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.
The family sat at the kitchen table feasting on barbecue chicken, green beans, and potato salad.
The sisters continued to make jokes about Evangeline’s upcoming bachelorette party, and Ophelia’s mother started running through the list of their distant relatives and how they were doing.
It felt like the appropriate time to bring up the whole Traiteur thing, minus the magic bit.
“Well, I have news…” said Ophelia, and the whole table turned to her with expectant eyes. “I went to visit Mawmaw last weekend, and she wants me to be the next family Traiteur.”
Ophelia’s mom smiled. “That’s wonderful, honey! She told me a while ago she was ready to pass it on. I’m glad she’s finally doing it.”
Her sisters looked shocked. Then a beat later, they erupted with jealousy.
“Are you kidding me?” exclaimed Jolie. “Why does she want you to be the next family Traiteur? What about me? I’d be great at it!” Her reaction was in good-natured sisterly rivalry. It was Jolie’s and Eva’s duty to ensure an equitable distribution of all things—the tangible and intangible.
Evangeline pouted. “Honestly, I don’t want to learn—I’m too busy with work and the wedding—but it would have been nice to at least be asked.”
“Again, why you?” said Jolie, waving her fork at Ophelia.
“Maybe because Ophelia is one of the only granddaughters that continues to write to her and visit,” commented their mother snarkily.
It did feel a bit as if Ophelia was the chosen one.
It was well-known in their family that the gift had been passed down generation after generation to the women on her mother’s side of the family.
Ophelia’s mother had often commented that Mawmaw would take the gift to her grave, letting it die out with her. But Mawmaw had chosen Ophelia instead.
“But, like, how are you going to even do that?” asked Jo. “You don’t go to church. Who are you going to treat? Where are you going to treat? Like, will you go back to Oakdale to treat those people?”
Ophelia cocked her head in annoyance at Jo. “I don’t know yet, but I’m going to figure it out.”
“Mmmkay…” Jo drawled.
“Sounds like you’ve got a lot of work to do, then,” said Eva.
“Thanks for the support, sisters.”
“Don’t mind them, honey,” her dad assured. “We all know they’re just jealous.”
Ophelia smiled as her sisters scoffed.
Truthfully, treating had always intrigued Ophelia.
She inherently had that caretaker skill, one of the perks of being the eldest daughter, though she had never been overly attracted to medicine; she excelled in math and writing.
A degree in finance seemed much more profitable with less school debt.
But social work was her true passion, and running Healing Artists was the perfect blend of all of her skills.
But treating people… Jolie was right. How would she even do that? Where would she do that? Did she even know enough to help people in that way? She supposed she’d find out soon enough.
After dinner, they moved to the living room, sitting under piles of pillows on the couch. Small chatter from the family hummed in the background as Ophelia’s mind continued to mull over treating.
Her father flipped on the TV, and the weather channel flickered on the big screen. Bright, red bars ran across the screen, reading “Hurricane watch for Southern Louisiana and Southeastern Mississippi.” The family snapped to attention.
“Ah fuck,” said Jo as Eva’s face dropped. Their mother grimaced at Jo’s curse.
“Nooo,” whined Eva as she turned to her mom. “What are we going to do?”
Ophelia and Jolie silently exchanged concerned glances but did not dare to say anything to further worry Eva.
A blonde weather woman in a light blue pantsuit appeared on the screen, and Ophelia’s dad turned up the volume.
Right above Cuba, a hurricane swirled slowly on the digital map of the Gulf as a red curving cone appeared on top, aimed at New Orleans.
Evangeline groaned loudly and slumped into the couch like an obstinate child.
“Evangeline, it’s going to be fine,” Ophelia told her firmly. “They say the hurricane won’t make landfall until Saturday night, and it may not even hit New Orleans. It’ll probably go to Biloxi.”
“Yeah, and it’ll be a Cat 2 when it hits. Child’s play,” said Jo.
“The girls are right, honey,” said their mom. “It’ll be fine. You can’t control it anyway.”
Ophelia knew that Evangeline was worried about what the bachelorette group would do if they were rained in.
There was also concern that Evangeline’s friends wouldn’t be able to fly in.
Annie, a petite ginger, was coming from Austin, and Catherine, a mouthy woman, was coming from Tampa.
Sensing Evangeline’s anxiety, Ophelia removed herself from under the giant pillows and grabbed the present she hid behind the couch when she arrived.
“Well, my sweet little bride,” said Ophelia as she pranced over to Eva with the box. “We have a little something that will cheer you up.”
Eva’s face lit up. Her youngest sister delicately unwrapped the glossy paper and opened the lid of the box. With much enthusiasm, she pulled out a pair of baby blue high heels.
“We thought it would be cute for you to have a little something blue from us,” said Ophelia. “You can wear them this weekend or save them for the wedding, whatever you want to do.”
“Yeah, that would look fire with your white sparkly dress for Friday night,” said Jolie, playfully fanning herself.
Evangeline popped up from the pile of pillows and hugged each sister’s neck. Without missing a beat, Jolie grabbed the bottle of champagne off the bar and filled Evangeline’s glass.
It had been a while since Evangeline lived in the usual path of a hurricane, so Ophelia imagined that the weight of one headed toward her on her bachelorette weekend felt immense.
But hurricanes were part of life in New Orleans every late summer and early fall.
They evacuated once when they were kids, and that was for Hurricane Katrina, which was utterly devastating, but it was a Category 5 storm in the Gulf, touching down as a Category 3 with a huge storm surge breaking the already flawed levees.
There was a huge difference between Katrina and the tropical storm just now forming in the Gulf.
If the hurricane changes to anything above a Category 2, we’ll evacuate, Ophelia thought, calculating a backup plan.
Jolie and Ophelia had cars; they could load up the bachelorette party and head to Jackson or Houston.
Make a fun road trip out of it. She made a mental note to get triple the food and water supplies at the grocery store tomorrow.
It would all work out fine for the weekend.