Alberto Sr. had put his foot down when it came to getting a chef. He wanted to do the cooking, and Judith had reluctantly indulged him. Isabella suspected that it was mainly to keep him out of her hair.
Isabella’s paternal grandfather had been one of the biggest landowners in Isabela, Puerto Rico. He sold all his land to move to America and invest his fortune in business ventures on land and at sea. He’d done well and passed on the investments and the tricks of that trade to Alberto. As a dutiful son, Alberto had learned from his father and built on the family fortune, investing in the stock market. But his heart had always been cooking, which had eventually inspired Isabella to get into the catering business. He had been proud of her and had always taken an interest. But, unlike Isabella, he was more interested in the dishes than the business decisions behind the scenes. Isabella was sure that in a parallel universe her father had rebelled and run off to be a chef.
Crockery clinked in the kitchen, and a startled Alberto cooed in Isabella’s arms. Her father looked through the door and saw them coming.
“Mija! ’Beto! I didn’t know what you would want for breakfast, so I am ready to cook up a few different things. Eggs any way you like them, some bacon, maybe a Spanish omelet? There’s three kinds of bread, two sorts of cheese, some cuts of meat, and some vegetables laid out over there, if you’d prefer.”
“My, what a feast.” Isabella gave him a warm smile. “I’m not that hungry, though. I think I’ll just have some bread and cheese.”
Alberto Sr. looked more than a little deflated, and the spatula he had been holding drooped in his hand.
Isabella’s heart gave an all-too-familiar twinge, and she kept smiling at him as she amended her breakfast order. “Actually, a poached egg does sound lovely. Would you mind making me one?”
“Of course not. Poached eggs for the both of us, then. Judith says they are better for my health than omelets, anyway.”
“In a sense, she’s right, Daddy. You need to keep an eye on your cholesterol and fat intake. However, I think cutting down on the churros that you wolf down with your friends every Sunday would help more.”
“How do you know we still eat churros at Santiago’s house on Sundays?”
She kissed her father on the cheek before answering him. “Because you never change, and I know you sneak in your treats when Mother isn’t around.”
Alberto Jr. wriggled in her arms, kicking his little foot out and softly thumping his grandfather on the arm. Alberto Sr. pretended to be mortally wounded and made a big show of rubbing his arm and croaking out accusations in Spanish.
Isabella laughed at his antics. “Save it, Daddy. You can play with him when he is big enough to understand your silliness.”
“Everyone’s a critic.” Alberto Sr. brandished his spatula at her.
Judith walked in with a half-empty cup of espresso in one hand. “Ah, you’re awake, dear. Good. How is my darling little grandson?”
“He’s been fed, changed, and he just kicked his granddad,” Isabella replied.
She grabbed Alberto’s little fist and kissed it. “I see. Well, having had enough nutrients to start the day and a chance to kick the old fool is how I like to start the day too.”
“Mother!” Isabella exclaimed angrily at the same time as Alberto Sr. muttered, “Judith.”
Judith held up her hands. “It was a joke. No need for a fuss. You both know I would never stoop so low as to use physical violence, especially not toward the only person who puts up with my bad moods.”
Isabella schooled her facial features, knowing full well that her mother admitting to her bad moods and acknowledging that Alberto put up with them, was as close to an apology and show of affection as they were ever going to get.
After putting her cup down on the table, Judith held out her hands toward baby Alberto. “May I hold him for a while?”
“Of course.” Isabella disentangled Alberto’s hands from her robe.
Judith picked him up and held him close, smiling proudly at him, as if he had just won the Nobel Prize and thanked her in his speech.
“Well, little Alberto. How do you like Philadelphia so far?” Judith asked him seriously.
Alberto Jr. said nothing but reached out to grab for his grandmother’s perfectly styled hair. Judith pulled him away snappily and the movement startled him, making him hiccup and spit up some milk.
“Oh no,” Isabella said in a gasp.
She grabbed him and headed to the kitchen counter to get some paper towels. Her father beat her to it and gave her a sheet before handing another to his wife.
Isabella wiped Alberto’s mouth and chin before turning to see what the damage was to her mother’s burgundy Chanel suit.
Judith held up her hand to signal she was fine, as she wiped at a small stain on her shoulder, but her whole body was tense with barely controlled anger. The image made Isabella still. She’d been eight years old when she’d spilled juice on one of her mother’s lightly colored dresses. Judith had screamed at her, refused to give her any food for the rest of the day, and called her things so vicious they still hurt Isabella to this day.
That memory was vivid, as she watched her mother wipe at the stain. The perfect mask of makeup and calm features almost hid Judith’s simmering rage, but Isabella could recognize the unmistakable shade of it underneath.
Alberto Jr. cried in her arms, and Isabella rocked him as she recognized what she’d done. As scared as she’d been of her mother’s reaction, her first instinct had been to take care of her son. The fear gripping her stomach settled to discomfort, as she straightened her back and stood a little taller.
She wasn’t a frightened child anymore; she was a mother. And she was already doing a better job than her own mother had. The moment felt like a victory in a fight she hadn’t known she was in.
Her voice was strong, her face unapologetic, as Isabella looked at her mother and said, “Sorry about that. I fed him just before I came down, and you frightened him.”
To Isabella’s happy surprise, her father replied, “I’m sure we all understand. Little ’Beto is a baby. They throw up. Even you did that. You ruined a pair of my suede shoes once.”
“And I remember thanking you for it, Isabella. Those shoes were hideous,” Judith muttered, as she threw away the paper towel and then shrugged out of her suit jacket.
What little discomfort that was left in Isabella’s stomach dissipated. Her mother no longer dared to have a fit of fury, and her father had almost stood up for her and her son. Almost. And she’d overcome her own fear by pure instinct. It seemed both she and her parents were evolving.
She kissed Alberto’s head and felt him calm. He was quiet now, gumming on the collar of her robe. Judith folded up the jacket, looking at it disdainfully.
“I’ll pay for the dry cleaning, Mother.”
“No need. I’ve been planning on replacing this suit anyway. The skirt doesn’t quite fit right. Like with your father’s shoes, the baby spit was probably a sign that the garment needed to go,” Judith said and retrieved her espresso. She didn’t ask for Alberto back and Isabella didn’t press the point. She wanted to hold him close anyway.
Alberto Sr. gasped. “Oh, the eggs! I forgot to set the timer. Do you think they’re done, mija?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter if they’re not perfect,” Isabella soothed him.
He looked at the eggs in the pan as if they might explode if they were not done. He hummed and scratched the bald part of his head. “I’ll give them another minute or two, I think,” he mumbled.
Judith rolled her eyes at Isabella, who promptly ignored her.
“Alberto is fidgeting. He seems warm, probably because I’m quite warm in this thick robe. I think I’ll go get his baby bouncer so he can sit with us but not in my arms.”
Judith walked past her. “Allow me. You entertain the baby, and I�
�ll be back with the bouncer.”
Isabella’s brow furrowed, but she saw no reason to argue. “Um, all right. Thank you. It’s folded up and currently on top of my suitcase, I think.”
“I’m sure I’ll find it, dear,” Judith said, as she headed up the stairs.
Isabella sat down with Alberto Jr. and watched her father run the eggs under cold water and then scoop them up, humming an old Chubby Checker song under his breath. It calmed Isabella, and they shared a smile.
A couple of minutes later, Judith returned with the baby bouncer, unfolded it, and put it on the floor next to Isabella. As she did, she spoke without taking her eyes off her task.
“I saw your little machine up there. What are they called? A tablet?”
Isabella froze. “My iPad?”
“Yes, that’s the one. You seem very fond of it.”
“I am. I find it useful for a number of things,” Isabella said.
Task completed, Judith stood up. “I see. Like keeping in touch with your friends?”
“That’s one example, yes.”
“And perhaps suitors? I mean, you are single now,” Judith said casually.
“Just barely, but yes, I am single. And no, I’m not ‘entertaining suitors’ on my iPad. I’m just talking to people I enjoy speaking to.”
Isabella felt a little unease at saying that. While she wasn’t officially dating Erin, they were certainly more than friends. However, she hadn’t said that she spoke only to friends, she said she spent time talking to people she enjoyed. Erin certainly fit into that category.
That was the power of words. Choose your wording carefully, and you could get away with most things. She’d been taught that by the ruthless, but clever, Rupert Claremont, the cofounder of her mother’s law firm. He’d helped Isabella cover up her theft of a piece of cake when she was six.
Mr. Claremont had instructed that, when she was accused, she was to tell her mother that she had certainly not stolen a piece of cake. He showed Isabella that she could say that in all honesty, because she hadn’t eaten it yet and could therefore return it, guaranteeing that she hadn’t “stolen” the cake but merely borrowed it. So, when she promised that she hadn’t stolen it, she hadn’t lied to her mother, she had just chosen her words carefully.
Whatever Erin was to Isabella, she was certainly someone Isabella liked to talk to. In fact, right after her son, Erin was currently Isabella’s favorite person. She just wouldn’t be telling her mother that.
Judith gave her a searching look before replying, “I see. Well, if you do enter into a new relationship, remember you don’t have to hide it from me and your father, dear. We want you to be happy.”
He wants me to be happy. You want to know exactly what I’m doing and if I’m doing it with someone you deem suitable.
“Of course I’ll let you know if I start a new relationship, Mother.”
Judith nodded before wandering off, drinking the last of her espresso, and Isabella added bread and cheese to her plate.
Chapter 8
Parents and Children
Erin tried for a calming breath and repeated the same point she’d been making to her client for the last twenty minutes.
“No, Lemmy. You can’t just keep doing ten minutes of weight lifting twice a week. Your body’s gotten used to that now, so you won’t lose any more weight unless you change your routine. You paid me to teach you about cardio, and that’s what I’m trying to do. I’m afraid you have to vary your exercise and work harder if you want to keep shedding the weight.”
The short man ran his hand over his beard and scowled at her. “Huh. That’s shitty and annoying, but fine. What about that machine over there? Can I check out ladies on Tinder while I’m on that one? And, you know, go slow on it so it won’t be so hard?”
As if the gods were intervening to keep Erin from showing her frustration, her phone beeped to say she had a text. She’d always made a habit of keeping her phone on silent and normally stowed it in her locker when she was working. These days, she found herself keeping it with her in case Isabella made contact.
However, the sound was only on, because she’d forgotten about it. She seemed extra forgetful at work these days. She just didn’t know if it was her insomnia catching up with her or the fact that she couldn’t stop thinking about Isabella.
Normally, she would’ve apologized for the disruption and ignored her phone, but she was so close to snapping at the lethargic Lemmy and his disinterest, she took the excuse to calm herself down.
“I’m so sorry, Lemmy, but this is really important. Why don’t you try that machine over there? It’s a cross-trainer, and the instructions are on the panel. I’ll be over in a sec to see how you are getting on, okay?”
He looked skeptically at the machine. “Yeah, all right. Then I want to go get a Gatorade.”
“Sure. I’ll be right with you.” Erin swallowed down the comment about the sugar contents in most sports drinks and the fact that most people didn’t need them. Especially if they didn’t even work up a sweat.
He lumbered off, and Erin got her phone out of the pocket of her peach hoodie. The text was, as she had hoped, from Isabella.
Hello. I know you’re working, I just thought I’d send you a text for when you are on a break. Do you want to chat today? Me and Alberto are free all day. Or we can be, if we manage to shake Mother’s prying eyes. Xx
She smiled to herself, unable to stop, as she read the text again. Someone tall accidentally bumped into her shoulder. It turned out to be Chris Nash, the gym’s owner.
He was sweaty from pumping iron, but she forgave him since he was smiling at her as if she were a hundred-dollar bill he just found on the street. She liked Chris, despite his clumsiness. He had good taste in comics, was a proud feminist, and was a social justice warrior. And his sense of humor was just as bad as hers.
“Hey there, Er. I haven’t seen you for a few days. You look in a good mood. Actually, you look all googly-eyed. Texting a girl?”
She bumped him back, aware that her shoulder only hit his bicep.
“You shouldn’t call me Er. I keep telling you and Riley that it sounds weird. But yeah, actually. Or, well, she’s texting me. She’s a woman, though, definitely not a girl. She’s a couple of years older than me, and a real grown-up. She’s got a kid and everything!”
“Ah, be careful there. Get together with her, and you’ll be an instant parent. I mean, I love kids, but dating women who already have them means you get thrown in the deep end. You don’t get to prep and see if you’re ready. The kid’s just there, and you make an impression on it.”
Erin frowned. “Make an impression on it?”
He scratched his short-cropped hair pensively. “You know, you’ll be shaping what kind of a person the kid turns out to be, whether you’re ready for that responsibility or not. I’ve dated a few women with kids, but I think twice about it now. The last time I tried, it broke my heart twice: first because the relationship ended, and second because the little toddler was devastated. Everything gets harder, more complicated, when kids are involved.”
Erin shrugged. “She’s worth it.”
But fear reared its ugly head. What would it be like if she started really dating Isabella? She knew nothing about babies. She never thought she’d have kids. Little Alberto was cute and all, but he was…like something from a different planet. Her mind took it further, as her pulse picked up. Alberto was all squidgy and fragile now, but when he got older, he’d be shaped by her and her actions toward him. Just like Chris said. Her breathing got uneven just from thinking about the implications.
Worry painted all over Chris’s kind features. “Hey. Sorry if I freaked you out. I mean, I’m sure it’ll be okay. If you really like her, and she likes you, then you’ll figure it out. I was just babbling away without thinking. As per.”
Erin swallowed hard but tr
ied to mask it and give Chris a calm, cheerful smile. “It’s fine. I’m glad you got me thinking about this. Don’t worry, you haven’t talked me out of it or anything. I’m a grown-up. I can make my own decisions.”
Despite her assurances, she felt less than confident about her own decision making. Her pulse wasn’t slowing, and she kept wondering what the hell she was doing. She was flirting with someone’s mom. What if they did start up a relationship?
Someone called out to Chris, and Erin dazedly felt him squeeze her shoulder with a calloused hand before he walked away. She stood there, biting her lip and trying to calm down.
“Erin? I don’t get how that machine works. I went on it, and one of those big sticks hit me in the head.”
Startled out of her reverie, Erin came face-to-face with Lemmy. “What? Oh, right. Yeah, that’s the handles. You’ll want to hold on to those. Come with me, and I’ll give you the demonstration I should’ve given you earlier.”
Trying to ignore the Alberto-themed panic that had taken root in her chest, she walked over to the cross-trainer with Lemmy in tow.
It was early evening. Erin was home and had eaten in front of the laptop while chatting to Isabella. They’d covered Isabella’s failed attempts to get any work done on her book and Alberto throwing up on his grandmother at breakfast.
Once Erin had cleared up, she gave Isabella her full attention. She’d decided not to mention her worries about Alberto. There was no point until she knew if they were actually dating or not.
She’d let Isabella heal and decide whether or not she was ready for a new relationship before bringing up the topic—if she didn’t panic and end up burying her head in the sand about the whole thing, of course.
A new message from Isabella popped up on her screen.
IsabellaMartinez: Oh, by the way, Mother voiced an interest in my love life today. I’m not sure, but I think she might have gauged more than I hoped from catching us talking last night. Probably my reaction tipped her off.
BlackVelvetBitches: Really? What did she say?
Coffee and Conclusions Page 5