Chapter 2
Lyrix
It was officially February, which meant two things: Walmart’s seasonal aisle smelled like cheap chocolate and desperation and my flight to New Orleans was in a few days.
My room looked like a war zone between a fashion show and an arts-and-crafts session.
There were clothes draped over my dresser, glitter stuck to my elbows, and an open suitcase sitting on my bed.
I was halfway between deciding which dress said “carefree and slightly unhinged” and gluing another cutout onto my Heaux Phase Vision Board when my best friend, Syn, FaceTimed me.
“Have you booked your flight and packed yet?” I asked, balancing my laptop on a pile of clothes and holding up a piece of glitter-covered cardboard for her to see.
She squinted at the screen. “Girl, I’m not going.”
I froze mid-glitter sprinkle.
“Excuse me?”
“Dee said he’s planning something for Valentine’s Day.”
I blinked slowly, like my brain was buffering.
“Something like… what? A real plan or one of those ‘I’m gon’ see what I can do’ plans?”
“No, like a surprise. He told me not to make plans for Valentine’s weekend.” I rolled my eyes so hard I almost saw last Valentine’s Day.
“Syn, if you knew your man like I know your man, you’d be booking this trip twice. Once for fun, and once for recovery.”
She adjusted her bonnet, frowning. “You don’t even know what he’s planning.”
I laughed, setting the glue stick down before I accidentally used it as lip balm.
“You’re right. But I do know that Dee gets dressed with you every morning like y’all got matching work shifts, just to go stand on the same street corner like he’s waiting on a music video to start.”
Syn burst out laughing so hard she dropped her phone, and I got a full view of her ceiling fan spinning like it was trying to escape her apartment.
“You so stupid,” she wheezed.
“No, I’m serious,” I said, smirking. “He’s a professional presence. His job description is just being around.”
Syn laughed, wiping her eyes.
“You just mad because I’m choosing love over chaos.”
“Love? Girl, his idea of Valentine’s Day is probably him driving your car, to take you to a dinner that you’re paying for. You’ll be lucky if he brings a rose he didn’t steal from the gas station.”
She gasped, pretending to clutch her pearls. “You really hate my man.”
I shrugged, tossing a bra into my suitcase.
“I don’t hate him. I just think he’s sorry as hell.”
She tried to hurry and change the subject, picking at her nails like she wasn’t laughing a second ago.
“So you’re really going through with this vision board thing?”
“Syn, I’ve already committed,” I said, swiping glitter from my arm. “My flight’s booked. My clothes are laid out. My wax appointment is confirmed. I'm open and ready to make bad decisions responsibly.”
I turned the vision board around so she could see it. It sparkled under my bedroom light like a masterpiece of chaos. It was full of glitter, sticky notes, and magazine cutouts.
“Behold,” I said, holding it up like it was the Ten Commandments. “HEAUX PHASE 2026: A Journey of Joy, Juice, and Jail Time.”
Syn covered her mouth, laughing.
“Not jail time!”
“You never know! I’m manifesting excitement in all forms,” I said, grinning. “The podcast gave a whole list of things to add if you wanted the full NOLA and Heaux experience, so of course I picked a few. Nothing too crazy… just enough to make Jesus blink twice.”
I pointed to my bright neon sticky notes, letting her read a few.
“Get a tarot reading about my sex life with a random man.”
“Have sex with jazz echoing through an open window.”
“Do a body shot off a stranger on Bourbon Street.”
Syn tilted her head, eyebrow raised.
“You really finna do all that?”
“Maybe not all,” I said, plucking a piece of glitter from my hair. “But at least a few. My goal is to come back glowing, hoarse, and at peace.”
“You gone come back pregnant.”
“Please,” I said, folding a silk top. “I can’t even keep a plant alive. I’m just going for the plot.”
She giggled. “You and these plots.”
I tossed another outfit into my suitcase. One was a scandalous red two-piece I hadn’t worn since pre-therapy. Every outfit had a purpose: brunch, bad decisions, and pretending I had my life together.
My speaker was playing Jazmine Sullivan’s Heaux Tales on repeat. The perfect soundtrack to a woman ready to risk it all.
Syn was still on FaceTime, chewing on her lip like she wanted to say something but didn’t want me to roast her again.
“So you’re really going to New Orleans alone?”
“Yep.”
“You’re brave.”
“No, I’m bored. There’s a difference.”
I zipped my suitcase shut and leaned against it, catching my breath like I’d just finished a workout.
“I’m not waiting for a man this year. Not for flowers, not for plans, not for validation. If love finds me in New Orleans, great. If not, I’ll at least have beads, orgasms, and a lot of stories that can’t be told in church.”
Syn sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes so hard.
“Fine. If Dee cancels on me, I’m booking a bus ticket.”
“Perfect. I’ll be there a week,” I said, smirking. “That gives him just enough time to mess up before the Megabus leaves.”
After we hung up, I sat on the edge of my bed. I turned back to my vision board and added one last sticky note in the corner.
It said: “Fall in love… even if it’s just with my damn self.”
I stuck it right next to the cutout of a woman in red lipstick holding a Hand Grenade cocktail. She looked free and a little dangerous. Exactly how I planned to feel my entire week there.