Keep Cool, Stay Tough

Nothing had changed. Of course I hadn’t really expected it to, but I thought I might find at least one, tiny new thing to marvel at, beyond the fact that my family was MIA. It had been five hours, and I still didn’t feel the slightest inclination to call.

I was sitting across Cristiano Ronaldo at a restaurant I used to frequent with Cesc at two in the morning three days before el Clásico was set to go down. There you go, that was my new thing to marvel at in Barcelona.

And to top it off like that scrumptious maraschino cherry on a sundae, it was really great. I was laughing, I was teasing, while he was being clever, sarcastic, open, surprisingly non-judgmental, and there was just such a wonderful influx of food and sangria; I even pinched myself at one point to make sure I wasn’t still in bed in Madrid dreaming.

“The food here is definitely better than a lot of places I’ve been to in Madrid, in Spain actually, but it reminds me of this small, crappy shack of a café in Lisbon, in the old neighborhood I lived in, that just had the best chorizo you will ever find anywhere,” Cristiano described.

“Hmmm, I don’t think I’ve eaten decent chorizo in years,” I returned, as I munched on an olive.
“Are you sure you don’t want to try a little of the sangria, it’s really great, not too sweet,” I nudged my glass towards him.

“I don’t drink.”

“I heard about that, I always wondered if it was true.”

“You don’t have to wonder anymore,” He smiled.

I smiled in return.

It hit three, and Cristiano made no inclination that he wanted to leave.

“Don’t you have to be up early tomorrow?”

He shook his head, “I don’t have anything to do until two in the afternoon.”

“Do you want to go?” He asked in return.

“Not yet,” I answered honestly.

“Me either. It’s nice here.”

“So about Mina and Gonzalo…” I trailed off and leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table, measuring his reaction.

“I was wondering when you would bring this up.”

“Have you even kept in touch with him?”

“Not really.”

“Then why are you against her moving on? I thought maybe you knew something, or he had said something to you recently about her.”

“It doesn’t matter what he says. It matters what she wants, and obviously she really doesn’t want to give up.”

“I hate to break it to you, but sometimes, frankly most of the time, what you want isn’t what you really need, or what’s even good for you.”

“And why are you calling these shots about what’s needed and what’s good and what’s bad? She’s decided that she’s not letting go, by not moving on for what, it’s been at least two years by now.”

“I made a deal with her last weekend. I am going to do whatever I can to convince her to move on and let it go, and if by June I haven’t succeeded, than I’m going to help her get back in touch with Gonzalo.”

“Why does she need your help? Why can’t she just book a ticket, go to Naples, and surprise him?”
“I don’t know how you are when you’re getting out of a relationship, but for me personally, I needed help when I broke up with my ex, and if it wasn’t for my friends, it’s very likely that I would be worse off than Mina is at this point.”

I frowned; did I really just admit that to him?

I chuckled to myself, “It’s so weird, but I never in my life thought I’d find a reason to be jealous of Mina.”

“Why are you jealous of Mina?”

“He wasn’t like that with me, my ex. If even only half the things she says about Gonzalo were true, it still doesn’t compare.”

“Compare to what?”

“Just the way Gonzalo was with Mina, he was never like that with me, I mean we were happy, but I’m starting to realize now that it wasn’t as serious as I used to believe it was between me and him. We were very casual. I’m usually good with plugging up my sadness, but this isn’t going away. I need to do something, but I can’t figure out what.”

“Maybe you’re not concerned with your ex as much as you are with something else? That happens to me too and halfway through, I stop, and I realize I’m distracting myself from the real issue,” Cristiano explained.

“Something else, like what? And so help me if you bring up Leo’s car one more time, I promise I will pelt you with wine-soaked fruit,” I threatened.

“Your family,” He answered instead with a light laugh.

I huffed, raising my hand in the air, “I don’t want to talk about that, and I’m not sad about that particular plot twist, I’m frustrated with them sure, but I’m not sad. In fact I’m glad it happened, because surely it would’ve occurred to my dad if not my sister that I would totally jump on the chance to come to Barcelona, and yeah I would like to stop in and spend time with them, and obviously they’re not so concerned with seeing me.”

Cristiano opened his mouth to speak, but I interrupted.

“I’m not sad,” I repeated.

“Alright, you’re not sad,” He agreed.

”You don’t know what happened,” Cristiano eventually offered.

“Wow, are you reserving judgment?”

“It’s been known to happen.”

“That didn’t stop you with me.”

“People do change, Senna,” He insisted.

“That’s naïve and hilarious,” I snorted into my sangria, got grossed out, and slid it away from me.

“Your ex really did a number on you.”

I nodded, sighing, “He did, he really did.”

“Let’s go?” He made to stand.

“Let’s go,” I followed after him, through the kitchen and out the back alley where a taxi was waiting.

“You’re really great when you’re not training,” I blurted when he opened the car door for me.
He laughed, like full on, guffawed, he was just as caught off guard by my words as I was. I blushed, but it was too dim for him to notice.

“Yeah, you’re not too bad yourself outside of Madrid. Being back here does you good,” He conceded much more confidently than my odd little admission.

I glanced up at Cristiano. He had that impassive look locked securely on his face. We were both quiet for the remainder of the ride back to the hotel.

***
I woke up the next morning, and slipped out into the city for my morning run without waking Cristiano, who apparently can sleep through anything if he puts his mind to it. I had a vague worry that I would get lost during my run, but just as the sun was getting to be too intense to carry on, I stopped by a stand, grabbed a bottle of water, and headed back to the hotel without making a single incorrect turn. That left me in a great mood.

When I got back, Cristiano was awake, and in the bathroom, taking a shower. I could hear him singing past the already loud music he was playing in there. I laughed to myself as I lay down on the bed, taking a minute to just come down from my run.

Alright, so it’s possible I may have fallen into a light sleep, and kind of forgotten where I was for a second.

“Hey, you’re back!” He greeted.

My eyes were shut, as I yawned, “Yeah, I think I may have dozed off there for a second.”

“Oh, did I wake you?”

I popped up and was about to answer when I laid eyes on him and –

Oh.

My.

Whoa.

Okay, it’s one thing to see a shirtless Cristiano Ronaldo on TV, or magazine, or even a billboard, but to have him walk out of a steaming shower with just a towel wrapped around his waist…that’s just an indescribable experience. And he was so infuriatingly nonchalant about flaunting his abs while I was struggling to breathe, and find an excuse to get back out of there as he was just strutting in and out of the bathroom and the closet and past my bed singing under his breath; absolutely oblivious to my internal conflict. I was feeling lightheaded when an idea finally struck me.

“Coffee place, better than hotel coffee” I pointed at the door, as I pulled myself out of bed and grabbed my wallet, “Want coffee?”

He nodded, his eyebrows knitted together, as he tried to pick between two shades of blue shirts, “Sure get me whatever you get.”

I nodded and slipped out the door.

Now that was just cruel. He did that on purpose.

Not that he glanced at me, even once to gauge my reaction, if he had, he would have for sure said something.

Apparently while I had been out, Cristiano had ordered breakfast and there was a girl standing in front of the room, primping herself in the silver lid’s reflection.

“I’ve got a key card,” I called.

She jumped.

“I think you’re mistaken, I’m delivering this to Cristiano Ronaldo’s room,” She answered, returning to her reflection.

“Yes, I’ve got a key card,” I repeated.

She perked up this time.

“Are you Cristiano Ronaldo’s new girlfriend?” She asked, already judging me from head to foot. She really didn’t seem too impressed with my running clothes, bird’s nest hair, and sticky forehead.

I shook my head, “Lowly PR assistant, just prepping him to make sure he doesn’t say anything too obnoxious to the press.”

“Oh, yeah you don’t seem much like his type,” She genuinely looked relieved at hearing my bullshit.

“And he’s not mine,” I muttered, as I ushered her inside.

We had breakfast, went out for a walk around the hotel, not really trusting the street crowds to be kind to a Real Madrid player just days before a match, and then the reported showed up, and I took my leave to make the rounds visiting friends.

The first name to cross off was of course Carlota.

I made Cristiano promise to text me in an hour so I could feign a work emergency and get out before I completely lost it.

It’s not that Carlota is a bad person, or insufferable, or anything horrid, she just reminded me way too much of her brother, and it used to just be one more thing I loved about her, but now, I could barely look her in the eye without losing it.

Frankly, even an hour seemed too long to go.

But it went.

I found that as long as I avoided extended eye contact, and just sparingly glanced in her direction, our reunion was bearable. Since this meet up was cut so short, she didn’t let me leave until I promised to see her again before I went back to Madrid. I walked out of her house already thinking of excuses to use. On my way out, I glanced over at my house to find that it was still as vacant as ever. I frowned, and stubbornly pushed my phone further into the back pocket of my jeans.

Geri had gone to Paris with his girlfriend and kids to rest before the match, and it occurred to me that the majority of my friends were probably all following a similar path, and I decided against interrupting anyone’s down time.

Back at the hotel, the reporter had left, and Cristiano had ordered an array of snacks and appetizers to munch on.

He tossed the remote control onto my cot, “Pick something to watch.”

I scrolled through and found Guardians of the Galaxy; I nodded towards the TV, “How about this?”
He smiled at the screen, “Sure, I think I saw a trailer of this somewhere, it looked funny.”

He went to the bathroom to change into sweatpants as I poured myself a cup of coffee.

“Do you want me to pour you coffee?” I called.

“Sure.”

He came back, and as he put his clothes away, I started the movie.

“No. How did your interview go?” I countered.

“It went fine. You probably should.”

“I know.”

We sat on furthest edges of the huge bed with the tray of food set between us, and I just could not understand for the life of me how on earth all of this felt so normal to me.