BlackVelvetBitches: Of course. Night, Isabella.
Erin waved at the camera and smiled from ear to ear. Isabella looked hesitant as she typed.
IsabellaMartinez1: Good night, preciosa. I hope you sleep and have sweet dreams.
She looked back into the camera, blew Erin a kiss, and quickly hung up.
Erin got up and did a little dance and jumped high in the air a few times, and then, worrying about the neighbors, she whispered, “Yes, yes, yes, yes! She’s into me!”
She looked up the word preciosa and loved that she had just been called precious. Then her heart sank, as she thought about the situation they were in. She remembered Isabella’s typed words: Now that I know there is something developing between us, I need to think about what that means. I have to consider Richard and Alberto.
Erin shook her head. Isabella and Richard didn’t have a relationship. Not a real one, anyway, and she’d done nothing wrong so far. There would be plenty of time for heartbreak and guilt. She should allow herself a few seconds of joy at that fact that she wasn’t alone in these feelings. Maybe, there was some hope for a happy ending in the middle of all this awful mess, now that they were being honest with each other and thinking about the future.
The heavy rain outside smattered drum solos on her windows and made the apartment feel cozy, and Erin felt strangely calm. She went over to grab her phone from the bedside table. She needed to talk to someone. Not Erika, someone less…sensible. Someone who wouldn’t start talking about the issues and be negative.
She didn’t want to concentrate on the problems right now. She needed to enjoy the moment. The only person she knew fitting that description—and who wouldn’t think a text from her this late and out of the blue was weird—was Riley.
Erin frowned as she looked at her phone screen, weighing up how much of her relationship with Riley was friendship and how much was work. She did this every time they spoke, simply because Riley would always act as if they were best friends. But then, as soon as their workout was over, Erin usually didn’t hear much from her. Still, it was only a text, not a vacation to Friendshipville.
Hey. I can’t sleep and I need to talk to someone. You busy?
Instead of replying with a text, Riley called her. Erin grimaced. She hated when people called her in response to a nice, not-too-social text or e-mail conversation. She answered the call anyway. She heard Riley hollering hello and loud music in the background.
“Riley? Where the hell are you?”
“Where do you think I am? Turtle bingo? I’m at a club. Like you should be!”
Erin rolled her eyes. Maybe Riley hadn’t been the best choice here. “You know what, Riles? Never mind. I’ll blow off this excess energy playing online poker or something.”
“Erin, come on. You said you always lose. I can talk to you for a bit. I promise not to pressure you to come out partying or socialize in any way. Pinky swear!”
Erin rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself. “Good. I need to talk about something amazing, complicated, and kinda scary.”
“Sounds awesome. Well, except for the complicated part. Oh my God, do you know what I’m drinking?”
Erin slowly ran a hand over her face. “No, Riley, how the hell would I know that?”
“Dude, this is one of those fancy clubs where they do weird things in cocktails, and I just had three shots of whiskey with a chunk of actual honeycomb in each one. It was like an orgasm in my mouth.”
“Riles. Ew, enough. I’m glad the shots were tasty. Now, you wanna hear my news or what?”
“Sorry, that was the alcohol and sugar rush talking there. Tell me everything!”
So Erin did. Her tale was less thought through and understandable than it had been when she had told Erika, and it had a lot more sound effects, but she told Riley all of it and then sat back to hear what the answer would be.
A wolf whistle was followed by, “Yeah, baby! You got the girl. Well, not yet, but I bet you’re getting the girl as soon as she’s single. Or, I mean, woman. Not girl. Whatever. Anyway, I can’t believe you haven’t told me that you were in the middle of a romance-novel situation here, babe.”
Erin let out a sigh of relief. She’d needed someone to be more positive about this than she could allow herself to be.
“Is it?” she asked uncertainly.
“Hell yeah! Whatever happens next, you’ll get it to work. She’ll get rid of the beard and realize what’s what. She clearly loves you and wants to have your little online babies.”
Erin laughed. “Okay, I think you’re exaggerating, but thanks for letting me be happy about this.”
“Of course! Now, tell me… Do you call her Izzy, Isa, or Bella?”
Erin stifled a chuckle at the notion of trying to call the dignified Isabella Martinez either of those things. “None of the above. She’s not a nickname kinda gal.”
“So she’s pretentious, huh?”
Her brows knitted. “Riley!”
“Okay, okay. Sorry. So, what does she look like?”
Erin smiled as she lay down on the bed, closed her eyes to picture Isabella, then described her in such detail that it was if she’d spent years looking at Isabella Martinez’ face.
Chapter 18
Decisions and Cognac
Isabella rubbed her temples. The stress of her situation and the sudden fatigue were giving her a tension headache. Her head was throbbing badly, and she knew that painkillers would not help, nor would she be able to sleep until the throbbing abated.
Feeling increasingly restless and cooped up, Isabella snuck downstairs. She made coffee and watched as it filtered through, thinking about Erin the whole time. She thought about how lovely Erin had looked. About the shy smiles and the way that child of a woman stuck out her tongue.
She poured the coffee into her little cup and. for once, topped it up with cold water. She wanted to drink it soon, before her mind wasn’t content to think just about Erin, before it went on to the more serious subjects of Richard, Alberto, and their life together.
When she’d drunk the coffee and thought up things she could say to make Erin smile for her again, she looked around the empty kitchen, her hands fidgeting restlessly. There had to be something to clean or rearrange before she went upstairs to check on Alberto
She decided go through the cabinets and get rid of foodstuff that might be past its expiration date. She started with the cupboard where they kept soft drinks and their sparse collection of alcohol. On a whim, she looked through the bottles, careful to not let anything clink and wake up Alberto or Richard. She was happy it was so late and that Richard was asleep, happy that it was still nighttime. The nights belonged to her. It was the only good thing about not sleeping much and not having a nine-to-five job.
Isabella spotted the almost-full bottle of Courvoisier. Richard hated cognac and had complained loudly when they’d bought the pricey bottle for her last birthday party. Looking at the bottle of amber liquid now, she felt conflicted. There’d been a few nights when she had stood right there, wanting a drink for some reason, but not able to indulge due to the breastfeeding.
Still, she’d always known that if she could have a drink, it would be a glass from this bottle, not because she was a big fan of cognac, but simply because Richard wasn’t. It had felt like a form of rebellion, the thought of drinking something he abhorred. It had taken her right back to her childhood and her pointless little rebellions against her mother.
She wanted to rail against him, as one would against a strict parent. Or a jailer. And Richard was never supposed to be that. Richard would never want to be that.
She squeezed her eyes shut, as the realization of the truth hit her; he had never been her jailer—she had. She’d locked herself into this relationship, into this perfect showroom of a house, into this claustrophobic snob town, into this far too sunny state. She’d forced herself into a life, because it had seemed the right thing to do, for Alberto, for the rest of the world. It was what she was expected to
do. And she’d pretended not to hate it. Now, she stood staring at the bottle of cognac and dreaming of a million tiny rebellions.
Isabella grabbed the bottle and held it tight. She was going to bring it upstairs. Not to drink from it. Alberto might wake up and need to be fed, and she was too tired to go through the hassle of pumping out milk before and calculating how many hours until the alcohol left her bloodstream.
No, she was bringing it up with her because she needed to look at it. She needed to remember the nights she was so eager to escape the prison of her own making that daydreaming of such a pointless rebellion had been her only escape. Well, the only escape she’d allowed herself. She had to remember that no matter how she tried to pretend everything was fine, her unhappiness was real. And more importantly, her unhappiness mattered.
She went upstairs and put the bottle of cognac down on the small table that held her iPad. The glass of the elegant bottle glittered in the dim glow of Alberto’s night-light. She looked from the symbolic bottle to her sleeping son.
Alberto needed a father, but even if she left Florida and took him with her, he would still have Richard. As it was, they saw each other every night when Richard came home from work, but in fleeting moments. For all the interaction the two of them had, Richard seemed more like an uncle than a father.
She’d thought it was her fault. That she was the wedge between them. But was she? Really? Meeting Erin had made her question the assumption. Richard could have stood up to her. He could’ve made more of an effort. There’d been nothing to stop him from coming up to Alberto’s nursery in the evenings. Nothing to stop him asking questions or taking time off to spend with Alberto.
Instead, Richard spent all his time off work with Joshua. She’d never questioned that, never even thought twice about that. After all, Richard couldn’t see Joshua every day, so it made sense that he wanted to spend time with him when he could. But why hadn’t he tried to combine the two things? He could always bring Joshua to the house to meet his little brother. She’d even suggested that a few times after Alberto was born, but Richard had said that he didn’t want Joshua to feel jealous of Alberto.
Isabella stared at that bottle. Something had to change.
Her thoughts moved to Erin. She wouldn’t leave Richard to be with Erin. It was too early to consider another relationship, no matter how tempting it was. This was a decision that would shape her life, as well as the lives of Alberto and Richard. It was much bigger than her infatuation with Erin. It had to be, otherwise she was making the decision for the wrong reason.
She took a few deep breaths, holding her hand on her stomach and feeling it move with each one.
Her choices were as clear as they’d always been. The stakes were just higher now. Now, she was aware of her unhappiness. Either she stayed for Alberto’s sake, or she left for her own.
In the crib next to her, Alberto woke up with a cry. She was on her feet and picking him up in the blink of an eye. He barely cried after she picked him up, and Isabella wondered if he had woken due to a stomachache, some form of dream, or some odd premonition that she was considering leaving his father.
Then Alberto burped, and Isabella laughed. Clearly, there was no ominous foreboding about the breakup of his parents in Alberto’s life, just a gassy stomach and the need to be picked up and loved. She looked at his little face as he yawned.
Could I love him even better if I were happy?
Chapter 19
Is It Too Much?
Erin trained her clients with impressive vigor. Yesterday, she’d gone about her work diligently to ease her restlessness and stop her thoughts. Today, it was because she was full of a strange energy, halfway between positive and negative. But the combination had the same effect—Erin worked hard. Damn hard.
As she demonstrated moves, she had to remind herself not to push her clients as much as she was pushing herself. It got to the point where she was counting the number of repetitions for her current client and doing chest openers as well. Anything to keep moving.
When Erin got home, there was a note saying a delivery had been attempted for a package that needed a signature. Erin checked the clock on her phone. She had just enough time to get to the post office before they closed for the evening. She put her long boots back on and hurried out to the subway.
Finally, back home with her package and too tired to make dinner, she made turkey sandwiches and was about to make coffee, when she remembered that her package would have Isabella’s fancy coffee in it. Wonder if it will it go with turkey on rye? Only one way to find out.
The neatly packed box was surprisingly big for a bag of coffee. When she used a pair of scissors to break into it, she understood why. There was a half-full bag of coffee, yes. But that wasn’t all. There was something in a square box, wrapped in bubble wrap and, underneath it, a thick envelope.
Erin looked at the envelope. Isabella had said she would send her an account of how she met Richard and why she stayed with him. Well, something like that, anyway. She looked from the dreaded envelope to the mystery box and wondered which she should open first.
She decided on the box. The letter would be better focused on with a full stomach. Or maybe she was procrastinating, because the letter scared her. Just a bit.
She cut through the bubble wrap and looked at the smaller box. Beneath the heading FitWatch 9000 was a picture of a guy jogging and, next to him, a close-up of one of those watches that was also a fitness tracker.
Erin felt thoroughly confused. Was there really a FitWatch in there, or had Isabella sent her some little thing and reused an old box? Surely, Isabella hadn’t bought her something this expensive? Those things were more than a hundred bucks.
Erin opened the box and looked down at a square, digital watch with pulse monitor and the whole shebang. Yep, Isabella had sent her the actual fitness watch.
Could it be a mistake somehow? Then she remembered that she’d told Isabella about her ruined watch and that she wasn’t planning to buy a new one until she got paid. Clearly, Isabella had wanted to fix the problem.
Erin gave a low whistle. This “fix” was advanced and awesome. She’d have to double-check with Isabella that she hadn’t paid an arm and a leg for it. If it seemed like she’d paid more than she could comfortably afford, Erin was sending it back. If Isabella was as well off as her previous work title and fancy house suggested, well then, Erin wasn’t too proud to keep the gift. After all, it’s not like I’ve gotten a lot of gifts in my life. I need to learn to accept them at some point. Might as well start now.
Erin looked at the envelope again, biting her lip, and remembered she was supposed to be eating. She got the coffee grounds and introduced her coffee maker to the most exotic thing it had ever contained. She had to admit the grounds smelled nice, like the burnt sugar they’d apparently been stored with.
When the coffee was done, Erin sat down, her rye sandwiches brimming with avocado, romaine lettuce, and turkey. She ate quickly, too curious to take her time. But she took the time to savor the coffee; it was so good. So damn good. She didn’t think she could taste the burnt sugar in the flavor, but it tasted nutty and of something rich that she couldn’t put her finger on. Either way, it was good enough for Erin to decide to try and invest in some more when she ran out of this bag.
When she finished the sandwiches, she shoved the plate away and put the half-empty coffee cup to the side. She wanted—no, she needed—to read what Isabella had written.
Erin read thoroughly and had to admit it felt a bit like she was reading a book. She made a mental note to let Isabella know; surely a writer would appreciate hearing something like that? The whole thing was three pages long. At the bottom of the last page, for some unknown reason, Isabella had closed with her signature.
Erin, still lost in thought from all she had read, looked at the name, Isabella Martinez, was written in neat, slightly slanted handwriting.
She couldn’t stop staring. She traced the signature with her fingers, knowing t
hat it had been less than forty-eight hours since Isabella’s fingers had been so close to the paper Erin was now touching. The compulsion was stupid, of course, Isabella had handled the entire package. If Erin wanted to feel close to the other woman’s touch, she should just touch the objects themselves, as Isabella must have handled them. Still, there was an inexplicable intimacy in touching Isabella’s signature, as if it was part of Isabella herself.
The letter made Erin understand more about that odd relationship between her and Richard. It made a lot more sense now.
It also made sense that Isabella had to leave him. She didn’t love him and didn’t really want to be living in Florida with him. Alberto wasn’t going to benefit from having a mom who was unhappy and closing herself off from people—and, worse, closing herself off from her own feelings.
What Erin couldn’t decide was what would happen between herself and Isabella. It wasn’t like Isabella would move to New York; they hadn’t even met, for Pete’s sake. Isabella might stay in Florida so Alberto could be close to Richard, or she might go back to Philadelphia.
Well, Philly wasn’t that far away from New York, and her misery lifted a little. But even if she could see Isabella and they had a chance for a future, she knew nothing about babies. She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. How would I handle Alberto? I’m not exactly mother material, am I? Erin Black, the notorious lone wolf? Would that really fit in with Isabella and her family, and her baby groups?
It was such a huge leap to go from realizing that, yes, she had a crush on a woman she met online, to considering if she could ever meet said woman and form a relationship with her…and her baby. Perhaps, she was being selfish to even think about her own role in this when Isabella had such big decisions to make.
It was too much. Erin held her hands up and decided to focus on what she knew for sure; she’d fallen in love with Isabella Martinez, and she wanted Isabella to be happy.
She looked over at her new watch and beamed. She had to thank Isabella and make sure that she could afford to be splashing out on her like this. And she had to make sure of that before she ripped the thing open and started playing with it. Oh, and yes, they most certainly had to talk about that letter.
Long_Distance Coffee Page 17