They Should Have Worn Flats

Greta’s hands curled around the cardboard cup, searching for comfort as she breathed in the distinctive scent of coffee and chicory.  They’d been in New Orleans for three days, and she was half in love with the city, but the coffee made her think of mornings with Drew.

A dusting of powdered sugar and the lingering scent of rum replaced Cate’s carefully applied make-up and perfume.  Wrinkling her nose a bit, Greta tested the café au lait, cooled from scalding, knowing it would only compound the filmy feeling in her mouth.  Cate wasn’t the only one radiating rum fumes.

Cate reached wordlessly for the cup, and it passed between them like an embrace, recognizing years of familiarity. 

Hours ago, as their other friends retreated back to the hotel, Cate and Greta tightened their dancing circle until it was only the two of them, shaking and squealing to every song, even the ones they were hearing for the first time.  Drawn in by short dresses, impossible platforms, and laughter spilling from glossed lips, men found their greetings received with a smile, then subtly dismissed.

“I want a girls’ weekend!” Cate had insisted, the last of their small group to need a bachelorette party.

“A spa weekend?” Greta had questioned, already resigned to the inevitable answer.

“Sure, we can hit a spa.  After we dance until our feet fall off,” Cate had replied, her infectious giggle the reason Greta knew she would give Cate the bachelorette weekend of her dreams.

Now, sitting on back to back benches, feet kicked up onto armrests, Greta and Cate shared the third beignet and cup of coffee, swollen feet only part of the reason they were watching the sun rise, humidity already dampening the streets.

“Thanks G,” Cate spoke up suddenly, all of the rum gone from her voice.

“Anytime C.  Anytime,” Greta answered absently, flexing her toes in her red heels, her head tilted towards her friend’s curls.

“This must be a little awful,” Cate continued.  “The wedding…”

Caffeine pushed Cate’s meaning through the fog of exhaustion into which Greta had settled.

“Oh, honey.  No.  Your wedding is amazing.  Your groom is amazing,” Greta smiled, making sure their eyes met and held as she passed the coffee yet again.

“He is, isn’t he?” Cate laughed as she swung her legs to the ground, wincing a little.  “I just worried this would be a tough weekend for you.”

Greta’s fingers touched her purse briefly, the text message she had received less than an hour ago memorized.

“You deserved the best dance party we could find.  It wasn’t tough at all,” Greta reassured.

Going on our run and missing you.  I’m calling the movers tomorrow. Xo

The balls of her feet flamed with each step as they began the walk back to their hotel.

“I’d say it was perfect.”

This is the latest in Greta's story.

the prompt:

We had a photo prompt this week

New Orleans...my favorite...