Long_Distance Coffee

by Emma Sterner-Radley

  Perhaps his calm indifference was just a mask. When they’d decided to try and be a family, she’d asked him not to suffocate her. No, that wasn’t quite right; she’d demanded it from him. And he’d promised. Maybe this was his way of ensuring he kept that promise. Did he want more? Did he need more from her?

  The thoughts and questions hurt. Guilt lodged in her throat, making it hard to swallow.

  She made the coffee and thought about Alberto instead. He always made things feel better. She thought about his chubby hands that looked like doll hands screwed on to his soft little arms, thanks to the crease on his wrist. Those hands mapped as much of her face as they could reach while she breastfed him.

  How could a little person make everything so warm and magical? She’d never thought she would be a mother. Now, it was the only thing she knew for certain that she wanted to be.

  She watched the coffee start to trickle and wished it would hurry up. She wanted to go upstairs to Alberto and to…well, to Erin.

  Finally, clutching her coffee, she started to walk upstairs, but the guilt was still there, and she stopped halfway up. As usual, anger was her first response. She cursed under her breath. Then she strode back down, put her coffee on the kitchen counter, and walked into the living room.

  “Richard? Sorry to disturb you. I just wanted to say good night, as I’m going upstairs to sit with Alberto.”

  “Okay. Good night. Are you going to try and do some writing up there?”

  Isabella hesitated. “No. Actually, I’ve started chatting with this woman in New York.”

  Richard looked confused, and Isabella realized that she probably looked tense or strange. She made an effort to look normal and smiled at him. She didn’t feel guilty because she was doing anything wrong by speaking to Erin. She felt guilty because she knew she was choosing Erin’s company over Richard’s. And she had just told him.

  She searched his face for signs of him being offended or disappointed. But there was nothing but a relaxed smile now.

  “I’m glad you’ve made a new friend. You spend too much time alone, Isabella. You can’t spend all your time with Alberto. Have fun!”

  Isabella found herself clenching her hands into fists at her sides. She couldn’t understand why he didn’t ask questions about this woman or ask her to come watch TV with him instead. Well, maybe she could understand it. Was he so disinterested in her, in her life, that it didn’t matter to him? Or was he just so wrapped up in his own little world, his own friends and interests, the parts of his life that she wasn’t in, that it didn’t matter to him? Did the reason behind his disinterest really matter when the result was the same?

  Still, to her shame, she felt relieved. She wondered what she would have done if he had asked her to stay with him? Deep down, she knew the answer. She’d have found an excuse to leave. She didn’t want to spend time with him, and he didn’t seem to want to spend time with her. What did that say about their relationship?

  “Yes, it’s nice to talk to someone new and to tell her about Alberto. Anyway, I better go before my coffee gets cold. Have a good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She walked over, and this time, it was she who kissed his cheek. He smelled faintly of cologne and something nature-ish, something that felt foreign to her city senses. He smiled at her.

  “Thanks. Try to get some sleep as well. It can’t be good for your back to sit in that chair all night.”

  Isabella winced a little. “I know. My back is quite sore, if I’m honest. Don’t worry, I’ll probably stretch it out with that old Pilates DVD I have somewhere. Anyway, I always lie flat on the bed when Alberto and I have our daytime naps.”

  “I know. Nevertheless, you have to be careful, Isabella. You only get one body in this life.”

  She searched his face again. He spoke about her body so dispassionately, as if it wasn’t something he had wanted and loved at one point.

  “I’ll be careful. Don’t stay up too late, or you’ll be tired in the morning. Good night, Richard.”

  When he nodded and smiled, she gave him another peck on the cheek. The guilt was still there as she walked back into the kitchen, but it had lessened considerably. A thrill went through her, as she thought of her coffee and her chat with Erin. She took her mug and forced herself to walk upstairs at a normal speed and not hurry to her iPad. When she finally reached the nursery, she caressed Alberto’s chubby cheek and then sat down quickly.

  IsabellaMartinez1: I’m back.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Really? I thought you were Isabella?

  IsabellaMartinez1: Oh, very funny.

  BlackVelvetBitches: That’s nothin’. Listen to this…What’s at the bottom of the ocean and shivers?

  IsabellaMartinez1: I don’t know.

  BlackVelvetBitches: A nervous wreck. :-D

  IsabellaMartinez1: Erin, that was abysmal. I’d like those thirty seconds of my life back, please.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Fine, back to serious stuff. I was just thinking that I’ve told you about my job and a little about my shitty childhood. But I don’t know anything about you. Tell me about Isabella Martinez. Start at the beginning. What was baby Isabella like? Having seen your kid, I bet you were cute as hell.

  Isabella was biting her lower lip while smiling. Why shouldn’t she share a little? What could it hurt to try? Just this once. She summoned her courage and the energy to rail against her own instincts, then blew out a breath and started typing.

  IsabellaMartinez1: I don’t know about cute. I was a precocious, know-it-all young girl, who loved horses and teasing her younger sister. Have I told you about Marie?

  BlackVelvetBitches: No, I don’t think so.

  IsabellaMartinez1: Marie is my sister—well, technically, a foster sister. But more importantly, she’s a real pain in the neck. Remind me to tell you more about her later.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Okay, will do. Tell me more about that horse-loving brat. ;-)

  IsabellaMartinez1: Excuse me, I did not say “brat.” Keep your judgments to yourself. Now, let’s see. Where should I pick up from? Well, other than Marie, my family consists of my mother, Judith, and my father, Alberto. My father, whom I tend to still call Daddy—and I don’t expect any jokes about that—is a wonderful man. He’s kind, intelligent, warm, humble, and as brilliant in English as he is in his native Spanish.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Alberto? You named your son after your dad, huh?

  IsabellaMartinez1: Yes. I hope the name will just be one of the many things he inherits from his grandfather. Hopefully, he grows up to be a little more independent than Daddy, though.

  BlackVelvetBitches: How so?

  Isabella found herself squirming in her seat. It was time to talk about her again.

  IsabellaMartinez1: For all of Daddy’s positive traits, he has one weakness. Mother. If she tells him to jump off a cliff, he will only stop to ask if she wants him to survive the fall or not. For some reason, he adores her, despite her many unpleasant traits. He always tells the story of how as a young man, he went into a library to study. There he ran into this all-American girl with flawless porcelain skin and a sharp wit. He fell head over heels in love with her. He never believed she would even look twice at him. But she not only looked at him again, a year later, she agreed to marry him.

  BlackVelvetBitches: You know, I like the way you tell stories. I feel like I’m reading a book or something. Anyway, sorry, that was a side note. It sounds nice to have parents who are so in love.

  Isabella liked the compliment but ignored it. She had to continue explaining about her mother. If she paused now, she would stop completely and bury it all again. She had to get it out quickly and succinctly, purge the poison.

  IsabellaMartinez1: Well, it would have been nice if his adoration of her hadn’t meant he let her get away with everything and if that fact didn’t have dire consequences for me, and later for Marie, as well. No matter what Mother did, he never intervened or spoke up. Not even those times Mother locked me in the basement all n
ight for sneaking out after curfew, or for disobeying her orders. All he did was make me my favorite breakfast the next day and tell me that my mother only wanted to help me.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Shit. Your mom was a real piece of work.

  IsabellaMartinez1: Yes. I know I shouldn’t complain to someone who had to grow up without her parents, but I think it will help you to understand me, if you understand more about my mother. She came from nothing, and through hard work and marrying well, she’s ended up very rich and powerful. I suppose, she forced the carefree, horse-loving girl out of me very quickly and taught me to be as cold and calculating as she had to be.

  Isabella couldn’t stand anymore right now. She led the conversation away from her mother and into her current life, but still she refused to guard herself or clam up. She was surprised to find that she wanted to talk, needed to talk. She skirted over her education, her career, and her fight up the ladder to the position of CEO. How she had done things she wasn’t proud of to achieve that.

  BlackVelvetBitches: What do you mean “things you aren’t proud of?”

  Isabella frowned. She had to draw the line somewhere. She’d already told Erin about the coldness she’d inherited from her mother; she felt too ashamed to demonstrate examples of it. Besides, maybe she’d shared enough for one night. She didn’t want to scare Erin off completely.

  IsabellaMartinez1: It’s nothing big. I’ll tell you another time, perhaps. I’m starting to get a bit tired now. Aren’t you tired?

  BlackVelvetBitches: Yeah. We should be asleep. We’re too old and have too many responsibilities to be up all night. :-D

  IsabellaMartinez1: You’re right, of course. Nevertheless, I’m afraid I wouldn’t get any sleep, even if I tried.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Yeah, same here. It doesn’t matter how tired I am or how late it is. I’m an insomniac, just the same. So screw all of that. Tell me more about you instead, about grown-up you. What do you like to do when you’re not writing, burping a baby, or harassing actors on Twitter?

  IsabellaMartinez1: I certainly did not harass him. I only told him some truths he needed to hear.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Sure. :-D Whatever you say. Still, tell me about what you like to do.

  Isabella rubbed her stiff neck as she considered that.

  IsabellaMartinez1: I’ve always liked to travel. We traveled a lot when I was little. Mother wanted me to see the “old cities,” as she called them. So we went to Paris, Moscow, London, Alexandria, and a few other places. As a child, traveling with my parents… It wasn’t always fun, or easy. But I’ve made up for that by enjoying my own travels as an adult. My favorite was Shanghai. Before Alberto was born, I tended to go back there whenever I felt like I had time for a holiday.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Wow. That makes my road trips around the state seem like walks around the block. :(

  IsabellaMartinez1: Trust me, you’d be better off traveling around New York on your own, than standing in a concert hall in Vienna while Judith Martinez scolds you in front of a crowd for smiling at a passing boy.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Why the hell weren’t you allowed to smile at him?

  IsabellaMartinez1: Because we didn’t know him, and he looked “unwashed and uncouth”—her words not mine, obviously.

  BlackVelvetBitches: You’re right. I could smile at as many unwashed people as I wanted on my trips. Now, that’s my definition of freedom.

  Isabella stifled a laugh, making sure not to wake Alberto.

  Soon it was past midnight, and Isabella was amazed that time had gone so fast. She faintly recalled hearing Richard sneak past the door to go to bed, and she knew that Alberto had a few close calls and almost woke up, but it all happened somewhere in the periphery of her consciousness.

  Talking to Erin was what had mattered. Letting the words flow as they wished. Not controlling them to make sure she wasn’t saying too much or trying to arrange them to look good in a manuscript or work memo. She had just relaxed and…talked.

  IsabellaMartinez1: God, look at how I’ve rambled on about myself. I’m so sorry, Erin.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Are you kidding me? Don’t apologize. I’m so happy you told me all about this. Your life is really interesting. I want to hear more.

  Isabella felt a smile forming. Erin wanted to hear more? After all that she had disclosed, after all the parts of herself she’d just let Erin see, she still wanted more?

  Isabella had just broken every social rule her mother had forcibly instilled in her. She hadn’t been on her guard and kept up appearances, she hadn’t analyzed her companion before being open with her, and she hadn’t made mental notes about what she had disclosed.

  As it hit her just how much she had divulged, she began to feel uncomfortable. Erin had the upper hand now. With a shake of her head, she reminded herself that Erin didn’t seem to be the sort of person who would ever use personal information against someone. Still, she felt an urgent need to stop before this went any further. Frowning, she tried to find an excuse to leave.

  IsabellaMartinez1: I think Alberto might be waking up. Maybe we should call it a night?

  BlackVelvetBitches: Aww, do we have to? Yeah, I guess I should try for some sleep. Maybe it’ll be like last night, and I’ll actually manage some snoozing. :-D On one condition, though: you meet me here tomorrow. If you can’t make it before, then at least for some midnight coffee. ;-)

  Isabella’s frown smoothed a little.

  IsabellaMartinez1: Only if you promise me that we will talk more about you then. You owe me some background.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Deal. G’night, Ms. Writer. I hope you get some sleep.

  IsabellaMartinez1: You too, Erin.

  She meant it. Erin deserved the best of everything, and that certainly included sleep.

  Chapter 11

  Erika

  Erin closed the lid of the laptop with a smile on her face. Isabella Martinez was no longer just a stranger she had met on the Internet; at least, it didn’t feel like it anymore. Her mind was reeling with everything she had learned. She’d just taken a crash course called Isabella Martinez 101.

  She knew she should try to sleep, since she was meeting Erika tomorrow for coffee. But how could she sleep? She felt like some sugary energy drink was blitzing through her veins.

  Needing to calm down, she returned to the street view from her window. She remembered reading, somewhere, that when we made a new friend we really liked, the same chemicals flooded our brains as when we fell in romantic love, just in a smaller amount.

  Leaning against the cold glass of the window, she bit her lip and wondered why, exactly, she was so buzzed right now. Was it simply the rush of making a new friend? Or was it a crush? Did she feel like this simply because Isabella was so impressive and for some reason wanted to talk to her?

  She moved away from the glass as if it had burnt her. What if she started prattling on one night, and Isabella realized how boring and dumb she was? She took a deep breath and focused her gaze on a piece of paper blowing down the sidewalk in the windy night. It looked like a flyer, and Erin forced her brain to try and focus on what color it was. She had to distract herself—ground herself—from these worries, or she’d be up all night freaking out. The flyer looked red and green, but then it blew out of her line of sight.

  Erin pondered having more coffee but knew that it would only fizz her brain up and get her heart pounding even more. Why was her heart pounding? This is ridiculous.

  She stopped her racing brain. Maybe she was just sexually frustrated? Maybe this was, at least in part, physical? She bit her lower lip again, as she considered if that could be it. Was that why her feelings seemed more intense than they should be? She figured it couldn’t hurt to try and fix it. If nothing else, a quick orgasm might relax her enough to sleep.

  Ten minutes later, Erin had hurried through a hot shower, brushed her teeth, and gotten under the covers. She let her hands find their way between her legs, and her mind conjured the images she needed to get her
to a state of arousal and then to climax. It was perfunctory, more like massaging aching shoulders than making love to herself.

  She had been told by former lovers that this wasn’t how they touched themselves. Hell, Katie said she lit scented candles and put on romantic music. But for Erin, it was just a physical need taken care of. It was the touch and care from another person that made the act of reaching an orgasm fun or meaningful. And she couldn’t have that now. All she could hope for tonight was to feel relaxed and content, physically if not mentally. She felt the last shudder of her orgasm, and slowly brought her hands back to her sides. Her body softened, and while her breathing calmed to normal, and her brain was quiet in blissful relaxation.

  It lasted all of a minute, before a stray thought popped into her head. I wonder if Isabella ever touches herself?

  Erin slapped her hand over her face. Her brain backed off in shame and provided a more platonic option. Where does Isabella sleep? It’s clearly with Alberto but away from Richard. Does she have a bed in Alberto’s room? Has she told me this and I forgot?

  “Stop thinking about her!” Erin shouted at herself in frustration. “You’re supposed to be sleeping, dumbass!”

  She regretted shouting a second later, when she heard an angry banging from her neighbor in the apartment next to hers.

  “Sorry!” She shouted toward the wall, hoping they didn’t think she was just responding with more noise.

  It was getting late, but she was clearly not close to sleep. She groaned and turned on the TV. Hopefully, there would some truly dull infomercial that would make her fall asleep. She got as comfortable as she could and tried to focus on being sold face-care products which apparently would have the same effect as surgery, the fountain of youth, and bathing in virgin’s blood.

  The infomercial trick hadn’t worked. In the end, pure fatigue and the muted sounds of the city that never sleeps sent Erin to sleep at 5 a.m.

  Since Erika wasn’t coming over until one thirty, Erin went back to bed after a rushed breakfast of cereal and orange juice. She slept fitfully, waking every time there was a noise outside, and gave up at ten fifteen. She did some crunches and squats, had a long shower, and ate peanut butter on whole grain bread for an early lunch.