Long_Distance Coffee

by Emma Sterner-Radley

  Chapter 15

  Erin Black’s Aching Heart

  Erin picked up her phone and wrote a succinct text to Erika.

  Yep, I’ve got a crush. I’m so screwed.

  The reply came back after a few minutes.

  I’m sorry, sweetie. So, you’re sure now?

  Yeah. I mean, I think so. Can I have feelings for someone I have only talked to online? That’s a thing, right?

  Of course it is a thing. Can I call you to talk about this instead of texting?

  Erin rubbed her forehead.

  ’Kay. I guess.

  The phone rang, and when Erin answered, she heard Erika’s gentle voice.

  “Hey, sweetheart. Yeah, of course it’s a thing. Do you remember that I told you about my sister, Annika, back in Sweden?”

  Erin thought for a second. “Uh, yeah. I think so.”

  “Well, she is married to a guy called Kristoffer. He’s of Sami descent, which is really cool, but I digress. Anyway, because he’s from the north and she’s from the south, they met online, on a forum for their favorite book series.”

  “What books?” Erin asked, knowing full well how Erika would roll her eyes at the interruption. Erin would take her little pick-me-ups where she could get them right now. Annoying Erika a little fit the bill.

  “A Song of Ice and Fire, but that doesn’t matter. Annika says that they didn’t even exchange pics until after she’d fallen for him. They’ve been married for three years and are so in love and so perfectly matched. She says she prefers how it happened between them. Having a long-distance relationship meant they really had to get to know each other.”

  Erin frowned, wondering if she was too tired and upset for a conversation. “How do you mean?”

  “Say that you or I date someone in the city, we would probably go out with them, right? We’d go do something like ice skating or see a movie or bowling. Or even just getting drunk in a bar and dancing.”

  “Yeah, I suppose.”

  “Well, online, all they could really do was talk. So they got to know each other very well before they even met to start doing stuff like bowling or ice skating. Just talking can make for a very intense and intimate start to a relationship. It speeds up the process because of all the instant sharing.”

  “Yeah, well, it would only be a start of a relationship if we were both single and into chicks,” Erin said dejectedly.

  “Ah, yes. Sorry. I was just trying to make sure you didn’t doubt your feelings. You can fall for someone online after quite a short time. From what you said yesterday, she is attracted to women, or at least open to it. The only thing standing in your way is the boyfriend, and pardon me for pointing this out, but you said she seemed pretty unhappy with him.”

  “Sure, but I’m not going to hang around and hope she breaks up with her boyfriend. Anyway, she lives all the way down in goddamned Florida. And she has a big house and a baby. She’s so…organized and adult, and me… Well, I’m just me.”

  “Not so just. You’re wonderful. Anyway, it could still work.”

  “Erika, come on,” Erin said tiredly.

  “What? It could. Look, what I think you have to decide is if you want to keep being friends and hope your crush passes, or if you need to stop talking to her because you’re falling in love with her.”

  Erin squeezed her eyes closed and felt her free hand ball into a fist. “I…I don’t know. Not yet. I, um, I think I’m gonna vacuum the apartment. I do my best thinking while doing cardio, and this will have the added benefit of getting rid of the dust bunnies.”

  “Okay. Just text me if you need to talk. Don’t bottle it all up,” Erika said softly.

  “Yeah, I will. Thanks.”

  “Anytime. Oh, and by the way, I’m glad we are back in touch, Erin. Meet up again soon?”

  “I’d like that.”

  She smiled for the first time since she hung up with Isabella.

  About five minutes later, Wicked Ones by Dorothy was blasting through her laptop’s speakers, and Erin had to force herself to focus on plugging her vacuum cleaner instead of dancing. She started chasing dust bunnies and was glad to see the floor getting cleaner but disappointed to notice that her melancholy was only slightly relieved.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about Isabella and how amazing it could be if they were together. She couldn’t stop wondering if Isabella listened to music while she vacuumed and couldn’t stop daydreaming about cleaning and dancing to music with Isabella in a house the two of them lived in. She cursed herself. Dammit! Would you stop craving things that aren’t yours to crave, Black?

  Suddenly, a ballad came on. She rolled her eyes at herself; she must have set it to shuffle her playlists, because there were no slow songs on the cleaning playlist, that was for damn sure.

  Still, she didn’t switch back to the original playlist. She was too preoccupied with her thoughts about Isabella to care about anything else.

  The song ended and another started, just as Erin switched off the vacuum, glad she was done. Another slow song filled the room. Another song that would do nothing to improve her mood. The Last Beat of My Heart, by Siouxsie and the Banshees.

  Great, a sad song about loving someone even though it’s going to hurt like hell. Subtle, universe. Very subtle. Thanks.

  Erin sighed and went over to the laptop, intent on skipping to a more cheerful song, but she stopped her fingers just before reaching touchpad. Those lyrics were so damn beautiful. The song was crying out to be danced to, dancing close, holding the person you loved with every beat of your heart. Isabella couldn’t be that person, though. Not for Erin. She knew that. Didn’t she know that?

  She listened to the words, over and over, that were asking—begging—a loved one not to walk away, promising to love them until the very last beat of your heart. And every word, every emotion, every painful, pitiful, beautiful thought seemed to be taken directly from her own head. Or maybe it was from her heart. Either way…it hurt like hell.

  The refrain cut her to the core. How on earth could she wish for this? How could she put herself through loving someone who couldn’t love her back?

  Slowly, grudgingly, the question morphed in her mind. How could she ask for something… someone…who wasn’t hers to ask for.

  It was just like her to ask—want, need, wish—for more than she could have. She remembered one of the bigger kids in her first group home, Jason, accusing her of being spoiled and selfish, because she always wanted the toy someone else had. Maybe this was a pattern with her, wanting what she couldn’t have? Or maybe she just had a talent for making herself miserable.

  She sat down on her bed and looked at the abandoned vacuum cleaner. The song faded out, but the melancholy words hung in the air.

  What was she going to do? Suffer in silence and hope it went away? Or did she dare to be open with Isabella? No, that was probably a dumb idea. Making a decision when she was this emotional… Now that was, without question, a dumb idea. Suddenly, everything felt very bleak.

  Erin collapsed back onto the bed. The tears in her eyes made the ceiling look blurry. She hated being this emotional and whiny, but she just felt so goddamned alone. She considered calling Erika again but felt like she would be bothering her. She was a grown woman; she should be able to handle an unrequited crush—and a sad song that brought up every single one of her insecurities—without blubbing to her friend like a baby.

  This was pointless. She couldn’t just lie here, crying in bed. She forced herself to move and clean up as best she could with cold water and then some makeup to try and look human again. She drank down a cup of coffee while it was still too hot for her throat. Once her gym gear was ready, she headed out. A hard workout was the only thing that could help her now.

  It was a little past ten, and the exercise had worked its usual calming magic.

  She decided to switch on the laptop and look for Isabella. She still felt shaken up and melancholy, but at least her head felt a little clearer. She still didn’t know w
hat to do, but she figured she’d give it a day or two before she made up her mind.

  Isabella was already online, and Erin’s heartbeat quickened. She pictured the dimly lit room she’d seen when Isabella had shown her Alberto. She visualized the armchair that Isabella slept in, how she must cuddle up to get a few hours of sleep while listening to her son breathing. Suddenly, she desperately wanted—needed—to see Isabella, so much so that it stung.

  She shook her head and typed a message, trying for a casual and playful tone.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Hey there, Stretchy! How’s your back feeling?

  IsabellaMartinez1: Like it’s been through the wringer, but a little less tense already. I’ll certainly keep doing those stretches. Thank you so much for demonstrating.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Glad to help! You can return the favor. Next time I need my resume updated, I’ll send it to you, Ms. Writer. :- )

  It took a while before Isabella replied, and Erin wondered if Alberto had woken up. She took a sip of her coffee and bit into her apple-pie-flavored protein bar.

  IsabellaMartinez1: I can do better than that. If you tell me your address, I’ll split my bag of Azúcar Negra coffee in two and send you one in the mail.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Whoa! Really? Isn’t that stuff like a million bucks for two coffee grounds?

  IsabellaMartinez1: No, it is not. Do you want the coffee or not?

  Erin chuckled. She could hear Isabella’s dark tone in the typed words. She wrote out her address and ended with a smiley face icon.

  IsabellaMartinez1: Got it. Thank you.

  BlackVelvetBitches: No, thank you for the coffee fix!

  IsabellaMartinez1: It’s the least I could do in exchange for your help and as an apology for my outburst about Richard.

  That last message was posted with lightning speed, and Erin wondered if Isabella had thought out what she wanted to say in advance.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Hey, I’m not the person you should apologize to. : )

  IsabellaMartinez1: No, I suppose not. Still, I want you to know I don’t think those things about him. It was just misplaced anger. He and I aren’t in the best of places with our relationship, but he is a good man.

  Erin knitted her brow. How the hell was she supposed to reply to that?

  BlackVelvetBitches: No, you don’t seem all that in love with him. (Hope you don’t mind me being honest here.)

  Was that out of line? Suddenly Erin’s palms felt sweaty.

  IsabellaMartinez1: No, I don’t mind, and trust me when I say that’s rare for me. Me and Richard, it’s complicated. I actually wrote it all down and described it not that long ago. Funnily enough, I seemed to address it to you.

  BlackVelvetBitches: But you never sent it to me?

  There was a pause. Erin reached for her protein bar, but she’d lost her appetite. She wrapped it back up and put it on the table.

  IsabellaMartinez1: No. It felt too intimate. I didn’t know you very well then.

  BlackVelvetBitches: And now?

  Another pause. Erin wondered if it was warm in the room, or if it was just her.

  IsabellaMartinez1: Maybe I’ll print it and send it with your coffee?

  BlackVelvetBitches: I’d like that. I like learning stuff about you.

  IsabellaMartinez1: Sorry, Alberto’s waking up.

  Erin nodded at the screen, even though Isabella couldn’t see her. She blew out a breath, leaned back in her chair, and put her hands behind her neck. She didn’t know what she should do, and talking to Isabella only made her more confused.

  A few minutes later, there was a message from Isabella.

  IsabellaMartinez1: I’m back. Shall we talk about something a little lighter than my relationship problems?

  Erin searched for topics to talk about but came up short. All she wanted was to see Isabella’s face. She sat up straighter. That was it—Isabella’s face…

  BlackVelvetBitches: You know, you never answered me about the scar. You know, the one I saw when you accidentally turned the camera on, and I freaked you out? How did you get it? It’s really cool, so I’m expecting you to say that you tried to kiss a mountain lion or something.

  IsabellaMartinez1: Well, I seem to recall asking you once how much (or how little) you sleep each night, and then we were interrupted. Answer my question, and I’ll answer yours.

  Erin chuckled. This woman certainly kept her on her toes.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Hey, no fair. I asked first…

  IsabellaMartinez1: Fine. But you have to promise not to laugh.

  BlackVelvetBitches: I’ll try. (Not that you’ll hear it if I do.)

  IsabellaMartinez1: All right. Brace yourself, because this is going to get long. I got the scar dueling with my sister Marie. Well, she wasn’t my foster sister at that point. We were babysitting her. I think I told you about Marie but not how she came to live with us. I’ll explain about that another time. Anyway, I was six and she was three. She kept nagging me to pretend to be dueling with swords. I wanted her to stop bothering me, and thought I’d scare her a little. So, reckless child that I was, I got two pairs of scissors from the kitchen to duel with. I thought she’d see them and run off crying. Sadly for me, she wasn’t scared at all, even though her parents had clearly told her she was too young for scissors. She picked them up and started jabbing at me, pretending it was a sword. Long story short, she sliced my lip open. I screamed to high heaven, Daddy took me to the hospital, and they managed to fix most of it. It was deep, though, so they couldn’t avoid leaving a scar.

  Erin gave a surprised laugh. She wasn’t sure what she had expected the story to be, but this wasn’t it.

  BlackVelvetBitches: You dueled with a toddler? Didn’t see that coming.

  IsabellaMartinez1: She dueled with me! I expected the little brat to be intimidated and leave me alone. Instead she just shouted, “HAHA,” and stabbed me in the face.

  Erin laughed so hard that she snorted.

  BlackVelvetBitches: That’s priceless. :-D

  IsabellaMartinez1: You laughed, didn’t you?

  BlackVelvetBitches: You’ll never know, Martinez. ;-) Anyway, I’m glad the cut didn’t take an eye out or something.

  IsabellaMartinez1: Yes, it could have been much worse. Marie likes to point that out whenever it comes up. Now it’s your turn.

  Erin sighed as she considered her sleeping habits, estimating the hours in her head. The results were dismal, and it made her feel tired.

  BlackVelvetBitches: How much I sleep? It depends. Sometimes it’s three or four hours, sometimes I manage a whole night. Sometimes I only get little naps.

  IsabellaMartinez1: Do you know why you have insomnia?

  BlackVelvetBitches: Nope. My lazy-ass doctor couldn’t figure it out either. Not that he tried very hard. He just gave me a prescription for sleeping pills and told me to relax and cut down on the caffeine.

  IsabellaMartinez1: And did you?

  BlackVelvetBitches: Cut down? Yeah. I stopped completely with caffeine for six months. Worst six months of my life! I actually (weirdly) slept worse. After that, I practically inhaled a pot of coffee and tried every other cure for insomnia I could find online and in library books. Nothing’s worked.

  Erin saw that Isabella was typing and quickly sent another message to stop her from asking more questions about it. It was bumming her out, and she didn’t need that right now. She especially didn’t want to dig into the insomnia thing. She had a feeling Isabella wouldn’t stop until she knew the cause of it.

  “Let’s not go there, not tonight,” she muttered. She had to change the topic.

  BlackVelvetBitches: So, you’ve got a foster sister, huh? As a former foster kid, I’ll give your parents kudos for fostering.

  IsabellaMartinez1: Well, it wasn’t exactly out of the goodness of their hearts, I’m ashamed to say. They felt obligated to take Marie in. Her parents were my parents’ oldest friends. They were in a car crash, and only Marie survived. Mother said people would gossip and dislike our
family if we didn’t step up and take her in. Daddy loves children and always does whatever Mother tells him too, so he just nodded and went to pick Marie up from the hospital. She was 16. She and I argue constantly, partly because Mother always pitted us against each other and partly because we’re so different. She drives me crazy, but my heart breaks for her. She lost her parents so young.

  Before she had time to stop or censor herself, Erin had sent a reply.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Yeah, being an orphan’s a bitch.

  IsabellaMartinez1: I’m sorry to have brought up such a painful subject, but I suppose we were going to get there at some point. Would you tell me your story?

  Erin laughed mirthlessly. It sounded cold and desperate in the empty apartment. Clearly, she wasn’t going to be allowed to cheer up tonight.

  BlackVelvetBitches: I can’t. Not right now. I promise, I’ll tell you sometime soon. I’m just having a shitty night, and I think I need to be alone for a while. Sorry.

  There was a long pause. Erin tried to relax her tense shoulders by rolling them but stopped. What was the point of trying to make herself feel better?

  IsabellaMartinez1: No need to apologize. I understand. As I said, I’m sorry to have brought up something so painful. I hope you will tell me one day, though. Heaven knows I’ve burdened you with lots of details of my childhood. Funny that I didn’t talk more about Marie when I spilled my guts to you. Maybe it was because I only lived with her for a year before I moved out. A psychologist would make a big deal out of me omitting her, I’m sure. Anyway, sorry to start talking again. I’ll leave you alone.

  Erin tried to relax her jaw and ignore the ache in her chest.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Don’t worry about it. Sorry again.

  IsabellaMartinez1: Don’t be. I just hope I didn’t make your night worse somehow, Erin.

  BlackVelvetBitches: It’s not your fault. Not at all. Just chalk it up to me being a loner, or what was it you called it…introvert?

  IsabellaMartinez1: Introvert, yes. All right. Well, good night. I hope you manage to sleep and that tomorrow is a better day for you.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Thanks. ’Night.