Long_Distance Coffee

by Emma Sterner-Radley

  “God, she has to know everything. This is just like when she used to read my diaries and my letters.”

  “I know. But she does love you. I believe that with all my heart.”

  Isabella scoffed. “You also believe that if you’ve been chronically ill you can get better through positive thinking alone.”

  “You can. It’s been scientifically proven,” Marie replied in a singsong voice.

  Isabella hummed noncommittally, not ready to start up this debate again. Last time, she had ended up telling Marie she was “as brainless as a turnip” and didn’t want a repeat. She didn’t like herself when she was insulting her sister.

  A gurgle drew her attention. Alberto’s writhing was increasing, and his face was turning pink.

  “Marie, I’m going to have to go. Alberto is having a bad day with his stomach.”

  “Aww. Of course. Kiss little Beto from me. Talk soon?”

  “Yes. We’ll talk soon, hermanita,” Isabella said and disconnected to quickly pick up Alberto.

  Later that night, Isabella walked back upstairs with her cup of coffee. Halfway up, she heard Alberto crying. She hurried but couldn’t rush too much or she’d spill her black coffee on the cream-colored carpet.

  When she finally reached the door to Alberto’s nursery, Richard came out of their shared bedroom. A title it didn’t live up to, as Isabella only slept there during daytime naps with Alberto when he was particularly fussy and wouldn’t sleep without her next to him.

  Richard rubbed his face drowsily. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, everything’s fine. I just went down and get some coffee. Apparently, he woke up and felt all alone.” She sighed inwardly. Something he and I have in common.

  She hurried through the door, put her coffee down, and picked up the wailing Alberto. He quieted a bit, as she rubbed slow, gentle circles on his back.

  She laid him on the seat of the armchair, so she could rub little circles on his belly as the doctor had showed them at Alberto’s last checkup. The motion had its usual good result, and the mewling baby let out a burp.

  Alberto’s little face relaxed, as he went from loud whining to hesitant cooing. The tension drained from his body, and soon he began to happily kick his little feet up at her where she was hunched over him. She dodged the kicks with practiced ease and smiled at her little prince.

  “That’s much better isn’t it, mi corazón?”

  He cooed in response and kicked a little higher. Isabella grabbed his onesie-clad foot and kissed it. She’d all but forgotten Richard’s presence, assuming he would have returned to bed as soon as he knew that everything was all right, until he spoke next to her.

  “That little belly of yours isn’t very nice, huh, pal?”

  He crouched next to Isabella and softly patted Alberto’s stomach with his big hand.

  Isabella watched him from the corner of her eye. Richard could be such a great father to Alberto. He was warm, kind, and playful. All the traits he showed when he was with his other son, Joshua.

  Richard wasn’t as close to Alberto, and she worried again that she was the reason. She knew very well that she prevented people from making a connection with Alberto by keeping him to herself, even when it came to Richard. She just couldn’t seem to stop herself.

  Alberto was her everything. He was the child she thought she could never have, and he had taught her about the person she wanted to be. Gone was the ruthless, workaholic, Isabella Martinez. In her place was a woman who was happy spending hours bathing, putting on lotion, and cuddling a little baby.

  “Do you need a break? Want me to rock him to sleep?” Richard asked while barely masking a yawn.

  “No, it’s all right. I’m up anyway and need to drink my coffee. You go back to bed.”

  “Okay then,” he said, with what sounded like relief to her.

  He bent down to kiss Alberto’s tummy, then straightened up to kiss Isabella’s temple. Had she blinked, she would have missed it. It was the quickest brush of the lips she’d ever experienced and the chaste kiss left her indifferent.

  Sometimes, she looked at him and wondered who he was, this man who worked so diligently, who spent his weekends hiking and going on trips through the swamplands with Joshua, and who always seemed so content. So calm. So unfazed by the fact that he spent so little time with Alberto and that his girlfriend refused to share his bed.

  Why didn’t he care? Why wasn’t he upset? He was always so fair and gallant, letting her decide what was right without discussion or dispute. Perhaps that should be nice, she thought. But it wasn’t. It was unsettling. And for the millionth time, Isabella wondered if she and Richard had made the right decision. It had seemed so obvious at the time.

  She walked around with Alberto in her arms now, humming a lullaby slightly out of tune. He didn’t mind what her crooning sounded like, it always calmed him. He became heavy in her arms, and she realized he was sleeping again. She brought him back to his crib and gently tucked him in.

  She sat down in her armchair and decided to write down an explanation—or maybe it was more of an exploration—about her and Richard and how they ended up in this relationship and in this big, quiet house. Supposedly together, but decidedly not. She wanted—no, she needed—to make it clear for herself how they had gotten to this point.

  It had all happened so fast and it had seemed like the right thing to do. At the time, anyway. Now, she couldn’t help but wonder. She realized she had, in fact, been wondering about it for a long time, she just hadn’t allowed herself to look too closely at the problem. Admitting there was an issue would mean she would have to take action. That was who she was. And she didn’t see a point in acting on it. After all, was there really a better option?

  And would you deserve it if there was?

  It was all so overwhelming and messy. She needed to see the chain of events in front of her, needed to get the facts clear, and evaluate the story like she would a piece of fiction. Maybe then she could see where they’d gone so wrong.

  She opened up the writing app on her iPad and started typing quickly. The words pouring from her fingertips with an ease that her writing had lacked of late. She wrote about it all. The hardworking, no-nonsense CEO for a catering company, and the kind, gentle man she’d met in a bar, on a business trip to Florida.

  He’d been there with colleagues. When one of his coworkers started hitting on Isabella, way too aggressively, he’d stepped in and put an end to the harassment. He’d been gentlemanly. Sweet. There had been no hidden motives, no plan to “screw the ice queen” like so many of the guys Isabella met back home. He’d just been harmless. He’d just been Richard. And it had been a breath of fresh air.

  He was safe. She’d felt safe with him, and that was something that had been lacking in Isabella’s life for as long as she could remember. Only her father had occasionally provided safety for her. And even then it had been a fleeting sense rather than the lingering one she desperately craved. When she met Richard, he’d seemed to fill that role, that need she had.

  She wrote about how they went to her hotel room that night and ended up in bed. He made love to her so sweetly, listened to every word so intently, that she ignored the fact that they had nothing in common.

  The next day, after singing her praises and talking about how he had never met anyone so impressive and enigmatic, he told her he was in the middle of getting a divorce from his wife but that it wasn’t quite finalized. He talked about his son and how much he missed him. How he was sure that Isabella would adore him if they met. He’d seemed heartbroken. He’d seemed to need her. No one had ever needed her like he did then. And she’d never known how much she needed to be needed.

  So, she’d prolonged her trip and Richard had stayed with her.

  The days moved on, and soon she had to go back home to Philadelphia. She went back to work but missed those feelings of being safe, of being needed, and of being someone new. Someone other than the ice queen or the hard-assed boss at work. Wi
th Richard she could be someone loving and relaxed and not the irascible business woman, constantly on edge.

  So, she kept in touch with him. Lighthearted e-mails and flirty texts, the occasional promise that they’d meet up again soon.

  Eight weeks later, she found out she was pregnant. To say it was a shock would be an understatement of gargantuan proportions. She’d been told by doctors years ago that she could never have children. That she was infertile after several operations to remove ovarian cysts had left too much scarring. She even went so far as to ask the doctor to double-check, since she’d been so sure she couldn’t get pregnant. But, yes, there was a little baby in there. “No doubt about it,” the doctor told her with a good-natured chuckle. One she could only meet with a confused stare.

  She called Richard right away. She told him she would probably get an abortion.

  He was devastated, but being his usual, sweet self he told her she should do what she felt was right. That he would support her. But the disappointment that dripped from his voice like syrup left Isabella feeling so guilty she couldn’t breathe.

  She began thinking about being a mother. A part of her had been gravely disappointed when she’d learned she couldn’t have children. A part of her she’d grieved for and thought she’d laid to rest. She had moved on, finding other goals and purposes for her life and been happy with that. Finding out that she was pregnant was beyond scary. As was the thought of discovering what kind of mother she would be. Would she turn out to be like her own mother? That fear alone was almost enough to convince her to go through with the abortion.

  But a deeper part of her feared the loss of this opportunity, probably her only opportunity to have a child of her own. Uncharacteristically at a loss as to which way to turn, she confided in her father. He was thrilled and completely unable to hide it. He pointed out that this was a once-in-a-lifetime chance, since she was not supposed to be able to have children.

  He told her stories about rocking her to sleep when she was a newborn, about when she thought the funniest thing in the world was her father making the rubber ducky disappear under the water in her baby bath. He also mentioned that it was a great time to start working on that book she’d always dreamt about writing. Emotional manipulation? Maybe. But she couldn’t be angry with him. She knew his heart was in the right place.

  Between him and Richard, she had allowed herself to be convinced. For which she was eternally grateful. Alberto was her sun and her stars, and she loved him more than she had ever known she could.

  But she’d also made the decision that Alberto should have his father in his life. And a nice, stable home. Far, far away from his grandmother.

  She wouldn’t let her fear of becoming her mother turn her into the woman. Her son would not grow up like she had. No one would shout at Alberto or punish him unduly, like Mother had done to her. They were all going to be happy and safe in Richard’s Florida sunshine.

  She had talked herself into this relationship, accepting mild affection as a viable form of love. She realized that now. While Richard…well, he’d immediately jumped at the chance to start another family and had started looking for a house before Isabella had even quit her job. Whether he truly wanted a fresh start or was simply determined not to have another son grow up without him a part of his daily life, she didn’t know. Maybe Richard didn’t either. Whatever his reason was, she was growing more and more certain that it wasn’t because he was madly in love with her.

  Did he ever fall in love with me? Or was it just attraction that grew into some form of duty? His moral obligation for getting me pregnant.

  She doubted she’d ever know the answer. How do you ask someone a question like that? Just how frank and deep would that conversation have to be? This was all so far out of her comfort zone.

  She focused back on the chain of events. They’d moved in together on the outskirts of the Floridian town of Naples, so Richard could be close to the Everglades where much of his work took place. He spent the duration of her pregnancy looking after her. He reduced his hours, just so he could be there if she needed something. It was then she’d started to realize just how ill-suited they were.

  Her fingers stiffened. As if they didn’t want to type the rest. They wanted her to stop and spare her the humiliation of seeing the mess she had made of her life. She flexed, bringing life back into them before forcing them back to the iPad and on with their duty.

  Where was I? Oh yes, being ill-suited.

  Richard didn’t understand her restlessness or her need for space. He took every hormone-driven mood swing personally, sulking for days instead of communicating. He never understood when she was being sarcastic or serious, and would take a joke to heart and ignore something heartfelt, further antagonizing Isabella. Then she’d snipe at him and they’d both be miserable. Richard, because he didn’t understand what he had done wrong, and Isabella, because she felt like a cruel, miserable old bat.

  They had very little to talk about, and soon she grew tired of his slow and gentle lovemaking. One night, she braved talking to him about it, despite being raised to never speak of sex, and despite the relationship being woefully low on communication. She’d asked him if they could try something different. He’d shrugged and said that he didn’t see why they should as their love life was perfect. Then he fell asleep. That was the last time she attempted to fix their sexual relationship. And the last time they’d had sex.

  Now, they were like brother and sister. No, more like coworkers running a company called Raise Alberto Safely.

  Isabella wrote about her fear of spending the rest of her life with Richard and about how she worried she would one day snap and just scream at him, scream like Alberto would on nights when his stomach was worse than usual.

  She ended the long note by writing about the question that shamed her. When would it be best to end the relationship—when Alberto was too young to miss Richard or when he had gotten a childhood with his father and grown old enough to understand why relationships didn’t work out?

  When she put the iPad down in her lap, she realized she had been writing the note as if she was telling the story to Erin Black. She frowned and switched off the tablet.

  Obviously, she wouldn’t send it to that alluring stranger in New York.

  Chapter 7

  The Physical Stuff

  Erin was in the gym, hitting a punching bag but not putting much effort into it. She was just keeping busy and keeping her muscles warm while she waited. She usually met her client, the overly chatty Mrs. Diane Mead, at two thirty. It was now three thirty, and no Mrs. Mead. Erin didn’t mind if people were late, but hoped that they would at least call or send a message to let her know they were okay and if they were coming or not.

  She stepped away from the punch bag and took off her gloves, drank a long gulp of water, and picked up her phone. Still no messages from Mrs. Mead.

  Trying to make the time pass, she opened the Facebook app but saw only posts from former clients complaining about their kids and inappropriate jokes from people she didn’t even remember friending. She closed it down again, fast.

  She could text a friend. Maybe Erika or Julian? No, Erika was probably busy at work, and Julian had been so odd lately. Refusing to leave his house and claiming that she hit him with a telescope. It was a lie, of course. She wasn’t the type to hit anyone. He, however, was the type to make things up for attention.

  She sighed and wondered if she was getting too quick to judge people as she got older. First Mrs. Mead and now Julian, maybe that was why she socialized so little these days. She felt guilty. She’d always been the type to see the best in people, when had that changed?

  She opened Twitter to see what was trending. There was nothing of real interest to her, only some scandal involving a politician and a debacle over an overly photoshopped magazine cover of a famous singer. She was ready to close it down when she saw a new tweet pop up from The_Apple_Core.

  Yes, I’m procrastinating. Yes, I lack my usual di
scipline. Yes, I’m avoiding this heavy tomb of Norse fairy myths in front of me. Sigh.

  Erin grinned and clicked into Isabella’s profile to see what else she had tweeted. She noticed right away that the tweet she’d just seen wasn’t there. She went back to her own Twitter feed. Nope, wasn’t there. Apparently, Isabella changed her mind and deleted it.

  Erin wasn’t surprised. Isabella didn’t seem the type to admit to failing to focus. Or that she was human and would procrastinate like everyone else, for that matter. Maybe she just wanted to talk to someone and that tweet was her way of showing it?

  She opened her Skype app and typed a message.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Don’t think I didn’t see that tweet before you removed it. :D Procrastinating like a boss, huh? You go with your bad self.

  Erin wasn’t sure if Isabella would reply or if she had gone back to researching. after a few seconds, a message popped up.

  IsabellaMartinez1: Pardon? Oh, never mind. I’m glad I could amuse you, Miss Black. What are you doing online anyway? Shouldn’t you be at work?

  BlackVelvetBitches: I am. Sadly, the person I’m supposed to be training isn’t. Just waiting for her to show up or call to cancel.

  IsabellaMartinez1: I see. And if she cancels?

  BlackVelvetBitches: Then I have some time to either workout or stand around talking to the cute girl in the gym’s reception. ;-)

  IsabellaMartinez1: Oh, so you’d use your precious free time for flirting?

  Erin started typing the words why? You fishing for some friendly flirting? but then erased it and typed something more appropriate.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Hey, not all of us get the physical stuff at home. Some of us need to go hunting for it.

  There was a pause before the reply came in, and once again, Erin wondered if she had said something stupid. Maybe that was even less appropriate than what she had first typed. She sighed, thinking she was just too tired to remember how to talk to people.