Keep Cool, Stay Tough

Real Madrid had a midweek away match against Rayo Vallencano. Martha was traveling with the team as was the norm, and at the last second one of her assistants got sick with food poisoning and was unable to make the trip. This sent Martha and Mina in a tailspin of guilt about leaving me behind on my own.

“I’m being practical,” I insisted, “You would be way more useful to your mom over there than I could be.”

“You’re right, but are you sure you’ll be okay?” Martha asked.

“Are you sure we can’t convince you to come with us? It could be pretty fun,” Mina added.

“I really can’t blow off school,” I assured.

I could totally spin this in my favor. There was something I’ve been meaning to do, and now who knows when or if I would get another great opportunity like this again. Martha and Mina went off to pack and throw in another load of laundry respectively while I returned to the pool house with a cup of strong, black tea in tow. It was going to be a long night, and I had to find myself a cheap ticket to Heathrow airport.

I decided to Skype Thiago before I went to sleep, just to give him a heads up that I was finally getting around to talking to Cesc, and yeah honestly maybe there was a small part of me that wanted to get talked out of going to London. If just one person told me not to do it, then I would be able to determine just how badly I needed this confrontation to happen.
Or not happen.

Just as I was settling down in front of the laptop, I got a text message from Cristiano. Usually, we didn’t text each other, and by usually of course I mean in the last week we had started to actually tolerate each other a bit.

‘I heard you’re not coming to the away game.’
‘I made plans.’
‘What plans?’
‘Complicated plans.’
‘Complicated plans that you can’t share with your new friend?’
‘Yes.’
‘Rude.’

I wrote out that I was going to possibly go to London to see Cesc, but I thought about it and decided to erase the whole thing. I let the conversation dangle in the air while I brushed my teeth and washed my face. When I returned to my charging phone, I saw that I had one new text waiting for me.
‘I’ll score a goal for you tomorrow, haha.’
I snickered.
‘Please don’t.’
‘We need a secret handshake so you have no doubt I’m dedicating it to you.’
‘You’re killing me.’
‘You’ll love it.’
‘You won’t even score, I’m betting you dinner.’
‘You are on.’

Thankfully, we let the conversation die on its own without adding any insipid details like the fact that we’re sleeping or have to go. It was refreshing to have that inconsequential bit cut out of the conversation.

I decided not to call Thiago. I crawled into bed and watched a show until I drifted off to sleep. In the back of my head I was already listing all the things that I should get done tomorrow instead of leaving the country. London wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, and neither was Cesc.

***

I didn’t go to London in the end. I stayed in Madrid, I got caught completely caught up with reading for my biology class, and cleaned around the main house. I went to watch both Real Madrid and Barcelona play their respective matches with Chloe and Zoe. They weren’t that as into the game as they were into taking shots each time a commentator made a comment that you could shout ‘that’s what she said!’ after. Thankfully there was no surprise visit from Irina this time.

Cristiano and James scored in the second half to land max points for Real Madrid. Barcelona’s three-pronged offense was sharpened and ready to attack to grab three points to maintain the four point gap between the two teams which they successfully managed to do.

Since Cristiano scored his goal, I made reservations at a place that was secluded and assured all the privacy of staying in. I sent him the information, and he sent me the time to get the reservation.

“That was a foul.”

It only took until the appetizers’ arrival for him to launch into his rant. I knew it was coming, and I didn’t blame him for his indignation. I was tempted to bring up the reputation he had accumulated when he was younger and playing in England, but thought better of it. It had been hours and Cristiano was still livid as he had been on the pitch. Maybe he was even more livid now that thousands of pair of eyes weren’t watching him.

“I know it was,” I agreed calmly my chin resting on my hand as I watched his indignation continue to boil over. The shots from earlier were still coursing through me as I tried my best to look sober.

“I didn’t dive,” He insisted.

“I saw,” I smiled, but held back a giggle, “In slow motion it was even more obvious that you didn’t.”

“We’re going to complain, and get the suspension revoked,” He informed, “I can’t not play right now, it’s ridiculous!”

“You should, it really was a foul,” I encouraged as I continued to nod my head.

My phone rang, I glanced down to check the ID, and immediately hit ignore. It wasn’t even a minute later, and it started buzzing again. It’s like he knew I had been thinking about him. I leaned back, covering my mouth with my hand wondering whether I should answer. I was only vaguely aware of Cristiano quietly watching me.

“You should probably take that?” Cristiano eventually asked.

“It won’t take long,” I assured quietly and slid out of the booth as the waiter was returning to our table to take our order.

“Just order me whatever you’re getting,” I called.

I walked outside towards the back entryway where they were unloading vegetables into the kitchen. I spotted the waiter returning to the kitchen, and I handed him my credit card so that he wouldn’t bring the bill to the table. Finally, out of excuses to prolong the inevitable, I took a breath and called Cesc back.

“So we’re really not talking anymore?”

“We’re talking now?” I hazarded.

“After how long?” He practically bellowed.

“I don’t want to do this tonight, or at all honestly. I’ve had a weird day, and I don’t need you making it any weirder,” I snapped, and momentarily last my balance as I tried to swivel around to avoid eye contact with the men unloading boxes cucumbers and kale.

“What’s going on with you? Are you really mad because I was a bit cranky one time you called me at the crack of dawn? Come on, I’ve been a saint for years before that,” He reminded, and I could so clearly picture him looking frustrated with his eyebrows furrowed together and his jaw set tight as he paced the confines of his home.

I was beginning to waver, my heart was urging me to just let it go and not hurt, not make him uncomfortable because it didn’t matter anymore. Too many times have I just let it go and allowed him to walk over him. I would never be able to forgive myself if I were to try to let it go now.

“I’ve been talking to my cousin, Cesc,” I announced.

“Okay…” He trailed off, obviously not seeing where I was going.

“And she was in a situation very similar to ours, and it made me realize that as a boyfriend, you weren’t that great. I mean now I think we’re great as friends, and I am happy to have this friendship with you, but back then you didn’t treat me as well as you could have. You never once asked me if I wanted to come with you to London when you left,” I listed all of the real reasons why I couldn’t seem to pick up the phone, send a text, and act like everything was fine like I usually did. I was only a little surprised that the alcohol hadn’t completely obliterated these complaints out of my head.

“Would you have come if I had asked?” His voice had dropped down to a whisper, and I had to walk even further away from the kitchen to make out what he was asking me.

“I don’t know, that’s the thing, isn’t it? I never once saw it as a real option then because you never asked me, you never let me think it was an option, and anyway, I can’t trust who I am now to answer for the person I was then.”

“How philosophical.”

I rolled my eyes, beginning to see how tedious this conversation was going to be if it continued over the phone and not face to face, but I pressed on anyway, “I’m being serious, and if you’re not going to take me seriously, then I have no problem going back to the way things were going.”

“Okay, I’m listening,” He promised.

“You broke my heart when you came back to Barcelona,” I continued, forcing my voice to remain steady, “I don’t know if you ever really fully realized that. And if you didn’t comprehend that then, than I need you to comprehend it now. I never asked you to explain yourself, because I never really wanted to know, but now I want to know why.”

I didn’t realize how frequently these words had been winding themselves around my thoughts until I finally spoke them aloud now. I should have gone to London. I should have had this conversation face to face.

“Why what? Are you still there, Senna? Can you hear me?”

I took a breath and finally asked him, “Why didn’t you tell me you were dating someone else? Why didn’t you let me move on the way you obviously had? Didn’t you realize I was waiting for you?”

He sighed, “And here I thought we were never going to talk about this.”

“I can’t move on,” I realized, “What you did is stopping me from moving on with my life. So yeah, you’re finally going to have to explain yourself, Cesc.”

“Looking back, I realize now that she was a mistake. I can see how I was manipulated by her. She wanted to come with me, and she twisted the situation, and somehow I suggested that we get an apartment together in Barcelona. Up until that last week before I came back, I really believed that I was going to end things before coming back to Spain, but she just didn’t let it happen,” He explained as I held back a derisive snort.

“It’s not her fault, it’s your fault. You could have very easily have called me, text, something, and let me know that you weren’t coming back alone. Do you know how humiliated I was standing in that airport and realizing that the person I thought I was in love with was quite possibly in love with someone else?”

“I’m sorry, Senna,” He apologized.

Since I couldn’t watch his expression I couldn’t really confirm whether he actually meant it, or if he was just saying it because it sounded like the right thing to say at the moment.

“I never made you try to explain yourself. I was too busy making sure I was always going to be a part of your life. That was my oversight. It’s not completely your fault, I enabled a lot of this,” I defended him, even now I continued to search for that one positive angle, “But you know what, I don’t know if I have it in me anymore.”

“What are you saying?”

“Maybe I don’t need you in my life,” I answered, I was so focused on my conversation with Cesc that I didn’t realize I was holding steady eye contact with a man that was smiling and offering me a large carrot. I quickly smiled, shook my head, and turned away.

“You can’t be serious, Senna,” He exclaimed, “Where is this coming from?”

I laughed, “I was ridiculously close to coming to London to surprise you today, you know? I wanted to have this conversation in person. And maybe you had sensed it or something, that’s why you chose to call me. It’s just so weird.”

“You should have come.”

“Even if it was just to have this conversation?”

“Yes, because I know I need you in my life, and maybe it would be easier to convince you if you weren’t countries away from me,” He clarified.

“I think we both need a break from each other, to cool off, reflect, and just really decide what we need, if anything, from each other,” I returned, suddenly showered by a sense of calm now that he knew what I needed him to know about our past.

“Please come to London anyway. You don’t even have to tell me a date, just show up, you know my address, just please come, and let’s have this talk in person.”

“We need time apart,” I repeated, “But okay, I’ll think about it.”

“I can deal with anything that’s not a no.”

“Good because all I can give you know is a maybe.”

“I really am sorry, Senna,” Cesc apologized again.

“I know Cesc, so am I,” I assured.

I put away my phone, took a deep breath and began walking towards the restaurant, avoiding any eye contact from the deliveryman as I went in from the front door. I continued back to the table unsure of what my face looked like. I was almost completely certain that I was not crying, but I was far too wrapped up in repeating the conversation I just had in my head to pay attention to anything else.

The food had arrived. It was identical plates of risotto with Arborio rice. His had remained untouched, and I couldn’t help but to appreciate the polite little gesture.

“Nice,” I complimented the food as I absentmindedly slid back into my seat.

“Was that him?”

Pretty sure that was at least the second time he was asking me.

I nodded, forced a broken, sideways smile that didn’t reach my eyes as I grabbed my fork with him following suit, “So you’re going to give me your list tonight, or what?”

He ignored my attempt to change the subject, “What did he say?”

I frowned and shook my head, my fork digging around my plate, but somehow not making it to my mouth, “I’m still trying to convince myself that it doesn’t matter what he says or thinks of me anymore, and if I sit down and repeat any of what we just said to each other…then that would make it difficult to convince myself of that, you know?”

“I know, now eat,” He nodded towards my plate.

I smiled and took a bite; of course it was amazing, melt in your mouth delicious. I started to feel better after a few hefty bites.

“I almost bought a ticket to go see him that was my complicated plan I told you about. It was the perfect opportunity too. Martha and Mina would have had no idea; I would have been back before you guys with time to spare,” I admitted, curious to see how he would react.

“Then why didn’t you go?” His face remained impassive as he drank from his cranberry juice.

I shrugged, “Something just held me back I guess.”

“Wouldn’t it have been better to just have gotten it over with?”

“Probably.”

“He’s mad at you?”

“I’m mad at him too.”

Cristiano raised his eyebrows, “I’m so grateful for the fact that I never pretend to be friends with any of my exes.”

“Not even Irina?”

“Especially not her,” He emphasized, allowing his mask to slip for the briefest of seconds. And when it had fallen off, he seemed hurt more than anything else.

“She wanted you to propose, didn’t she?”

“Something along those lines,” He conceded with a pensive frown.

“Didn’t you love her?”

He put down his fork, and leaned back against his seat, cradling his glass cup, as he admitted, “I did, I honestly did.”

“Then why not get married?”

“I love her, but it’s not the ‘rest of our lives’ type of love.”

“Isn’t that the only kind?”

He vehemently shook his head, placing his glass on the table as leaned towards me. I couldn’t take my eyes off of his.

“Have you been with anyone after your footballer ex?”

“Nope.”

And I couldn’t even lie.

“And when you were in love with him, you saw yourself walking down the aisle in a white dress with him standing at the end of it in a black tux?”

“Yeah, but doesn’t everybody see that when they’re in love?”

“I didn’t see Irina walking towards me dressed in white,” He stated flatly.

“Is it just a guy/girl thing then?” I contemplated aloud, “Maybe guys just generally don’t think about the long term?”

“I don’t think so, but then again, I’m not sure, I haven’t really talked to a lot of girls on this topic – or guys for that matter.”

“I saw myself getting married to my ex, but…” I trailed off.

“But what?”

“Basically, my sob story highlights are that he left the country, dumped me, got with another girl, without really telling me that we were over, and came back with said girl; again without telling me.”

“That’s fucked.”

“It really is, isn’t it? It’s not just me, then?”

“No wonder you hate footballers. He’s like the worst case scenario though.”

“That’s the thing though, he’s really not. I know I sound crazy, but he’s not typically the guy that cheats on his girlfriend, or acts like an asshole. He’s…I guess he was just being a coward. He was a young coward. So it’s like if he’s capable of something like that, then the rest must be so much worse.”

“That’s a polite way to put it.”

“I think I’m getting over it, and to me, that’s the important part.”

Cristiano raised his cranberry juice, I followed suit with my iced tea.

“To getting over it,” He clinked his glass against mine.

“Hear, hear.”

The waiter walked by us, and Cristiano signaled for the check, and he pulled out the leather bound book and handed it to me. I smiled, plucked my card out of the book and signed my name, leaving a generous tip, as Cristiano sat aghast at the scene before him.

I laughed and stood up, “We had a bet.”