His eyebrow went up. “A what now?”
“Exactly,” I said, laughing. “They said every woman deserves a heaux phase before she settles down. A time where you stopwaiting for love to happen and just live. They launched this whole thing about making a vision board of the things you wanna do here in NOLA during that phase.”
