31. Max
Iwasn’t exactly sure what I was expecting to find when I walked through the brownstone’s doors on a random Monday morning, but it certainly wasn’t Isabella slouched down in the hallway upstairs with tears running down her face.
“Hey, baby, what’s wrong?” I asked, “What happened?” I slouched down beside her.
Shesniffled and grinned up at me, relief flooding her face. I loved watching the calmness spread over her when she laid eyes on me. She treated me like her own security blanket, but she was my life force.
“We passed the first round of inspections,” she said, more tears spilling from her eyes. We’d been hard at work the last three months tearing down walls so new electricity and plumbing could come in. Those teams along with the floor refinishers had wrapped up last week and we’d been waiting on pins and needles for the go-ahead from the city to move on to the next phase.
“Okay, that’s great! Right?” I asked, confusion lacing my tone.
“Yeah, it’s great,” she said through more tears, “it means we can actually work on remodeling the bathrooms and the kitchen.”
“Okay, so why all the tears, baby?” I asked, wrapping my arms around her shoulders and pulling her toward me.
“It just makes me,” she said through sobs, “really happy.”
“Oh, baby,” I said, chuckling as I rubbed her back. “Everything is coming together, isn’t it?”
“It’s scary for me to ask for what I want because then what if it doesn’t happen?” she asked through her sniffles. “But it’s happening and that’s exciting and really scary.”
“I know,” I said. “But it’s okay for things to go right, to go perfectly, to go exactly how you want them. That doesn’t mean anything is going to mess that up.”
“Don’t jinx us, Max,” she said, her breath finally even.
“I wouldn’t dare,” I said, crossing my heart with a grin.
Isabellaleaned her head back against my chest. “Ugh, I don’t know what has gotten into me,” she said. “Maybe home ownership makes me emotional.”
“Hey, how about,” I said, “we don’t work on the house today. Let’s get out, let’s go explore the city, find a new place to eat or something.”
Shetilted her face toward mine and smiled. “Okay, yeah, let’s do that.”
We’dbeen able to use one of the bedroom closets for storage for the last couple of weeks so we could keep our work clothes here and have a change of fresh clothes when we left. We both swapped out our work clothes for something less dusty and tattered and spruced up with what we had in the small bathroom off the room.
“I think it’s so cute that this bathroom connects to these rooms,” Isabella said as she fluffed her hair and dabbed at her eyes with a makeup brush.
“TheJack and Jill bathroom?” I asked, “Yeah, it’ll be perfect for when kids are up here; they can have their own bathroom and we won’t have to see it.”
Icaught her eyes in the bathroom mirror. It would definitely need to be replaced. It had a large crack that ran across it diagonally and little rusted corners. ButIsabella’s eyes were shining through the grimy mirror anyway.
“When do you want to get married?” I asked. The question came out of nowhere but considering it was on Isabella’s to-do list, I knew that she had a preference for the ideal timeline. I’d marry her today, tomorrow, next Thursday, it didn’t matter to me.
Shechuckled and said, “Uh, I don’t know.”
Iraised my eyebrows to let her know I did not believe that for a second.
“Okay,” she said, “I was thinking after the house is ready. I really don’t want to do anything big. Maybe our housewarming party can be a small wedding. Knock both out at the same time.”
“Sothat’s why you were crying,” I said teasingly. “The closer we get to finishing the house the closer you are to marrying me.”
“Oh, please, Max,” she said, “if I could have done it perfectly, I would’ve bought this house, gone down to the courthouse to get married, and gotten knocked up. All on the same day.”
“I do forget that I have a sugar mama,” I said, wrapping my arms around her waist and tugging her toward me.
Shethrew her head back and laughed. It was something I could finally tease about without getting in my head thinking our age gap bothered her. The only thing that bothered me was thinking all those years ago when I’d first laid eyes on her at her mother’s birthday party, I could’ve snagged her then. We could’ve both grown up together and I would’ve gotten to enjoy her in my life for that much longer.
But, I knew, deep down, the time Isabella had taken to travel and meet new people was what made her . . . her. Those experiences are what led her to fall in love with event planning and design and it’s certainly what makes her such a kick-ass business owner now. And for all of that, I wouldn’t go back to change a thing.
Wefound each other at exactly the right time. And everything else was going to line up exactly how Isabella wanted it to. I just knew it.
“All right, sugar mama, let me take you to lunch,” I said, tugging on her hand and putting myself behind her so she could walk through the bathroom. AsIsabella stepped out of the bedroom to head downstairs, I tugged out the small velvet box I’d kept hidden in the back of my duffle bag on the floor of the closet.
Isabellascrolled her phone as we walked down the city streets, her thumb pausing on a note she’d kept tucked away in her phone—a list of all the hidden gems in NYC she’d been meaning to try. She settled on the Nook, a tiny hole-in-the-wall spot known for its unassuming fa?ade but incredible fusion tacos. It was nestled in an alley off the beaten path, promising a culinary adventure. We agreed without a word, making our way to the nearest subway station.
Whenwe got to the Nook, it was exactly as Izzy had described: a narrow entrance wedged between two larger buildings, with a faded sign swinging gently above the door. Inside, the smell of spices and sizzling meat hit us, a warm welcome that made my mouth water instantly. The clatter of dishes and the low murmur of conversations created a cozy cacophony, a soundtrack to the vibrant energy of the place.
TheNook was dimly lit, with mismatched chairs and tables crammed into every available space. Strings of fairy lights crisscrossed the ceiling, casting a soft, inviting glow over the patrons. We found a small table near the back, the intimate space encouraging closeness. As we took our seats, I watched Izzy’s face light up with anticipation, her excitement infectious. It was this, her ability to find joy in the new and unfamiliar, that drew me to her again and again.
Aswe sat, our knees brushing under the table, I couldn’t help but marvel at how easy it was to be with Izzy. There was no pretense, no need to fill every silence with words. We simply existed together, comfortably inhabiting the same space.
Orderingwas a shared task; our selections were a mix of recommendations from the staff and adventurous choices from Izzy’s list. As the food was delivered to our table, the rich aroma of spices and sizzling meat filled the air. I watched as Izzy’s face twisted slightly, her nose wrinkling as if the smell was somehow off to her.
Sheshook her head , as though to clear away the sensation, and reached for a taco, one of the Nook’s signature dishes, filled with an inventive blend of flavors. She hesitated for a moment as if the mere act of shaking her head could dispel the unsettling sensation that had crept upon her. Then, with a resolve that seemed to push past her discomfort, Izzy again reached out for a taco.
Thiswasn’t just any taco. The concoction was the Nook’s claim to culinary fame and promised an explosion of flavors in every bite. The tortilla, perfectly charred at the edges, cradled a vibrant mix of ingredients both familiar and daringly innovative. Bright, fresh cilantro contrasted with the deep, smoky undertones of chipotle, while the tanginess of pickled red onions cut through the richness of the succulent, slow-cooked pork.
Herexpression morphed into one of confusion as she chewed, eyebrows knitting together in a clear sign of distress. “I think I’m getting sick,” she said, pushing the plate away slightly. “I’m sorry, this all sounded so good a minute ago, but smelling it and seeing it now? I can’t eat it.”
Icouldn’t help but feel a pang of concern. “Hey, no big deal,” I assured her, quickly flagging down the waiter to grab to-go boxes and settle the bill. By the time I’d turned back to grab Izzy, she was already outside on the sidewalk, taking deep breaths of the fresh air.
“Let’s get you back to your parents’ house,” I suggested gently, slipping an arm around her shoulders for support. Izzy nodded, still taking deep, steadying breaths.
Thewalk back was quiet, the bustling energy of the city somehow muted. Izzy leaned into me, her steps slow and deliberate. I couldn’t shake the worry nagging at me, her sudden shift from excitement to discomfort too abrupt to ignore.
Reachingher parents’ townhouse, I helped her inside, the familiarity of the space offering a small comfort. Izzy managed a weak smile, her usual vibrancy dimmed. “Thanks, Max,” she whispered, her voice soft. “I just need to rest, I think.”
Watchingher slowly ascend the stairs, my mind raced with concerns and questions. Whatever was affecting Izzy seemed sudden, but I knew better than to press for answers she might not have. Instead, I resolved to be there, to offer whatever support she needed.
Ifelt the weight of the box in my jacket pocket. I gently patted it, a gesture that was becoming a habit. Today was supposed to be the day I turned an ordinary lunch date into a moment we’d remember forever. I had pictured it clearly: amidst our animated discussions of who had picked the better dish, I’d slide the box across the table, making the mundane magnificent.
Findingmagic didn’t come from grand gestures or the right timing but rather from the simple, everyday moments we shared together. AllI had to do was wait for another one of those ordinary moments to come along.