Long_Distance Coffee

by Emma Sterner-Radley

  The reply came in, and its contents made Erin’s tense shoulders relax.

  Yes, that’s me. Isabella Martinez. I was named after Isabela, the Puerto Rican municipality that my grandfather came from before he emigrated to the US. I actually wasn’t worried about you being a stalker until you said that. Thanks for putting that unpleasant thought in my head.

  Erin grinned as she answered.

  I’m as normal as anyone who sits up and drinks coffee all night can be. :-P You’ll get an “add me” message on Skype from BlackVelvetBitches. (It was funny when I signed up, like, ten years ago. You know, because my last name is Black. Never mind.)

  The reply pinged in, and Erin nearly missed it because she was busy looking down, trying to shake her embarrassment.

  I’m not a fan of the use of the word “bitches,” but I like the rest. Is it from the song? “Black Velvet?”

  Erin had to answer that right away.

  Yes! Not everyone gets that reference. I loved that song. Well…I still kinda do.

  Isabella’s answer came just as quickly as Erin’s had.

  It’s a good song.

  A thrill rushed through Erin’s system. She hadn’t felt like this while talking to someone for a very long time. She forced herself to focus on typing a reply.

  Yep. I like your Twitter handle too. What’s with the apple thing? You said you liked them since you were a kid?

  Erin realized that this might be a long story. She wondered if she should have waited until they were typing in the much-easier Skype chat? The reply proved to be quite short, luckily.

  I used to have a huge apple tree outside my window when I was a child. It became a sort of symbol for me, I suppose. And I have always liked the taste and smell of apples.

  Erin stopped herself from saying that she liked apples too but mainly if they were in a pie or a protein flapjack. Would that be interesting? Would it make her sound like a bad personal trainer if she admitted to not liking the fruit raw? She had to stop second-guessing everything. This is why you don’t socialize, Black, she thought to herself. She stuck to using her reply to move the chat.

  Gotcha. Okay, I’ll see you on Skype.

  Erin opened the app and thought about what she could talk about to prove that she was smart, funny, and totally normal to this Isabella Martinez. Next to Erin, her forgotten coffee was going cold, while she was just getting warmed up.

  Chapter 4

  Skype

  Isabella suddenly felt worried. She started wondering if they were supposed to be typing to each other, as she had assumed, or if they were supposed to be calling each other over Skype.

  She shook her head and decided that this Erin Black would know that voices would wake Alberto and that she didn’t seem forward enough just to call without asking first.

  Erin seemed quite sensible and easygoing. That was one of the reasons it was nice to talk to her. She hoped they would keep the conversation flowing easily. The last thing she wanted was to become annoyed and say something rude to her new acquaintance. Especially in her sleep-deprived state. If she was honest with herself, she was simply too tired to censor herself; this woman would just have to take her as she was. But Isabella was eager for this conversation to flow easily—as easily as all the previous interactions had been with Erin. Stop overthinking. I simply need to be myself and let the conversation develop as it will.

  The Skype app on her iPad showed her the request from BlackVelvetBitches. She accepted and opened a chat window.

  IsabellaMartinez1: Hello. Before we start any conversation, I would like to ask you to refrain from telling me about your lack of “puppy goodness” in 50,000 characters. I’m sure you can limit yourself to a few thousand.

  A little pen and the words, BlackVelvetBitches is typing…appeared at the bottom of the window.

  BlackVelvetBitches: God, demanding much? :D Okay, so, yeah, I don’t have a dog, but I’d love one. Someone to go running with and someone to cuddle up with at night. Someone loyal. Who won’t leave, you know? Who’s just always there and happy to see you.

  Isabella read the words carefully. She felt that there was more in those sentences than just the wish for a dog. Someone loyal. Who won’t leave, you know? That sounded like Erin had known a lot of people who weren’t.

  Isabella sighed. Her tired brain was probably overthinking again. The woman just wanted a dog, for heaven’s sake.

  The rustle of a moving blanket made her look over at the sleeping baby in his little crib. Alberto stopped moving, made a little snuffling sound in his sleep, and then grew quiet again.

  That phrase popped into her mind again; who’s just always there and happy to see you. Isabella realized she had that. No matter what was happening in her life, whether she had another setback with her writing, a quarrel with her mother, or another disappointing encounter with Richard, Alberto was always there, and if not happy, at least comforted to see her.

  Alberto liked being picked up by his dad, and being cuddled or played with by other people, but at the end of the day, she was the only one who could comfort him. The only one he was always “happy” to see. She shook herself out of her reverie and went back to her iPad.

  IsabellaMartinez1: In a way, I have that with Alberto. Minus the going out running, of course. Although, we do go for long walks with him in the stroller. So, yes, I understand what you mean. Would your landlord let you have a smaller animal? A rabbit or perhaps a guinea pig?

  The little pen appeared immediately, and Isabella felt strangely proud that the other woman was so interested in their conversation that she hadn’t tabbed out or left the screen while Isabella had been lost in thought.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Nope. No pets allowed. I’m not gonna complain, though, getting an apartment in this part of town without cockroaches is awesome.

  Isabella smiled.

  IsabellaMartinez1: Surely it would be better if there were cockroaches? Then you could have them as pets? I hear they’re quite loyal and they can certainly run fast, so they would be great jogging partners.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Yeah, they run fast. But always in the opposite direction. Besides, I doubt I could housebreak them. You’re a mom, you should know… Do they make diapers in cockroach sizes?

  She chuckled at the mental image of a cockroach in a diaper. She glanced at her son for a moment, worried her laughter had woken him. Alberto’s arms and legs moved fervently, showing that he was probably dreaming something intense, but he didn’t wake. Isabella looked back at her iPad and typed.

  IsabellaMartinez1: Hmm. Perhaps newborn swaddling diapers could work for the bigger cockroaches? Otherwise, I’m afraid you’ll have to make your own out of cloth.

  Isabella had just hit send when she looked at the message. She frowned and scrunched up her nose. This was a ridiculous discussion. She had to pull this back to something sensible. She typed another message.

  IsabellaMartinez1: So, what is it like being a PT?

  BlackVelvetBitches took a while to reply. Isabella saw the pen appear but it took a long time before she saw a message.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Sorry, I went to get a refill on the coffee. I have to start by saying that I try to call myself a personal trainer and not a PT. Physical therapists use the letters PT, and they REALLY don’t want any confusion. My job is great on good days and awful on bad days. But I guess that is pretty much all jobs, huh? shrug

  Isabella began typing fast, not even caring about the issues with autocorrect. Despite having had the iPad for over a month, she still hadn’t gotten over the thrill of the device. Her fingers on the screen made a lot less noise than a keyboard, which made it less likely that Alberto would wake up as she worked, or chatted, in this case. That alone was worth the frustration of autocorrect and slower typing.

  IsabellaMartinez1: You might have a point there. What does a bad day look like for a personal trainer?

  Another brief pause and Isabella wondered if Erin was sipping. It gave her a craving for the rich, sharp flavo
r of coffee. She’d only had one cup today. Maybe she should have her second one soon. She decided to go downstairs and get one the next time Alberto woke up.

  BlackVelvetBitches: It could be a lot of things, like a lot of appointments back-to-back, which makes it stressful, or a client who is difficult in some way. Or I could just be having a bad day, physically or mentally.

  Isabella’s interest was piqued, the coffee craving forgotten for now.

  IsabellaMartinez1: Physically or mentally? How do you mean?

  BlackVelvetBitches: Physically, as in I could have a cold or could have pulled a muscle but still have to show the regime I’ve set up for the client. Mentally, as in that I might not be in the mood to socialize.

  Isabella sat up straighter in her chair.

  IsabellaMartinez1: Ah, is this the famous loner trait you mentioned in your Twitter bio?

  BlackVelvetBitches: Depends. Are you asking as someone making friends or as a writer studying people? ;-)

  IsabellaMartinez1: Ha. All right, you caught me. A little of both, I suppose. I’m always curious when someone says they’re a loner. It makes me wonder if they mean they’re antisocial, introverted, or just very comfortable being alone. Or a combination of those traits.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Hmm, well. I don’t dislike people. I really like a few, actually. :-P I just get really tired and freaked out when I’ve done too much socializing. It’s a real pain with my job. I have to make small talk and try to make the clients like me, and it makes me kinda edgy, you know? I hate to be rude to people, but sometimes I just want them to go away and let me work out or read my comics in peace. Weird, huh?

  IsabellaMartinez1: I wouldn’t say so. In fact, that sounds to me like you’d fit perfectly in the introvert category. A lot of people are introverts. There’s nothing wrong with that at all.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Whoa, look at you analyzing me! I better not find myself in a book somewhere as the INTROVERT and weird Twitter stalker who likes dogs and coffee. I’ll be watching out for myself in your books, Martinez!

  Isabella paused and ran her hand over the back of her neck. Her fingers snagged in her thick hair, and she was momentarily distracted, wondering if she should cut her hair or not. But reality pulled her back down into her unpleasant thoughts and having to reply to Erin. Her books. Right.

  IsabellaMartinez1: I write about fairy tales, so you should be safe. Anyway, the way my writing is going, I doubt you’ll ever find any books in the first place.

  She almost regretted the admission as soon as she sent it. She hated showing weakness and telling people about her problems. Her mother had instilled that trait in her, too. She sighed. If she was going to tell someone, it might as well be here and now. The safety of Albert’s room was a good setting for late-night confessions.

  The room was dark but for a night-light in the shape of a star. She was tired but comfortable in her snug chair, and the only noise she had for company was the quiet breathing of a sleeping baby.

  Of course, it helped that her conversation partner was over a thousand miles away and a stranger; a nice, harmless, faraway stranger. If ever there was a time to open up and admit her failures, surely this was it. She watched the reply appear on her screen.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Huh. So, the creative muse (or whatever) isn’t helping you out?

  Isabella sighed again as she typed.

  IsabellaMartinez1: I suppose not. It’s very strange. When I was working full time, I seemed to be teeming with ideas, but now that I can write—well, they all seem subpar or done to death. Nothing I write is good enough.

  There was a pause before BlackVelvetBitches’ reply came in. Isabella wondered if the trainer had gotten distracted, or if she was pondering what to say. Maybe this confession had been a bad idea.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Good enough for who? You? Or for the readers? Or for some publisher?

  Isabella frowned while answering.

  IsabellaMartinez1: Everyone and anyone, as it stands right now. It’s atrocious.

  BlackVelvetBitches: I’m sure it’s not that bad! Isn’t all writing supposed to seem predictable to the writer, because it came from your brain? I think I read that somewhere.

  Isabella looked up as Alberto fidgeted a little and almost woke. But he settled once more, and Isabella went back to her iPad.

  IsabellaMartinez1: Oh, it’s not that it’s predictable. At least, I don’t think so. It’s more that I’m not sure if my take on it is too personal and won’t be relative to others.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Well, I can’t help you there. If you need a good workout to clear the cobwebs and get your frustration out, I’m your woman. Writing tips…not really something I do. I mean, I could read what you’ve written, if you want a guinea pig, but I’m not much of a reader. Unless it’s comics. If you’ve written about Batwoman, count me in!

  Isabella realized she was smiling as she typed her reply. It seemed impossible not to smile at Erin’s messages.

  IsabellaMartinez1: No, I’m afraid not. It’s just fairy tales rewritten for our time. Putting Little Red Riding Hood as a child star in Hollywood and Cinderella as a homeless person in New York.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Oh, cool! Not my usual thing, but I’d read it.

  IsabellaMartinez1: I’m glad to hear it. I think it can work if I get the feel of the stories just right. I have to constantly guard myself to make sure I don’t make the tales too upsetting for the readers.

  Isabella rolled her head from side to side, stretching out her neck, as she waited for Erin’s reply. She needed to do something about the suffering muscles in her back and neck before they seized up completely. Perhaps a massage would help? She twisted right and left, feeling a line of pain shooting down between her shoulder blades. No, that would mean leaving Alberto alone with someone else. And it would mean undressing, at least partly, in front of a stranger. She had always hated that feeling of…being exposed. Vulnerable. Scrutinized.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Okay. Aren’t fairy tales supposed to be pretty, well, not upsetting?

  IsabellaMartinez1: My mother told me a lot of fairy tales as a child. She never told me the watered-down and child-appropriate new versions of them, though. No Disney interpretations or books with pretty pictures. She told me folk tales and Grimm’s fairy tales in all their original, bloody and cruel glory. She said that life was vicious and dangerous and that those stories would prepare me for that far better than the modern versions.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Whoa! Intense mom, there!

  Isabella scoffed and looked up at the ceiling. In her head, she could hear her mother’s simple “you’ll get over it,” dripping with contempt, as she countered Isabella’s complaints about having nightmares and not wanting to hear those stories anymore.

  In a way, she did get over it. She grew to live with the nightmares and the dark images in her head until they became normal for her. Nevertheless, she wondered if her need to write about those fairy tales now was a way to deal with her childhood trauma, and she wondered what other damage they might have done to her.

  IsabellaMartinez1: Oh, you have no idea, Miss Black. I’d like to change the topic, though.

  There was a pause until Erin replied.

  BlackVelvetBitches: “Miss Black,” huh? I like it. No one has called me that in ages.

  Alberto started fussing again, and this time he didn’t settle. Isabella saw the signs and typed a quick apology and goodbye, just in case she didn’t come back online.

  Just as Isabella put the iPad down, Alberto started bawling his eyes out. She picked him up and rubbed his back, as she walked around the small room with him.

  She decided that she wasn’t going to go online later and try to find Erin again. She’d bared enough of her soul to a stranger already. It was hard for her to believe that she’d just told someone about her fears regarding her writing and disclosed—even to a tiny degree—her most closely kept secret, what Mother was like. Some things were better if not spoken of, and that was the best way
to deal with Mother. Stoic silence was the way Isabella lived her life, and it wasn’t going to change just because Erin Black was easy to talk to, no matter how tempting the concept was.

  Isabella sat down to feed Alberto and emphatically snapped her iPad cover closed.

  Chapter 5

  Another Night, Another Chat

  The abrupt ending to last night’s chat had been disappointing. All throughout the day, but especially during her long workout in the evening, Erin had wondered if something she’d said had made Isabella leave so fast.

  It was impossible for Erin not to be taken aback by how much she wanted to make their friendship stick. She wasn’t used to that. Her loner existence—or maybe she should say introvert ways—was just what she wanted. But not only did she want to remain friends with Isabella, she wanted to become better friends with her. There was no doubt that Isabella was a witty, intelligent woman, and Erin’s curiosity was certainly piqued by her.

  This wasn’t the norm for Erin. It wasn’t even close. And she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe loneliness was driving her desire to know Isabella better. After all, outside of the forced social interaction with people at work—which was the downside of her job—she didn’t really talk to people these days. Not even her old friends. Sure, she was on friendly terms with Riley, but that was still a working affiliation. At least, that was the relationship Erin tried to maintain with her, despite Riley’s constant forays across the professional boundaries Erin had established. Besides, they never talked about stuff that mattered. She made a mental note to tell Isabella about what had happened earlier with Riley.

  Isabella was different from most of her friends, and that interested her. Plus, it was fun to chat with her. The cliché of “time flies” was certainly true when Erin spoke to Isabella, and she wanted more of that.

  The laptop was on, and Skype was open. She tried to pretend that she wasn’t searching out IsabellaMartinez1 in her online contacts list. It was almost midnight, after all.