“I don’t know man, you seem pretty drunk,” he says, as if I was just in a conversation with him about it.
“Thalia,” I whisper.
“Yes, Thalia, I know,” he says. “We’re going around in circles man, and I don’t think it’s going to get any better. You’re supposed to drink to forget, not to remember.”
Okay, I guess I’m a lot more drunk than I thought I was.
“What time is it?” I ask him.
“It’s after midnight,” Luciano says, looking across the bar at a couple of girls who are giggling in the corner, stealing glances at us. I can’t really see what they look like clearly, they’re kind of blurry.
“Who are you looking at?” I ask him, slurring my words a little.
“Those two little hot numbers over there that are trying to work up the courage to approach the security and ask if they can have our autograph.”
“You figured out all that just by looking at them?”
“It’s a gift,” he says, leaning back on the sofa. “If you were up to it, I would entertain the idea. Have them come over. Give us some attention. Fuck, I can’t remember the last time I got laid.”
The idea of having sex has a soothing quality, like pouring liquid anesthesia over a wound.
But as much as having a one-night stand with a stranger would have appealed to me in the past, it has no appeal now.
I want sex, but not with whoever those girls are.
I just want Thalia.
I want that skin on skin contact, the connection, the easy feel of our limbs tangling with each other. I want to push inside her and feel that much closer to heaven, taste the sweetness of her mouth and give myself over to her like a prayer.
I want her.
No one else but her.
And even with her gone, even though she left without saying goodbye, even though she has made it so very fucking clear that she doesn’t want anything to do with me, I would rather sleep with her ghost every night than be with someone else.
Her ghost is all I have.
“You know what? Fuck it,” Luciano says. He gets up and goes over to the girls and starts talking to them. One of them looks over at me, obviously asking about me, obviously intrigued, but Luciano just waves me away. For all I know, he might be planning to bring both of them home with him. Wouldn’t be the first time a football player has been able to do that.
Me, though, I’ve had enough.
With Luciano occupied, I leave the bar and get into an Uber, nearly passing out on the drive.
When I arrive at home, it’s one a.m. and it’s raining.
I take my ball and head out into the pitch in the backyard.
I dribble, kick a few balls, my aim still good even though I’m obliterated.
I play drunk until the sun starts to come up and the rain subsides and Thalia’s ghost has been washed clean of me.
Chapter 29
Thalia
Greece
Three weeks later
“Excuse me, miss?” a woman says in a heavy Greek accent. “You forgot this in your room.”
I turn around to see the hotel maid holding something out for me.
The pocket watch necklace, dangling like a silver sun in the morning light.
My heart feels a little shredded at the sight of it, like it always does, even though I’m relieved she found it.
“Oh, thank you,” I tell her, profusely, my hand at my heart to show gratitude. “Thank you so much.”
I take the necklace from her and start to fish out some Euros in a tip but she’s already turned around and is walking away.
I’ll leave it at the front desk.
I sling my duffle bag over my shoulder and tuck the necklace into the front pocket of my jean shorts.
I have a bad habit with that necklace. It’s like I’m subconsciously trying to lose it, or perhaps the necklace knows it doesn’t belong with me anymore, so it’s trying to find a new owner. I sleep with it under my pillow every night, the faint ticking sounding like a lullaby. I can’t sleep without it. And I keep it there during the day, because I don’t like to look at it, I don’t like what it reminds me of.
The loss.
But over the last two weeks that I’ve been bumming around Greece, trying to figure out how to start my life over again for the second time, I’ve forgotten it under many pillows. Most of the time I feel a tug when I’m not too far from the hotel, like a magnet, and I’ll come running back.
Other times the maid will find it.
I’m not sure how I’m going to feel if I end up losing it for good one day.
Maybe it will be a sign for me to finally move on.
Until then, I’m just as lost as they come.
I leave the tip with the young, eager front desk clerk, then I get my car and continue driving around with no place to go.
Today I’m on Crete. I’ve been here for a few days and it’s big enough that I don’t feel the need to island hop and the rental car, a fiat that looks like a squashed bug, is doing me just fine.
I haven’t made any reservations at hotels either, I’m just driving around and seeing where I end up, trying to soak up the sun, eat a lot of cheap spanokapitas, and pour ice cold retsina down my throat, preferably with an ocean view.
This is not how I usually travel. I always have a plan after I’ve carefully researched each hotel, by star rating and by reviews, making sure the hotels hit all the right notes for me (paper-thin walls are a no-no, I don’t like being on the ground floor, there must be a coffee maker in the room, a free welcome drink is always a bonus). I want it close to the action but not close to the noise. There’s a checklist I always follow.
But this time, this time I’m literally just checking in to a place that looks good when I feel tired. I don’t even have any luggage except for my duffel bag.
To put it another way, I’m not acting like myself at all. I just hope that if I keep doing this, maybe something will start to right itself. It doesn’t feel like life is happening for me anymore and I’m waiting for that to start, moving through it all like the mist through trees.
I’m sure most people would say I’m running away from my problems and I suppose that would be the truth. After I quit, after the shock that I actually quit wore off, I moved out of my apartment, put my extra stuff that I had accumulated into a storage facility in Madrid, and then hit the road, or an airplane as it was. Conscious of the money in my bank account, I decided to go somewhere cheap but safe, with lots of much needed January sunshine.
Greece it was.
But it’s not all been moping around beaches and drinking until I forget. I’ve been applying for jobs too. Going after all the teams, even the ones in North and South America. Hell, I’d go to Japan or Kazakhstan too. They have great teams and a thriving football culture.
But it’s an odd time of year and no one is hiring and who knows how many teams will be as progressive as Galaxy, United and Real have been.
Plus, what I had said about how therapists tend to keep their jobs for a long time and there’s very low turnover? Well, that’s still completely true, unless you’re talking about me, having quit two great jobs in less than a year.
What’s even worse, is the reason I left those jobs.
Because it became to unbearable to work with the person who broke my heart.
Because I was a big dumb idiot who made the same mistake twice.
I fell in love with someone that I worked with and when it fell apart, I couldn’t stand to work with them anymore.
There is one big difference though, between leaving Manchester United and leaving Real Madrid.
When I left Man United, it was because working with Stewart made me uncomfortable. I wasn’t still in love with him but I definitely felt it was no place for me to stay. If I wanted to start over again, I needed to leave.
When I left Real Madrid, it was because I was still in love with Alejo and that working with him would chop my heart up into even smaller pieces tha
n it already was. Like taking an already broken heart and then putting it through the shredder.
And…I still love Alejo.
Of course I still love Alejo.
He had said that love couldn’t be taken for granted but I don’t see how my love for him could ever go away.
If anything, my love for him is getting worse, like a virus that starts off small and then grows to consume you, rendering you heartsick and useless. Except there’s no fix or cure for this. Not even time in Greece is helping.
Nothing helps except that pocket watch under my pillow, lulling me to sleep.
I see him in my dreams too, sometimes.
Sometimes he’s just a shadowy figure I keep trying to catch a glimpse of, almost clear in my peripheral but fading when I look at him straight on.
Other times it’s just us in my bed. He’s reading from a book with those sexy glasses of his, reading it in Spanish while I try to comprehend his words. In my dream the only words he’s saying are Te amo, over and over again.
Dreams like that have me waking up in tears.
And yet, the sun rises again and I have no choice but to keep going.
So here, am I…going.
Wondering.
What have I done?
I ask myself that all too often.
What happens next?
But I don’t have the answer.
Today I’m driving further south. I stop at a beachside café to get watermelon juice, then I move down over the rocks until I sit facing the sea, the gorgeous colors of the waves a feast for the eyes.
I sit and stare there for a while, periodically checking my shoulders to see if I need to go back to the car and get more sunscreen, when my phone rings.
I bring it out of my straw crossbody bag and peer at it. The glare of the sun makes it hard to read—it almost looks as if it says Stewart—so I bring it under the shade that my hat provides.
Oh my god.
It is Stewart.
I haven’t talked to him since…well, since I left Manchester.
Why is he calling me?
I know I should ignore it and not answer the phone, but honestly, whatever anger and sadness I used to carry with me because of him, it’s kind of gone.
It’s skin I’ve shed along the way.
I answer it. “Hello, Thalia speaking.”
“Thalia, it’s Stew,” he says, clearing his throat. “We were married. That Stew.”
He adds that trying to be funny, as if we’re on those kind of terms.
“Hi Stewart,” I say, not wanting to call him Stew right now. “I have to say this is a surprise. Why are you calling me? Is something wrong?”
“Wrong? Oh no, it’s all brilliant over here. I just wanted to see how you were doing. I haven’t talked to you in ages.”
“How is the girlfriend?” I ask, going right for the jugular.
“She’s great,” he says. “We’re getting married, actually. I proposed to her over Christmas.”
He says this so matter-of-factly that it irks me. Honestly, I don’t care if he marries again but he should at least show me courtesy of broaching the subject lightly. But that’s Stew, always blunt and expecting you to just get over it.
“That’s great. Do you want my blessing or some shit like that?”
He laughs. “No. I’m sorry, that probably came out wrong. I’m sorry if it…”
“It’s fine,” I say quickly. “Honestly. It’s fine. I’m glad the woman you screwed me over for ending up meaning something in the end. Or one of the women, anyway. Who knows how many of them there really were.”
“Thalia…” he begins. He clears his throat again, an annoying tic. “Look, I know that I have a lot of apologizing to do.”
My brows raise to the sky. This is new. “About what?”
“About being such bloody wanker. I treated you horribly and I’m sorry.”
“Is this a sudden change of heart?”
“No, it’s just. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Patty, that’s her name, she’s very much into forgiveness. She says it’s something we all need to try and she’s right.”
“Stew, forgiveness is something you do because you want to, not because it’s some trendy thing like mushroom coffee or hot yoga. And honestly, I’m the one who needs to work on that, not you. You have nothing to forgive me for, I have plenty.”
“Right. I guess I’m just…I don’t know. I’m going into this marriage with Patty reflecting on our marriage and the mistakes we made. Now before you get smart like you usually do, not every mistake was on my shoulders. You had a part in it too, but that’s neither here nor there right now.”
I’m too tired to argue with him, even if he’s a tiny bit right. “Okay…”
“But that’s not really why I’m calling.”
I sigh. “Why are you calling?”
“I heard you quit Real Madrid,” he says.
Oh.
“Everyone is talking about it,” he goes on.
My stomach twists. “Oh yeah? What are they saying?” I ask, my voice trembling at the possibilities. Do they know about Alejo?
“Actually no one knows anything. There’s no mention of you on the Real Madrid website. Usually they give some sort of statement, but I supposed you’re a therapist, not a player. But you know how we all talk.”
Do I ever.
He continues, “And so all we know is that you quit. You didn’t get fired or let go, but you quit. Why did you quit?”
Like hell I’m telling Stewart the truth.
“It just wasn’t a good fit,” I tell him.
“Really? Because when you came up to play us, you looked like you were completely at ease with the team.”
Well that’s good, because that’s not how I felt that day at all.
“It’s hard to explain,” I say and while that part is true, I’m lying about the rest. “It just didn’t feel right. You know, sometimes you just need a job to feel right.”
“I heard you did an amazing job on Albarado’s knee.”
Oh god. Even the mention of his name has me wanting to collapse on myself.
“Uh huh,” I manage to say. “I just did what I had to do.”
“Word is that the doctor wanted him to have knee surgery and you saved him from that. Don’t sell yourself short Thalia, you’re always selling yourself short. People are saying great things about you. You’re in high demand.”
I laugh. “No I’m not. I’ve been applying to jobs everywhere and no one is hiring and I can’t even get them to save my resume. I shouldn’t have…”
“Shouldn’t have what?”
“I don’t know. Maybe not left when I didn’t have another job lined up? I just left, impulsively, without thinking or planning.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“I know it doesn’t,” I say tiredly. “Spontaneity is not my forte.”
“So what are you doing for work then?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe have to look into private practice, but it’s such a step down. I want the thrill of the game, the rush of working on the players at the championship level. It’s what I’ve spent my whole life working towards, I can’t let that career go, not after what I’ve sacrificed for it.”
I have to catch myself before I go on any longer. I forgot that I’m venting to Stewart, not a friend, and the last thing he needs to hear is about Alejo.
“What if I told you that I knew of a job opening?” he asks after a beat. “And that if you applied, you would have the job?”
“Where?” I ask, straightening up. I grip the phone in suspense.
“Would you take it?”
“Where, though?”
“Does it matter though? It’s your caliber. It’s as prestigious as they get.”
“What could be more prestigious than Real Madrid? Is it Barcelona? Bayern? Tottenham?”
“Manchester United.”
I hold the phone away from my ear and stare at it for a moment, just to
make sure I am talking to Stewart. “What?”
“Man United, Thalia. You can come back.”
“But I don’t get it. How do you have a spot, I’ve been looking online and calling, I never saw that for you guys.”
“Let’s just say that the man we hired to replace you is a bit of a jackass and we’d rather have you back.”
“But why me? I’m not that special.”
“I owe you one.”
I narrow my eyes suspiciously. “You owe me one?”
“Look, Thalia. I fucked up with us and I was a monster to you. You left the team and you were a great part of it. The guy who replaced you is a grade A wanker. If you could take your job back…”
“You think things would be even between us. That this will take place of forgiveness?”
“Just think about it. You need a job. You know the job. It would be so easy.”
“Would it be? You’d be there and you’re why I quit in the first place.”
“Are you honestly telling me that I still have that much of a hold on you, Thalia?”
“No,” I say quietly. The truth is, he has no hold on me anymore.
That honor belongs to another man.
Another man on another team.
“Ugh, this could get so messy,” I say, my head in my hands.
“Football is messy,” he says. “That’s the way it is. Presidents, managers, trainers, therapists, doctors, players, we’re all being traded and transferred, back and forth, here and there. Many times going to one club only to go straight back to the one before. Allegiances change every season. It’s part of the life, Thalia. You know it is. This is the life you chose.”
He’s right about that.
“I’m going to really need to think about this.”
“You do that. And I’ll be here, waiting for your phone call. Just…promise me that when you think about it, you come by it honestly. About what you want in life and what you want your next steps to be. Think about what’s best for you and not about the past. Okay?”
“I’ll try.”
“Okay, well until then, take care. Where the hell are you anyway?”
“Greece.”
“Ah, well, don’t let the national team try and steal you.”
The Younger Man: A Novel Page 36