“I’m sorry. Diana just landed, and I’m worried about her,” Margo said sheepishly, though that was only the surface of it.
“How is she doing?” Roberta lifted her eyes to her.
“So far, so good.” She smiled in an attempt to exude optimism, but all she felt was unsettled.
“Where is she staying?”
“Las Cruces Hotel, this posh high-rise right by Manila Bay. Apparently, the family owns it.”
“Ah,” Roberta said.
“Anyway, this looks so good. Yum.” Margo willed the conversation to move forward by sliding one onto her plate. She knew she had been holding back since arriving a day and a half ago. They were in New Orleans, for God’s sake, she needed to get with it. She’d wanted to come here since she was a child. This was a photographer’s dream, with the city’s multitude of cultural textures. From voodoo to superstition to the religious undertones to the party-town aspects, the loyalty of its residents, and the fervor of tourists. Since arriving, she had gone overboard snapping pictures for her account, but she just wasn’t feeling the joy in the process.
Speaking of …
“Wait a sec, lemme snap a shot,” Margo said, just as Roberta was about to take a bite out of her fritter. The woman grumbled playfully but set it down on her plate.
Margo angled her camera to get the entire delicious display into view and uploaded it into her feed. Instantaneously, notifications rang out from responses to the photo, emojis of hearts and heart-eyes. But it didn’t have the same effect on her—it didn’t make her grin. A feeling of satisfaction didn’t come. But she pushed those thoughts away as she noted the time on her phone.
“We’re due at the airport in a few hours. Is Cameron done with the video edit?”
“Did you have any doubt?” a male voice answered from the doorway that connected their room with Cameron’s. He stepped out onto the balcony, looking more relaxed than Margo had ever seen him. In the last couple of days, she had witnessed him shedding several layers of formality, from his polo and jeans to polo and shorts. And now, after a trip to the local gift shop, an eclectic-patterned short-sleeve button-down, shorts, and sandals.
She gasped because he was so … sexy. Then she flushed at the fact that she thought the word sexy, and then she was mortified that she thought Cameron was sexy. Not handsome, but sexy, and not in a suit but in a casual, everyday outfit.
Truth was, while there hadn’t been any more handholding since arriving in New Orleans, she wondered if there might be more in their future.
As in, hopefully all the time.
“What’s that look for?” Cameron asked.
Margo snapped to, and she cut her gaze back to Roberta, who eyed her through narrow lids. “Nothing. I was just thinking of … Anyway, let’s see the video. Our fans are waiting.”
Cameron set the laptop on the patio table. He scrolled and tapped to open the editing program. “Ready?”
“More than,” Margo said, setting her focus on the screen, to rev up her anticipation for what would be their second video here. Since arriving, despite her lackluster enthusiasm, they had been productive. Their first video caught fire, their subscribers multiplying and their accounts’ cross promotion causing followers to jump on their video bandwagon. This video, of them on the bus, mixed with shots of the local foods they’d eaten, would no doubt be a hit. It was fifteen minutes of an all-around view of New Orleans, the sweet-spot time frame for a short attention span.
But as she watched, the only person she thought of was her daughter, whose attention she had not been able to grab at all. Of all the people in the world whom she would have loved to have seen this video, it should have been Diana, not a bunch of strangers. And now, more than ever, she felt less accessible, in the Philippines.
Where Margo should be.
No. No, that was wrong thinking. This was where Margo was supposed to be, exactly where her mother instructed her to be—discovering new places and new ways of understanding who she was.
“So, what do you think?” Roberta asked, in anticipation. “Good, right?”
“Not just good. It’s great. It’s better than great. Great work, team.” Margo took a bite out of her beignet and shut her eyes to savor the sugar rush. She was in New Orleans, eating a beignet, damn it. Who would want anything different? With a full mouth, she said, “Let’s post it.”
* * *
Their flight to Los Angeles was that afternoon at two, which put the threesome at the airport at a little before noon. Bone-weary from all the walking they’d done the past couple of days, Margo pulled her hard-shell suitcase with one hand and held a to-go cup of tea in the other as she headed to the check-in line. As much as she was on social media, there were still habits that she clung on to: banking in person, snail mail, and checking into a flight in person.
“Over here, North American Airlines,” Margo called behind her. Roberta and Cameron were picking up the rear, though Roberta had her phone to her ear.
“Margo.”
Margo turned, now behind the last person in line at the counter. Roberta gestured for her. Margo scrunched an eyebrow and shook her head. Another family had gotten in line behind her, and she didn’t want to lose her spot.
Roberta gestured again with her hand. “Come here,” she whispered.
Margo heaved a sigh. She wasn’t a stickler for things, but the last thing she wanted to do was rush through security. But she left the line anyway.
“What’s wrong?” Margo asked.
Cameron spoke this time. “Nothing. Except that this is the wrong flight.”
“Um. No, it’s not,” she said matter-of-factly, then scoured her brain again. Was she wrong? She pulled the information from her memory. “North American flight 1241 to LA, right?”
“It is right, for us, but not for you.”
“But we’re on the same flight.”
“No, we’re not. Or, we won’t be, soon.” Roberta’s eyes flashed with mischievousness. “Cameron and I will be going on this flight, but you’re going on Pacific Airlines, to the Philippines.”
“What … are you talking about?”
Her friend rolled her eyes. “I mean, I called the airlines and there’s a flight to the Philippines with stops in San Francisco and Taiwan that leaves in a couple of hours. There’s a seat available on that flight. And I think you should go.”
Margo shook her head. “That’s nuts!”
“Not nuts. It makes perfect sense. You’re not in this,” Roberta said.
At her friend’s implication, Margo’s shoulders slumped. Roberta was right. “I’m … sorry—”
Roberta threw her arms around Margo. “We don’t need your apologies, Margo. We would feel the same way. But we also know you won’t go unless there’s no other choice. You’re scared. So we’re telling you that you have to go. You don’t need to worry about us. We have each other. You have your passport and your credit card, and you know what hotel she’s staying in. There’s nothing stopping you.”
“This feels …” Wrong? Sudden? Exciting? Margo couldn’t put a finger on it, because she was utterly speechless.