Part 1 (2/2)
The man raised a brow. ”The girl? You mean my little Isabelle?”
”That's her name?”
”Mmm-hmm.” One of the movers walked past him and me. The man looked down, gesturing back. ”Come inside. I'll go get her.”
My throat became thick, so I didn't say anything. I just bobbed my head and followed the man inside. The house felt full and they hadn't even set up yet. Boxes were stacked in every corner, furniture piled high in the den and living room.
”Sorry about the mess,” he teased, raising his brows. ”Just moved in and all.” He held his hands out, giving me a s.h.i.+t happens kind of shrug. I forced a smile, unsure of how to respond, and he noticed, stopping in his tracks before walking up the stairs. ”I guess I should have told you who we are, huh?” He scratched the top of his head. ”I'm Theo Black. My wife's name is Janet, and I've already told you my daughter's.”
”Cool.”
He pressed his lips to smile, and after informing me that he'd tell Isabelle I was downstairs, he was taking the steps by twos, calling for his daughter. I took the time to look around the home. A few tables were in place, and next to one of them was an open box of photo alb.u.ms.
Glancing back briefly before focusing on it again, I reached forward and opened the alb.u.m. The first few photos were of Mr. and Mrs. Black, but as I flipped through some more, there were baby photos of the girl. She wore a lot of pink and yellow. She had rosy, chubby cheeks. She looked like a happy baby.
I noticed then that Mr. and Mrs. Black were very young when they had Isabelle. They looked to be in their late teens, early twenties. It was strange because they seemed so happy and content. While her parents seemed hip, cool, and lively, mine were nearing fifty, bitter towards each other, and mostly miserable. h.e.l.l, they hardly spoke to one another. And don't get me started on our awkward, scheduled dinners.
My parents decided to have a child once they'd established careers and traveled the world. By the time they were ready to settle, they were thirty-six. It was a decent age but, unfortunately, Mom was considered high-risk when she carried me. I figured it was the reason she never had more children.
For a while, I thought that was the key to happiness-living your life first with the one you love and then creating a tiny being that you will love unconditionally for the rest of your life. Apparently, I had the wrong mindset because as I studied the Black's pictures, I realized I didn't even have any of my own to compare them to. If I did, I had no clue where they were other than the few small frames on top of the fireplace and beside the sofa. All for show, of course. But through all their photos, they seemed genuinely happy.
”She'll be down in a minute.” Mr. Black's deep voice startled me, and I s.n.a.t.c.hed my hands away from the photo alb.u.m, cheeks tinged red. ”Sorry,” I whispered quickly.
”Don't be.” He walked around me, picking up the photo alb.u.m I'd violated. Flipping past a few pages, he finally came across one and laughed. ”This is Izzy when she was two. Completely naked, playing with her toes.” He showed me the picture, leaning towards me. His arms brushed mine. I don't think he noticed or cared, but I did. How couldn't I? It was almost like I'd been shocked-it was electrifying.
I stepped aside, smiling with him. ”She was adorable.”
”Still is,” he sighed.
Footsteps sounded seconds later, and the girl came rus.h.i.+ng down. When she reached us, she put on a large grin, flas.h.i.+ng pink braces. ”You wanted to meet me!?” she practically shrieked.
”I-uh, yeah! I wanted to say hi and introduce myself to the new neighbors.”
”That's so cool.” She extended her arm, holding her hand out. I did the same. ”Isabelle Black, but you can call me Izzy.”
”Chloe Knight.” I beamed.
”So nice to meet you.”
”You too.” We shook hands, and instantly, I freaking loved Isabelle. ”Hey, were you reading a Judy Blume book earlier?”
She let out a girly gasp. ”Oh my gos.h.!.+ Yes! I love her!”
”I do too!” I squealed. ”I can spot that blue cover from anywhere!”
”No freakin' way!”
”Your mom is gonna flip s.h.i.+t if she hears you talking like that,” Mr. Black said, putting the alb.u.m on the table.
Isabelle put her hand on her hip. ”I wonder where I get it from.”
He chuckled, and I laughed because he used a bad word right in front of us.
”Hey, how about I show you the rest of my books. I have almost all of Judy Blume!”
”Okay!” Isabelle grabbed my hand and led the way up the stairs, pa.s.sing by her mother who was telling two of the movers how to set up the bed in the master bedroom.
”Oh!” Mrs. Black's eyes expanded when she realized there were two girls instead of one. ”Who's this?” she asked, green eyes bright.
”Mom, this is Chloe. She lives across the street. I'm showing her my Judy Blume collection.”
”Oh really? A new friend already! See, I told you this neighborhood wouldn't be so bad.” Mrs. Black smiled, revealing dimples. She was a really pretty woman. Strawberry blonde hair, full pink lips, and a body I hoped I would get once I finally blossomed. She didn't even look like she'd had a child. It seemed she was still considering having babies.
”Hi,” I said, waving.
”h.e.l.lo gorgeous girl.” She reached for one of my curls. ”Your hair is beautiful. Did you do it?”
”I did!”
”You did a great job, sweetie. Maybe you can teach Izzy how to style her hair, huh?”
I shrugged, looking at Isabelle's frizzy, black mane. ”Hmm, maybe.”
Isabelle rolled her eyes. ”Can we go now, Mom?”
”Go on. But please be careful, Izzy. You have a lot of fragile stuff in your boxes.”
”I know, I know.” She reached for my hand again. ”Come on!” We ran down the hallway, stepping into a room with a bunk bed. The walls were already painted a light shade of pink, the fuzzy white rug on the ground making the color pop.
Isabelle showed me her collection of books. A large box was filled to the brim, piled high with novels, and not just Judy Blume. That day, Isabelle became my best friend, and I didn't even realize it. We connected and bonded, laughed and talked about books and Disney movies until the sun sank.
It was the most fun I'd had with anyone in a long time. I no longer felt lonely with Isabelle right across the street from me. Her room was the room on the second floor, only a few inches to the left of where my bay window was.
At night, if we couldn't sleep, one of us would blink a flashlight to see if the other was awake, and if we both were, we'd turn on our night-lights, talk through the walkie-talkies we went half on, and giggle about silly things. Most times, it was books, but sometimes it was boys.
We grew up with each other. We were closer than I ever thought possible. She'd become a sister to me. We gossiped. We watched girly movies and listened to the Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears, and TLC. We'd sing our hearts out, dancing in my bedroom or hers until we were exhausted.
We hardly ever fought, and if we did, it was about stupid things like what boy was hotter at school or which friends.h.i.+p bracelet we would buy from Claire's. Izzy and I were inseparable. And somehow, Mr. Black became closer to me to, but not in an unconstructive way.
Mr. Black helped Izzy and me with our homework and even took us to softball practice whenever my mother couldn't. Mrs. Black worked a lot at her bakery in Los Angeles, which left Mr. Black at home, caring for his daughter.
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