The Redo (Winslow Brothers #4) (39)

I already failed breastfeeding. No way I can fail Isabella’s wishes related to nannies.

“Do you want an answer that’s going to make you happy or…?” I cringe, and Dr. Maddox lets out the kind of laugh that doesn’t come from humor.

“What am I going to do with you?”

That, Dr. Maddox, is a fantastic question. One I currently ask myself and Izzy about one hundred times a day.

“I tell you what,” she says finally, rolling over on her little stool to look up at me where I can’t avoid her eyes. “After the exam, I’m going to get you some numbers for support groups. Being a new mother is difficult, but it’s even more so when you’re doing it alone and without help.” She states the last two words with pointed emphasis. “I personally attended one of these after having my first, too, so you can rest easy that I’m not sending you to a cult or something.”

I smile thankfully. “Okay.”

“But you need to consider getting a nanny and accepting help from other people too, okay? Friends, family, anyone who’s holding out a hand. And I promise, someone is there and waiting for you to ask.”

I almost scoff in A minor. I’m pretty sure that’s the note of loneliness.

Although, there is one person who would help in a heartbeat…

By God, he’s already done enough. Unless I’m on the brink of insanity, I refuse to put this on him.

“I’ll ask for help. I’ll get help,” I lie, knowing it’s the only thing that’s going to get her moving and Izzy and me out of this office. The urge to glance at my watch and check on my timing for my appointment is strong, but I don’t dare. I don’t need the postpartum police checking me in to a ward somewhere and screwing up a potential five-million-dollar deal.

She eyes me closely, likely knowing that I’m a big fat liar. Still, she smiles at me then, but this time, it holds an edge of sadness.

“Okay, Maria. Let’s scoot down to the end of the table and get the fun part over with, shall we?”

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.