26. Isabella
Twenty-three days. That’s how long it had been since Max had set his boundaries about us.
Notthat I was keeping track.
Withthe encouragement of the girls and my growing desire to release the expectations others had placed on me, it was time to create something of my own. This desire for a new beginning led me to the concept of WanderLand, my own event-planning venture. It was a name and idea that surfaced after nights of introspection and scribbled notes in my journal during moments of hope and ambition. WanderLand was more than a business—it was my declaration of independence, a promise to pursue what brought joy and creativity into my life and the lives of others.
Embarkingon this entrepreneurial journey felt like diving into uncharted waters. I dedicated days to researching, plotting out services, and connecting with potential clients, driven by a blend of nerves and excitement. Securing my first event, a private wine and cheese party my mom would host, felt like a victory, a tangible sign that WanderLand wasn’t just a dream but a reality taking shape.
AsI sat in the bustling coffee shop, the hum of conversation and the clatter of cups forming a backdrop to my focused intent, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of something like liberation. With each sip of my latte, I felt more grounded in my decision, more certain this venture was not just a distraction but a meaningful step forward, a way to blend creativity with connection, weaving the magical with the tangible.
Thecoffee shop, with its rustic charm and the aroma of freshly ground beans, was the perfect spot for creativity to flourish. I chose a corner table, a strategic spot allowing me to observe the ebb and flow of city life through the large, paneled windows, while still offering a semblance of privacy.
Acrossfrom me sat Cara, the artsy vibe evident in her vibrant scarf and the array of colorful tattoos peeking out from her rolled-up sleeves. Her hair was a cascade of loose curls, and her eyes sparkled with creativity as they focused intently on the digital tablet before her. Her fingers moved with a dancer’s grace, tapping and swiping as she brought our ideas to life.
“Okay, Izzy, think whimsical journeys, enchanted escapes, but with a touch of urban sophistication,” Cara said, her voice a melodious blend of excitement and concentration.
Ileaned in, my eyes scanning the array of logo concepts she had compiled. Each design was unique, yet they all captured the essence of what I envisioned for WanderLand. “Yes, exactly that,” I replied, my voice tinged with awe and a hint of relief. “It’s like you’ve plucked the ideas right out of my head.”
Carachuckled, her fingers pausing momentarily. “Well, that’s the goal, isn’t it? To make WanderLand not just a name but a story in itself. Something that instantly transports people.”
Inodded, my mind momentarily drifting to those evenings spent under foreign skies, the thrill of discovering the unknown. This sense of adventure, mingled with the elegance of curated experiences, was what I wanted to encapsulate.
Caratapped on her tablet, bringing up a design that immediately caught my eye. The logo seemed to swirl and dance, its lines flowing like trails on a map yet forming a cohesive, elegant image. “How about this one?” she asked, her voice laced with a hint of pride.
“That’s it,” I breathed out, a smile spreading across my face. “It’s perfect.”
Afterfinalizing the logo and discussing branding colors, I hugged Cara and settled back into my corner seat. I’d ordered another latte. Whoever said four espresso shots in one day was a bad idea? There, amidst the grind of coffee beans, I filled out the online paperwork to officially file WanderLand as an LLC. My fingers hesitated for a moment before hitting the “submit” button. This was more than just a formality. It was a commitment to a new chapter, a leap into the unknown.
OnceI was sufficiently jittery from way too much caffeine, I stepped out of the coffee shop, the new logo for WanderLand in my hands acting as a beacon for my growing business. With every step, my stride grew more confident. WanderLand, once just a concept, was now becoming a reality, a tangible expression of my passions and dreams.
AsI walked, my phone buzzed with a reminder of the photoshoot scheduled for tomorrow. It was with Luca, an old school friend-turned-professional photographer. The thought of capturing the essence of WanderLand through his lens was exhilarating.
Lingeringin that thought, I found myself tempted to reach out to Max. My fingers hovered over my phone, itching to send him a screenshot of the newly finalized logo or ask his opinion on the final locations for tomorrow’s photoshoot. I imagined his reaction—that easy smile spreading across his face, the gentle teasing laced with genuine interest. Max always had a way of making even the smallest achievements feel monumental.
Butthen I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the send button. This was the line I had drawn, wasn’t it? To keep things casual, to not entangle our lives more than they already were. And deep down, there was a part of me that suspected Max’s feelings ran deeper than I thought. It wasn’t just fun and games for him. There was something in the way he looked at me, a certain earnestness that I couldn’t quite return.
Sendinghim updates, and sharing these snippets of my life, it wouldn’t be fair. Not when each exchange might give him hope and might lead him to believe there was more to us than there really was. It was a selfish comfort to want his support and his enthusiasm when I wasn’t ready to offer him the same in return.
Ilocked my phone and slipped it back into my purse, a small pang of regret echoing in my chest. I wanted to share these moments with him, to include him in this journey I was so passionate about. But that wasn’t the choice I had made. I had to respect the boundaries I had set, even if it meant walking through these milestones alone.
AsI continued down the street, my mind filled with plans and possibilities, there was a small, nagging voice in the back of my head. It murmured of what could be, of shared dreams and mutual support. But those were whispers in the wind, fleeting and intangible. I was building something of my own, and that had to be enough. For now.
* * *
Thenext day dawned bright and beautiful, the perfect setting for a photoshoot. I dressed with careful consideration, aiming for a look both professional and inviting, reflecting the essence of my new venture. I settled on a crisp black pantsuit, its blazer boasting a deep V-cut that added an edge to the ensemble. To complete the look, I chose a simple gold necklace, allowing it to glimmer subtly against the dark fabric. My hair, rebellious in its curls, framed my face in a way I was hoping came across as effortless.
Steppingoutside, I was enveloped by the vibrant energy of NewYorkCity. The streets were alive with the rhythm of daily life—people bustling by, the distant honk of taxis, and the faint rustle of trees lining the block. I made my way down the stoop of my parents’ home in GramercyPark, an ideal location for the shoot.
Lucawas already there, setting up his camera against the urban backdrop. The historic brownstones and leafy streets of GramercyPark offered a quintessentially NewYork scene—a blend of timeless charm and modern dynamism.
“Hey, Izzy!” Luca greeted, his camera slung around his neck. “You look sharp. Ready to capture some headshots that’ll wow your clients?”
Inodded, feeling a surge of excitement mixed with a touch of nerves. “Definitely. Let’s do this.”
Lucawas a natural behind the lens, guiding me with ease. “Let’s start with some shots right here on the stoop,” he suggested. “The brownstone makes for a classic NewYork backdrop.”
Iperched on the edge of the stoop, trying to appear relaxed yet poised. Luca clicked away, occasionally asking me to change my pose or look in a different direction. “Think about your business, your goals,” he advised. “Let that ambition shine in your eyes.”
Aswe moved through the shoot, Luca’s easy banter helped me loosen up. We captured a variety of shots—some with me looking directly at the camera, others more candid, as I gazed down the street or laughed at a joke he made.
“Perfect, Izzy,” Luca said, reviewing a few shots on his camera. “These are going to be great for your website. You’re embodying that confident, savvy entrepreneur vibe perfectly.”
Standingthere on that stoop, amidst the heartbeat of the city, I felt a deep sense of belonging and purpose. This was where I was meant to be, building something of my own in the city that had always been my home. For the first time in forever, I was starting to feel hopeful about the future, believing that everything was unfolding exactly how it should be.
Whatdo I do when the person criticizing my place in life is myself? How do I come to terms with the fact that it’s been my own self holding me to the ridiculous standards of others? How do I untangle my own expectations for myself and what I think other people expect of me?
Theclick of the camera shutter zapped away each realization. Iwanted to free myself of the stress of playing catch-up. WhenI looked back at how I’d spent the last decade of my life, I didn’t actually have any regrets. I wouldn’t change anything.
Ionly wish I could’ve paused time so that, when I was ready, I could pick back up where everyone else had left off. But plenty of people, women, had been in my position before. This wasn’t new. Thirty-five wasn’t a freaking death sentence for everything else I wanted to check off my list. I just needed to start believing that.
Aswe adjusted for the last few shots, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nerves about everything coming together. “Thanks, Luca. I’m really looking forward to seeing the final shots,” I said, hoping my appreciation shone through despite the whirlwind of emotions about the upcoming event.
“You’ve got this, Izzy. And hey, isn’t your first big event under the WanderLand banner happening soon? You feeling ready for it?” Luca asked, packing away his camera gear.
Ipaused, taking a moment to gather my thoughts. This week marked the official launch of WanderLand with an event that felt more personal than I had anticipated. Not only was it my debut as an independent event planner, but it was also a gathering for a group my mom was deeply involved with—let’s call it the Women’sLeadershipCircle. It was an influential network of women who led various boards across the city, and they were the exact clientele I dreamed of impressing.
Itdidn’t exactly soothe my nerves knowing my mom had specifically requested Max to helm the wine and cheese segment of the evening. Max, with his effortless charm and deep knowledge of wine, was perfect for the event’s wine and cheese theme. But our recent history, the carefully maintained distance since he’d set those boundaries, made the idea of working closely with him again both daunting and strangely exhilarating.
“Yeah, it’s coming up in just a couple of days,” I responded, forcing a smile as Luca looked on. “Just finalizing some last-minute details tonight. Should be . . . interesting.” My voice trailed off, hinting at the unspoken emotions tied to the event but not delving too deep. Luca nodded, understandingly, offering a supportive smile as we wrapped up the session.
Backinside the house, the quiet hum of the city outside my window became the soundtrack to my afternoon. I had a mountain of logistics to work out today, and I knew that a good bottle of wine would do the trick. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I remembered the last time I was down in the wine cellar with Max.
Descendingthe stairs, the cool, earthy scent of the cellar enveloped me. Rows of meticulously arranged bottles lined the walls, each a testament to my family’s love for fine wine. My fingers trailed over the labels, and I selected a bottle of PinotNoir, one of my favorites. AsI held the bottle, a blush crept up my cheeks, recalling the stolen moments with Max in this very room. It all seemed so daring, so unlike me, yet so undeniably thrilling.
Returningupstairs, I uncorked the bottle and poured myself a glass. The rich aroma of the wine filled the air, bringing a sense of comfort. I took a sip, letting the flavors dance on my tongue as I contemplated my next steps.
Isettled at the dining room table, laptop open, and took a deep breath. It was time to make things official. I logged into the website for the Department of State and began the process of opening my first business bank account for WanderLand. The clicking of the keys felt almost ceremonial, each stroke a step closer to a dream realized.
Iclicked over to my inbox and a tab I still had open made me pause. The invitation I’d created for Max’s wine event stared back at me and it made the flutters in my stomach start all over again. Working on that with him had been so easy. So effortless. Even when I’d royally fucked up with the wine selections, Max had taken it in stride and walked me through his passion again. He’d welcomed me into his world with ease.
Excitementtinged with a bit of apprehension bubbled within me at the thought of collaborating with Max later this week. Our schedules at the MirageGuild had grown increasingly hectic, transforming our interactions into fleeting moments of acknowledgment as we passed each other by. The success of the events we had orchestrated together leading up to the grand opening had not only bolstered the club’s profile but had also ignited a surge in membership, culminating in an ever-growing waitlist. This newfound popularity meant our paths rarely crossed in more than a professional capacity, yet the prospect of working closely with him again stirred something within me that I couldn’t quite ignore.
Wasit really that ridiculous to want someone like Max? And even more absurd to think he might want me too? The idea of us, together, seemed like a leap into the unknown, yet it was a leap my heart yearned to take. But there were so many uncertainties, so many “what ifs.” The age difference, our different backgrounds, the fear of what others might think . . .
Therewas a connection between us I couldn’t deny, a pull that went beyond the physical. It was scary, but it was real. Maybe, just maybe, it was worth exploring.
Thethought of him brought a mix of emotions. There was an undeniable pull toward him, a connection that went beyond the physical. But then, there was the fear—the fear of what it meant to truly open up to someone, to let them see the real me, with all my uncertainties and insecurities.
Ishook my head, trying to dispel the doubts. This was my life, and I had to start living it on my terms, without the constraints of societal expectations or self-imposed limitations.
Returningto my laptop, I messaged the web designer, approving a couple of layouts from the wireframes they’d sent. Each decision felt empowering, a step toward carving out my own path. I was creating something uniquely mine, a reflection of all the experiences, the journeys, and the dreams that had shaped me.
Witha deep breath, I sent off the final approvals and closed my laptop. The evening stretched before me, a blank canvas for my thoughts and reflections. I sipped my wine, the rich flavor a comforting companion as I mulled over my feelings.
Ipicked up my phone, my finger hovering over Max’s contact. I wanted to tell him about the business, about the steps I was taking toward my dreams. But more than that, I wanted to tell him about everything swirling in my brain about us, about the longing I felt every time I thought of him.
ButI hesitated, the fear of vulnerability holding me back. I set the phone down, deciding tonight was not the night for such confessions. Tonight, I would focus on WanderLand, on the future I was building. But sooner or later, I would have to face the feelings I had for Max. And when that time came, I hoped I’d be ready.