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Like I’ve done so many times before, I type her name into a search engine on my phone in the hopes of learning some new tidbit about her life that she couldn’t bar me from. I sit straight up in the bed I’ve been lounging on when a link for a social media profile pops up. Clicking it takes me to her profile, which is mostly private. But not as locked down as it was the last time I tried.
Scrolling through it, I learn two things. One, it seems Isla has unblocked me. For the moment, anyway. Two, someone named Kat Hendricks has tagged both Isla and Willa in a recent picture. Though the furnishings have changed, the room is unmistakable as the condo I shared with Isla. Which means, I know exactly where to find her.
6
CILLIAN
The following morning, Isla’s profile is locked up tight once again. I can guess she was as curious about my current life as I am about hers. She probably only unblocked me for enough time to snoop and I got lucky with my timing.
I got enough though.
I’m smiling like a fucking fool when I meet my mother for breakfast before another long day of house hunting.
“Peter is on his way to pick us up. The offer was accepted, you’ll be a homeowner in about thirty days,” I tell her when I sit down, dropping my plate of questionable hotel buffet food down on the table.
“Oh my,” she says. “Are you sure about this?”
It’s at least the twentieth time she’s asked me.
“You know I am. This career is unexpected; I could get hurt any day or get traded and have to move again at the drop of dime. I want you to settle in a place where you can be happy. You can build a life here and not worry about things, which means in turn I won’t worry about you. Regardless of where I end up.”
It’s a little like beating a dead horse at this point, but I remind myself that Erin Wylder has never taken a handout a day in her life. She’s the hardest working woman I’ve ever known, and this is a huge adjustment for her.
“If you’re sure,” she says, quietly letting her words fade.
“I am very sure. Quit fighting me on it. You loved the place, and I can afford to get it for you.”
“Buying it makes it harder for you to get a place for yourself though. Imagine where you could live if you put that money toward it?”
“Have I ever struck you as a guy to live in a fancy high-rise penthouse?”
We’re eating the free breakfast at a three star, at best, hotel. Fancy, we are not.
“No. But you could be, if you wanted.”
“I don’t want that. I want you to have a home.”
“Fine,” she concedes. “Finish your food so we can go find you a home, too.”
Hours later, I’ve made an offer on a place for myself. Peter was right; it’s more than I’d initially wanted to spend. But it’s unique and I love it, so I caved and made a very good offer. Now we wait to see if it’s accepted by the seller. Being that they’re also Peter’s client, I imagine he would have told me if he thought it wouldn’t be, though.
Hopefully, by the time my mom and I return from our last trip to Boston, we’ll both have new places to lay our heads. She’s tired after another day of running around, so I leave her at the hotel to rest while I tackle my next big Seattle obstacle.
Isla Saint Cole.
It’s nearly seven when I reach her building. I try to ignore the sharp pain in my heart as memories of better days flood my head. That proves too difficult. I’ll never not feel guilty for how I let things fall apart with her.
The building within walking distance of the UW campus is locked down tight. The only way in is by punching in a code or buzzing up to a unit for them to let you in. I can’t buzz Isla; she’d never open the door to someone she isn’t ‘friendly’ with.
Taking a stab at the code I used to use to gain entry, I type in the five digits and smile when the doors sound with the familiar click. Stepping through, my smile fades. Because for the five years Isla so eagerly blocked me from her life, I could have merely flown out here and knocked on her door.
It’s something I contemplated many times. On more than a few occasions I had the flights pulled up and ready to purchase. And for various reasons, I talked myself out of it. She said to give her time. I did, days then weeks that turned into months. I regularly tried to text, call, or see if I was unblocked. I never was and so I gave her more time and as those months turned into years my shame grew. Along with some indignation that she never gave me a chance to talk it out. I don’t blame her for that, not directly anyway. It added to the fester, though, and that rotting part of me couldn’t commit to seeking her out on her own doorstep. Not to mention how my preoccupation with Isla those first few weeks consumed me to the point of affecting my career. The assistant coaches even had to sit me down and lay into me. Basically, I was told to get myself together or I was going to the farm for ‘development’. I couldn’t let that happen and it was one more reason I never came back to force the conversation with her.
But there are no wounds preventing me today. Tonight, I start the hard work of rebuilding some sort of relationship with the most important girl of my childhood. With the daughter of the man I respect most in the world. With the only woman I ever loved, even though I didn’t love her right.
The route to the elevator and up four stories is familiar. Nothing about the building itself has changed. An old, converted soldier’s home that was originally built in the twenties; it’s full of untold stories and unseen ghosts.
I have changed, though. I’m sure Isla has as well. All I can hope is that she gives me a shot at getting to know the new her.
