Oh yeah, this is going to be great.
“Oh, Izzy, please,” I beg. “This is an apartment on Fifth Avenue, sweetheart. You can’t cry about Fifth Avenue. It’s, like, a rule.”
My cherub-faced angel only seems to cry harder at that, and a bout of desperate nonsense kicks in. I don’t even know what I’m saying. I just need something to sink in. “I’ll buy you a pair of Jimmy Choos and Chanel and, oh, oh, Louboutins too. Everyone loves the red sole!”
Izzy’s cries intensify, and I direct the stroller over to the side of a building where I can safely get her away from the bustle of the Manhattan sidewalk. She calms slightly, but at my first breath of relief, her cries are renewed.
I feel like I’m going crazy, the stabbing pain of her wails nearly enough to send me into a tailspin. I’m drowning. I’m failing. A tear catches inside the corner of my eye, and a sob hitches in the back of my throat.
I want to do this for my sister and the way that she wanted. Without help, and with the loving nurture of a mother’s patience.
But I’m not Isabella, and I don’t know what I’m doing. She was a natural—a goddess. All I know is that you’ll never find a worthy two-bedroom in Uptown for under a million.
Izzy’s nap that started at the doctor’s office has fallen short-lived, and if I don’t start walking again soon, I’m never going to make it the two blocks I need to in time for my listing appointment with the Downfellers.
It’s a great listing, in a great location, worth a hell of a lot of money. But something tells me, even if I make it there in time, I’m never going to win them over with a crying baby in my arms. They’re extremely picky and discerning, and it’s taken over a year to convince them to join our team.
I feel like the earth is crumbling beneath my feet, but with one look at Izzy’s sweet, desperate face, I make a decision.
I’m not making the appointment today. Instead, I’m going to go home and take care of my girl—even if it sullies my business just a little bit.
I fire off a quick, but what I hope is professional, text to the Downfellers—I’m so sorry to do this last minute, but I’ve had a family emergency and need to reschedule. I assure you this is a one-time event and not how I handle business on a regular basis. I know you’re eager to get listed, so let’s set up another appointment for another day this week.
I ignore the numerous texts and emails from my staff, put my phone back in my purse, and pull Izzy out of her stroller, putting her up on my shoulder to offer what I hope is a comforting hug while I focus on getting us home.
Izzy cries harder and harder and harder as I weave my way through the New York tourist crowd. It’s thick and suffocating for everyone else, but lucky for me, because of Izzy’s shrieking cries, everyone gives me a pretty wide berth.
Oh, Izzy girl…what in the world are we going to do, me and you?
Remy
I take a sip of my first beer of the day and stare down at a new text from Miss Cleo.
C: It’s okay to have uncertainty if it means you feel like the possibilities are endless.
Me: Your investment portfolio is rock solid, Cleo. Still low-to-moderate risk with steady growth. You have no need to be uncertain. I got you, boo.
Obviously, I know she’s not talking about her portfolio, but I can’t resist screwing with her.
C: You know I’m not the one who is uncertain, Remington. Just remember, uncertainty can be a good thing, if it means you’re open to anything that can come next.
Me: I can’t be sure, but it kind of feels like you’re trying to engage in the kind of conversation we’ve established （about a billion times） is off the table.
You’d think after fourteen years of this, she’d give up on trying to go all fortune-teller on me, but evidently, old habits die hard.
C: I have no idea what you’re talking about, my dear.
Me: But shouldn’t you know? I mean, you ARE the psychic.
C: Oh, right. I guess I forgot. The reminder is greatly appreciated.
Me: Very funny.
C: Enjoy your day, Remington.
On a half laugh, half sigh, I slide my phone back into my pocket and stare out into the backyard of Wes and Winnie’s brownstone. Immediately, my eyes spot the vacant pile of dirt in the far-right corner that sits beside a small shed within the privacy fence.
Looks like another vegetable garden has officially bitten the dust.
I smile to myself and move my attention back to my family, the entire Winslow clan together again for a Saturday afternoon barbecue. Since the Mavericks have a home game this week, Wes and Winnie offered to play host.