Etienne: I imagine. It became very obvious very quickly that he’d lied about you two being together.
Ophelia: What the fuck. He told people we were together?
Etienne: He told me. Not sure who else he told.
Ophelia: No, we were never together. I didn’t even know he was seriously interested in me like that.
Etienne: He’s been into you since college.
Ophelia: News to me.
In all fairness, Ophelia had known for a while that Ben was attracted to her. He had dropped plenty of hints while they had been out together, but single guys were always trying to shoot their shot. She never thought he wanted more than just a hookup. He’d never even asked her on a date. She probably would have said no, anyway.
Ophelia: Doesn’t excuse his behavior, though.
Etienne: No. It does not.
Etienne: I hope your weekend gets better, O.
Ophelia: Thanks, E.
Ophelia placed her phone on the nightstand. She had a slight fear that her peculiar dream may have caused her to sleepwalk, which prompted her to get out of bed and survey the house. Walking around her cottage, she checked each room to make sure nothing was out of place again. Just signs of a discarded party. With relief, Ophelia began to clean, washing the dishes and setting her home back in order.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
On Wednesday after work, Ophelia drove up to her childhood home on the Northshore, a two-story brick house with a long green front lawn. Her childhood home always seemed a bit smaller than she remembered.
Ophelia entered through the garage door, which led directly to the living room. A familiar smell brought her back, rose potpourri and her mom’s powdery-smelling makeup. A long L-shaped couch filled the majority of the room and held an excessive amount of pillows. Ophelia’s mom was known for buying a pillow every time she went into a home décor store, and it amazed the family how they essentially all looked the same.
Over the fireplace mantel sat a large crucifix, and many family portraits filled with the younger faces of Ophelia, Jolie, and Evangeline. Ophelia’s favorite picture featured all three sisters dressed for Sunday church in pastel organza dresses, with Ophelia holding a crying Evangeline and Jolie flashing the camera her Disney princess panties. Not much had changed.
In the kitchen, her mom was placing a large pan of something cheesy inside the oven.
“Ophelia!” sang her mother as she closed the oven and rushed over to her for a hug. Her dad walked in the room, arms open, pulling her in for a hug of his own.
“Good to see you, honey,” he said, squeezing her tighter. “You staying safe?”
“Yes, sleeping with the gun under my pillow.”
Her father pulled back and looked at her sternly. “Ophelia, you better not be.”
“Dad, I’m just kidding. It’s in its case, locked safely away,” she promised, feeling a little guilty for making a promise she couldn’t even keep in her sleep.
Ophelia met Jolie and Evangeline in the sunroom. The sisters were lounging and sipping champagne from their mother’s vintage coupes. Evangeline had flown into New Orleans from Austin for her bachelorette party and planned on spending time with her parents before the festivities began that weekend.
“Oh, hello, ladies, don’t bother getting up for me,” Ophelia teased as she reached down to give both of them a hug. “So Eva, is your liver ready for the weekend?”
“Absolutely not. David and I have been training for the Austin Marathon, so this right here is my first sip of alcohol in a while,” she said.
Jolie groaned loudly. “Seriously? You need to get your shit together. You’re the first Oubre ovary getting married, and we need to properly celebrate.” She downed the rest of her drink.
Ophelia walked over to the bar and poured herself a glass of champagne, then topped off Jo’s coupe. “To Evangeline!” said Ophelia, raising her glass in the air. “May she have a weekend that she never remembers.”
Eva had asked for “fun yet classy vibes” for the bachelorette party, so naturally, Ophelia had planned the whole thing. Jo would be constitutionally incapable of organizing an Eva-approved bachelorette itinerary. Ophelia had booked a three-bedroom home in the French Quarter, which put them within walking distance of all the best bars and restaurants. The historic Creole home came complete with a courtyard and pool.
“Y’all, I can’t wait to stay at that house,” sighed Ophelia. “It looks like a dream.”
The sisters nodded in agreement as their mother called them in for dinner.
