This month has been madness.
When I finally reach the house—my old house—I feel like a poorly wound watch. I take in a deep breath and head up to the front door. The small slice of front yard is as immaculate as always—you would never guess that a small child lives here. That is all Isabel, of course.
I ring the doorbell instead of knocking. It feels weird to even do both when I used to waltz right in. This was my home for seven years. Now it is a stranger’s house.
When Isabel answers the door, she is a picture of simmering fury. Though her short blonde blob is slicked in a severe side part and she’s wearing a simple dress that shows off years of yoga and pilates, her shoulders are stiff, her face is red, and her eyes are as sharp as razors, ready to draw blood. I’m sure when she opens her mouth her tongue will be the same.
“Isabel,” I say cordially, though I’m not smiling either.
“You’re late,” she seethes.
I look at my watch and shrug. “Traffic. I wasn’t aware I was being timed.”
Her eyes narrow. “I have a hard time believing that you’re not aware of something.”
And so we are already headed into sentences with double meanings. Time to face this head on.
“Why did you call me over here, Isabel?”
I step into the foyer that still smells like lemons and wood polish, and she slams the door behind me. “You know very well why you’re here.”
And then she erupts into a flurry of the most interesting graphic insults and swear words that I have ever heard, each one of them fired at me like a weapon. As usual, they bounce off my skin. I am almost impressed by the names she calls me, tossing around blanket statements like “bad father” and “mid-life crisis,” and “endangering our daughter,” but it isn’t until she pulls Vera’s name into this that I’ve had enough.
“It wasn’t like she asked for it,” I throw back at her, trying to control my temper. “She was just taking Chloe Ann to get ice cream.”
“My daughter is lactose intolerant!” she yells, horrified.
I frown. “What? No she isn’t.”
“Yes she is! And do you know how much sugar is in ice cream? I will not have a fat daughter who gets diabetes before she’s in high school.”
I raise my brows to the heavens. “Isabel, seriously. She’s a child, children eat ice cream, and she’s not and never has been lactose intolerant. You feed her cheese all the time. Are you more upset about that or the picture?”
She takes a step toward me, her nails out, and I’m not sure if she’s going to go for her usual slap or not. I stand my ground and don’t look away. “You have been making me look like a fool all over again. You know, everyone was talking about Vera the other week, her dancing with that kid in the club, and I was happy. Really, I was happy because she was making you look like the fool for once. But then there were more pictures, the two of you, out for dinner, out for a walk, and then of my daughter with that wretched little tramp, and every time the magazines talk about our divorce, every time they remind me that you threw me aside just to get some young lips around your dick from some fat foreign slut, and—“
“Shut the fuck up!” I yell at her, taking a hard step so I’m right in her face, bearing over her. “You shut your fucking face and keep your vile words to yourself, or this is going to get really ugly.”
She doesn’t back down. “It’s already ugly!” She throws her hands up to the ceiling. “You got my daughter featured in that swill!”
“She’s my daughter too!” I roar back. “Don’t you think it bothers me?”
She gives me a contemptuous look. “I think you thank god every time I’m made to look like an idiot. I think you’ve been thanking him a lot lately.”
I turn away, burying my face in my hands, and let out a desperate moan. “Isabel, please. Just listen to me. None of this was done on purpose, it was just unfortunate. You know that being back with Atlético will push some attention my way again, but it will all blow over.”
“All this time,” she says softly. The change in tone is jarring, and I have to look at her. “All this time you could have done something with yourself and you didn’t. Not until you left me. Not until now.”
I frown, puzzled. “Uh, Isabel. I owned a restaurant until recently, an extremely successful one that you pushed me towards. I am fairly sure that counts as doing something with myself.”
She looks at me pointedly. “You know exactly what I mean.”
And I do. But how am I supposed to explain that meeting Vera made me realize I was living the wrong life? It would mean nothing to Isabel, and it would only add fuel to the fire.
“Where is Chloe Ann?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Upstairs.”
“What? You called me over here for a fight when she’s upstairs!?” My throat tightens, and I crane my neck to see up the staircase. Luckily Chloe Ann isn’t there. “How dare you let her be exposed to this? Don’t you think she’s gone through enough already?”
She shrugs and taps manicured nails against her thin lips. “Well, I’m sure she’s used to it by now. This is nothing compared to being made a fool of to the entire nation. My god, Mateo. What kind of girl are you seeing, huh? Making my little girl cry like that.”
My hands curl and uncurl. “Little girls cry all the time. It wasn’t anything Vera did.”
“Except stealing her father away from her. That’s what she did.”
“You don’t get it.”
“No. I don’t. And I’m glad. If I were to understand you and your motivations, that would mean I have the brains of a snake.”
“Are you sure that you don’t?”
“You watch yourself, Mateo. I mean it.” The way she focuses on me, just like the reptile she says she’s not, I know she’s being serious. “Don’t make me change things for you, because I will.”
“Are you threatening me?”
She looks down at her pointy shoes. “No. I’m not. And I know I’d have to build a really good case against you if I wanted to take Chloe Ann away from you. You won your rights fair and square, didn’t you?” She looks up, and we know she’s talking about the money I paid her off with. “But if I see anything like this again, I can’t promise that other people won’t take some kind of action.”