15. ISABELLA
fifteen
As soon as we make it into the apartment, Beth shoos me away, telling me to feel free to shower and get out of the clothes I’ve been wearing all day while she supervises Anna’s bath and helps her pick out her jammies for the night.
My first instinct is to insist that I do all of Anna’s nighttime routine, given that’s what I’m being paid for. But the final look she gives me as waves me off with a flick of her wrist brooks no argument.
Truthfully, I think I might need a minute to myself if I’m going to survive the second portion of the evening—a nightcap with Mateo’s mother.
It’s not like I haven’t had countless wine nights with my mom and Beth, talking about the latest neighborhood gossip or recent life updates from extended family in Puerto Rico or the Dominican Republic.
It may sound weird to some, but I truly looked forward to nights where the three of us lounged on my parents’ couch with old-school salsa playing softly in the background.
But in reality, those were some of the few social settings where I felt like I could let my guard down.
It’s silly for me to be nervous about having this sit-down with Beth, since she has sincerely become like a second mother to me. But just like my mother, she has the influence and power to make me feel like I’m currently guilty of something. Of what exactly, I’m still not sure, but tell that to my anxious thoughts.
I quickly strip in my colossal bathroom and step into the instantly warm water. It feels like my body releases a deep breath when I’m under the massaging spray. The precision is so exact that I don’t even need to wear a hair cap to keep my hair from frizzing.
My body feels wound up. I slowly massage the shower gel into my shoulders and will the stress away.
I know I need this job, but I underestimated all the baggage that came along with it. Even though my primary focus is Anna, I can feel myself slowly seeping back into the world that turned its back on me.
The baseball world.
Seeing Anthony’s face brought a mix of joy and trepidation.
Although I love him and Denise dearly, life is much easier when I avoid them and the world they orbit in by staying cooped up in my little bubble.
But now that I’ve stepped into Mateo’s world, all that has changed.
And while I know Mateo is the king of the jungle when it comes to professional baseball, it still makes my skin crawl that this world also includes my ex, Jeremy.
Nope.
Not going there tonight. Or ever.
I turn off the shower and dry myself off with the most luxurious towel known to man.
Mateo’s not home for the night, so I forgo a bra and throw on a cozy, oversized sweater along with basic black leggings and fuzzy socks.
I make my way out to the kitchen to prepare a late-night snack for Anna before she goes to bed, along with water for her bedside table.
It’s interesting, because when my mother brought up the idea of being Anna’s nanny, I couldn’t turn down the opportunity fast enough. Not because she isn’t the world’s greatest kid—I’m sure I saw a trophy naming her that on her bedroom bookshelf—but because I couldn’t envision myself taking care of another living, breathing human being when there have been days in my past that I could barely take care of myself.
But now, as I cut an apple and scoop up a spoonful of peanut butter onto a plate, I can’t help but smile.
I’m not Betty Crocker by any means, and you won’t hear me waxing about how putting others first makes me the happiest woman alive. I made that mistake once, and I’ve clearly learned my lesson.
And seriously, if you’ve never sat on the couch watching Vanderpump Rules with a glass of sauvignon blanc and Thai takeout food in front of you, have you truly even lived?
But I can’t deny that there’s something to be said about a child’s unfiltered joy entering your life. I would happily push back watching any of my Bravo shows for one of Anna’s YouTube tutorials on whatever subject is scratching her brain that day. And swap that glass of wine for homemade slushies she loves to make in the fancy blender. Although the wine here isn’t the two-buck chuck kind, so I might swipe a glass for after her bedtime. But still, the sentiment is the same.
Like I’m quickly growing accustomed to, I hear her before I see her.
Anna flies down the stairs and starts making her way to me. By the time she swings around the counter, I’m holding her snack plate and glass of water out to her.
“Peanut butter before bed? Yes! You’re the best, Isa.” Anna empties my hands quickly and heads over to the plush couch.
Beth makes her way to me in a much slower fashion than Anna did and simply says “red or white.”
I smile as I look into the wine fridge built into the island and scour my options. “There’s an opened pinot noir if you’re up for it.”
She nods. “Yes, that’s perfect. I asked Mateo to open it for me before he left. No matter how fancy the electronic wine opener, I can never seem to figure them out and always end up ruining the cork. And besides, what good is a son if he can’t leave a bottle of wine perfectly decanted for his mother?” she jokes.
This is good.
She’s asking for wine while Anna’s still awake, and she’s cracking jokes. So, clearly, whatever she wanted to talk about can’t be all that serious. It shouldn’t set off my internal panic alarms.
I serve us two glasses of wine with dignified portions. As I put the bottle down, she gives me a bored look, and I chuckle.
At home, I sometimes overdo it and have our guests sipping off the rim of the glass on the table before they can safely lift it.
“Okay, okay. Just remember to tip your server,” I jest, as I pour more wine into each of our glasses.
“That’s more like it. Now, come sit next to me while Anna finishes her apples and watches that show I’m pretty sure her father doesn’t let her watch.”
I look up to see her watching a show with preteens that looks pretty innocent, but it’s on a streaming service, so I have no clue whether it’s inappropriate.
Beth must see my look of concern, because she shakes her head. “Anna lives in New York City. Her father is undeniably the world’s most famous baseball player, and she has me as a grandmother.” She points at herself as she lifts her glass. “Trust me when I say that she’ll be exposed to worse in due time.”
We laugh as we clink our glasses. I take a healthy sip of wine and almost moan. “God, that’s the good stuff.” I stare lovingly into what must be a very expensive glass of wine.
“So.” Beth takes a sip of her wine, and I quickly follow for another taste. She then lowers her voice as she says, “I guess my son is into you. What I wanna know is if you’re going to be my future daughter-in-law, or if your mother and I still have more work to do.”
I try, for the love of God I know I do, but I can’t save the decadent wine from being violently spit out of my mouth. Thankfully, it lands in the island sink to my right.
I lose all sense of my bodily functions as I cough roughly and attempt to wipe the mixture of booze and drool from my lips and chin.
Beth, looking completely unperturbed by the whole scene, just rolls her eyes as she says, “Ay, por favor,” and hands me a paper towel.
A real empath, that one.
Once I’m sure I can take a full breath, I wipe at the tears that formed during my coughing fit and make sure I’ve cleared all the evidence of the crime off my face. Then I turn to Beth and plant my hands on the island. “Bethzaida…”
“Save it. Your mother was right. I approached the subject too soon,” she says nonchalantly.
“My mother?”
She looks down at her nails, as if her cuticles have all of a sudden become incredibly fascinating. “I may have told her what I witnessed on the car ride over here and filled her in on my suspicions.”
I slowly nod my head. “Uh-huh, suspicions. And would you, and I guess my mother, like to elaborate?”
She sighs. “Oh, come on, Isabella. I know you don’t know my son as well as I do, but that phone call was a show of barely restrained passion.” She fists her hand in front of her face.
“Passion,” I say, dumbfounded, “for me?” I point at myself.
Then, slowly, I feel my shoulders shake as an ungraceful snort and laugh combo escapes my body. “Passion.” I gasp between laughter. “For me!” I start slapping the counter, garnering Anna’s attention.
“Abuela, is Isabella getting the nighttime sillies like I do?” she asks, earnestly concerned for my wellbeing as another bout of laughter forces me to bend over with my hands on my knees.
“No, mija.” She sighs as she takes another sip of her wine. “She’s just a woman in denial. Nothing to see here.”