I go over to her, feeling strangely awkward all of a sudden as I present the flowers.
“So glad you’re here. The plane landed early for once,” Helen says as she embraces me, smelling like some powdery French perfume. “You look lovely, Thalia.” She grabs the flowers. “Oh, thank you, these look lovely too.”
I pull away and look her up and down. She looks the same, tall and thin, maybe a bit of a trim to her black bob. “New hair?” I ask.
She preens like a peacock and puffs up the ends of her hair with her hand. “Yes, thank you. Anastasia is always working her magic with me.”
“Need any help with the luggage?” I ask out of politeness since it’s just a carry-on.
“No, no, I’m fine,” she says, walking alongside me as we head out of the airport and over to the parking. It’s cold, and there’s a light wind whipping up, and she shields her face with her scarf. “Oof, I didn’t think it would be so cold here,” she says.
“Only at night,” I assure her. “During the day you can wear a t-shirt, I promise.”
“Well, anyway, I’m so glad I came, if only for two nights,” she says. “Too bad Kazzy and Liz aren’t here though.”
I rarely hear Helen mention anything about Liz, so it makes me think that perhaps she was looking forward to using those two as a buffer as well.
“This is the new car,” I tell her, pointing to the Audi.
“That’s quite the perk,” she says as I beep-beep unlock it remotely and start putting her suitcase in the trunk. “I don’t remember Stewart getting anything from Manchester.”
Here we go. Mention of ex-husband number one.
“That’s because Manchester doesn’t have Audi as a sponsor. They have Chevrolet. And that’s why Stewart chose to drive a BMW.”
“So, how are you liking living here? I mean, really?” she asks as we’re in stop-and-go traffic close to the city. “You can tell me the truth.”
“I would always tell you the truth,” I say to her, shooting her a curious look. “And I like it here a lot. Took some time to grow on me but I think I’m finally finding my footing, so to speak.”
“The team doesn’t give you a hard time?”
I shake my head. Even Dr. Costa has grown to tolerate me, and the Slovenian midfielder actually thinks I’m pretty funny. “No, everyone has been great.”
“They haven’t tried to bribe you for information about the Man U players, maybe get you talking about their weak spots and past injuries?”
“Actually, no. Not even a little. Everyone has been very professional.”
Well, almost everyone. But Alejo doesn’t count.
“Hmmm,” she muses, looking out the window.
“What?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I mean, I’m happy for you. Don’t get me wrong. You definitely have changed. You’re all glowy and you look happy too.”
“Okay…”
“But, I guess I thought this was just a temporary move for you.”
I stare at her before bringing my attention back to the road. First Alejo picked up on it, now her.
“No. Not temporary. I have a car. I’m learning Spanish. I just bought some new knives for my apartment. I really like my job. This is it.”
“But didn’t you say that about LA Galaxy before you came to Manchester? And you said that about Manchester…”
“Yeah, well, you move around when you have to, for various reasons, but I really think I’m putting roots down.”
I have to admit, it feels good to say it out loud.
“So, what, you’re just going to fall in love with a Spaniard?”
I blink, pressing my lips together as I grip the steering wheel. “I don’t know. Who said anything about love?”
“You know I talked to your mother the other day.”
Oh my god. Instinctively I hit the brakes which makes the car behind me honk.
“Goodness, these are touchy brakes,” she comments.
“Why did you talk to my mom? When?”
“The other day.”
“What did she tell you?”
“Nothing. And don’t get so worked up. I had such a hard time getting a hold of you that I thought I would call her and see if she heard anything.”
“Well, she wouldn’t have heard anything. If I’m too busy to talk to you, I’m too busy to talk to her.”
“You know, Stewart has always had a higher position than you — I mean, he’s the manager, and yet he finds the time to come over and hang out with his friends.”
My knuckles are ghost white on the steering wheel. I have to physically grip it as a way of holding it together so I don’t lose my temper and snap at her, which I am so very close to doing.
As a result, it takes me a moment to say anything. I just drive and stare wide-eyed at the road before I whisper, “Can we please not talk about my ex-husband?”
“Oh, don’t be like that,” Helen says, staring at me. “Look, I’m sorry if that rubbed you the wrong way, but it had to be said. You have to put in the effort, Thalia. Into every relationship you’re in.”
Oh, she did not.
I slowly turn my head and stare at her. “Every relationship I’m in?”
“You know what I mean,” she says quickly, looking away.
I know I’m giving her a look that could slice her down the middle. My resting bitch face has always been pretty good, but it’s my glares that I really excel at.
And I know what she’s saying. That somehow it’s my fault with Stewart because I didn’t put in the effort. I mean, I don’t even know what to say about that.
But I do know that this trip is starting off on the wrong foot.
I count down from ten and inhale deeply through my nose.
Let’s start over.
Put on a good face.
Try to have a fun time. It’s only two days.
“So, what do you feel like doing tonight?” I ask her, and just like that, the conversation changes to something lighter. I’m still seething a little from her implications but maybe if I try hard enough, shit like that won’t come up again.
We get to my apartment and she seems mildly impressed at the space, particularly the age of it. She has a shower to rinse off the “airplane smell” and then we both doll ourselves up for a night on the town. I have work the next day, but as long as I don’t lose my head and get drunk, I’ll be okay.
I really want to take Helen to the Last Resort, and I hope to run into some of the players so I can show off to her a little. I know that’s pretty petty of me, but I can’t help it. I get this feeling that she wants to keep undermining me, and I can be too, I don’t know, humble or something to really feel proud about things.
Instead, we go to Bar Cock, the first place I went with Mateo and Vera for drinks. It’s just flashy enough for Helen to be impressed but has that flair of Madrid so she can feel like she’s actually in another country.
We settle at a high-top table near the bar, and order martinis.
“Your team has been doing well, though,” she says to me, seemingly out of the blue since we were just talking about clothes.
I nod. “Yup, we just won against Lille in the Champions League, so we’re waiting for the draw for matchday five of six, which we’ll play later this month. But we’re in good standing so far.”
“Things really turned around because you guys were bloody shit for a while.”
I try not to take offense. I wiggle my fingers at her. “Maybe it’s my magic hands.”
“Maybe. You know the boys just won their draw as well against Juventus.”
I don’t have to ask what team she means when she says the boys.
“They’ve always been one of the best teams,” I tell her.
“Isn’t it weird now that you’re not there anymore?” she asks, leaning in as if I’m going to let her in on a secret.
“It was at first, but your allegiances change. Players have to go through it all the time when they get transferred, and if the
y can do it, I can do it.”
“What happens when Man U plays Real Madrid?”
I can’t say I haven’t thought about that. A lot.
I shrug. “Then they play each other.”
“Oh, I really hope they do. Makes things so much more interesting.”
Interesting wouldn’t be my first word, but I let it slide.
“Meet-cute!”
A strangely familiar voice interrupts us, and I swivel in my chair to see Sergio approaching us.
“Who is that?” Helen hisses.
“Sergio,” I whisper back.
“Buenas noches, meet-cute,” Sergio says to me. “What a surprise to see you here. I assume your Spanish must be perfect now or else you would have called me.”
“No perfecto pero lo…suficientemente bueno,” I say, wishing it rolled off my tongue like a native, but at least I’m trying.
“Hey, not bad,” he says, and then he says something super fast in Spanish that I don’t understand.
“Pollas en vinagre,” I tell him.
He stares at me for a moment with big brown eyes before he bursts out laughing. “Do you even know what you said?”
I shake my head. “The chicken is in the vinegar?”
“Chicken, no. Cocks in vinegar. Pollas is penis.”
“Jeez, you should know that one,” Helena comments, amused.
I shut my eyes and put my face in my hands. “Why on earth did Alejo teach me that?”
“This Alejo is your Spanish teacher?” he says. “Sounds kind of immature.”
“Hold on. Alejo as in Alejo Albarado?” Helen says, pressing her hands into the table. “The boy with the knee you’d been working on for the last two months is also your Spanish teacher?”
“It’s just a way to pass the time,” I say as nonchalantly as possible.
“Wait a minute. You work for Real Madrid?” Sergio asks, and then I can see it all come together in his eyes. “You’re the girl. The woman. The physical therapist.”
“Cat’s out of the bag,” I say before I take a distracting sip of my martini. I cough. “Know a Spanish equivalent to that saying?”
“Wow, so funny to know this about you,” he says. “Of course, I am an Atlético fan, but I can cheer for Los Blancos sometimes.”
“Why don’t you sit down and have a drink with us?” Helen asks.
“I will. Can I buy you ladies another?”
“Sí,” Helen says, and when I don’t say anything she kicks me under the table. “One for Thalia too.”
“Thalia,” Sergio repeats thoughtfully. “So now I know your real name.”
Then he turns around and heads to the bar.
“Okay, spill the beans,” Helen says to me in a hush. “Who is this man and why are you being so weird about him? You already sleep with him?”
I give her a look. “No. I met him last month or something, when I was jogging. We bumped into each other, dropped our phones, he gave me his number in case I wanted to learn Spanish. That was it.”
“You do realize that learn Spanish actually means have sex, right?”
Boy, do I ever know that.
“Yes, I’m aware. And anyway, so I never called him.”
“Because you have your own Spanish teacher?” she says, eyeing me suspiciously.
You see, earlier today I thought that maybe if things went well with Helen, and we were back to being old friends, I would confide in her about Alejo. I’m fucking dying to talk to someone about him, and I have no one, and I figured maybe, just maybe, she would understand.
But now, I have no plans to do that. I don’t think she’d understand at all.
“Because I’m busy,” I tell her. “And believe me, if you’re upset I’m not calling you or my mother, then I’m definitely not calling some stranger I ran into.”
“Hmmmm…” Helen makes that musing sound again.
Sergio comes back with our drinks, and for the next hour he does a lot of asking me questions about football and the team. You know, what it’s really like. And as much as I thought he was into me, it turns out he’s way more into the football aspect of it.
Which is fine by me. When Sergio finally leaves, he doesn’t make any motion to ask me on a date or anything; instead, he says for me to call him if I’m ever given extra tickets. I mean, it’s not even his team, but whatever.
“I think you guys had nice chemistry,” Helen says. She’s slurring a little and we’re both tipsy by now. It’s getting late, but I’m ignoring that. Perhaps we’ll kill the night.
I just nod. “Sure.”
My phone beeps and I pull it out of my purse to look at it.
It’s Alejo.
If ur ever tired of ur friend, I know of another thing that will tire u out.
He ends it with a winky face, in case I didn’t know what he meant.
I can’t help but grin at the phone, my stomach doing flips to know he’s thinking of me.
“What the hell has you smiling like that?” Helen asks, and as I prepare to lie and move to put my phone away, she reaches over with crazy quick reflexes and plucks the phone out of my hand.
“No!” I cry out, trying to reach for it, but I end up knocking a glass of wine across the table, where it then goes crashing to the floor.
Someone calls out “Opa!” and I’m trying to get off my stool to get the phone away from her, but it’s already too late and she’s scrolling through the messages.
I mean, every single text that Alejo and I have sent each other.
In the last while, there have been a lot.
And almost all of them are dirty.
“Thalia,” she says darkly, staring at me with a mix of confusion and resentment. “What is this?”
I just grumble to myself and start wiping down the table with the napkins, a waiter coming by to drop off a cloth and pick up the glass pieces that are scattered on the floor.
No point in hiding it now.
That changed so fucking fast.
I thank the waiter, giving him five euros for the trouble, and then nod my head to the door.
“We should go,” I say to Helen, who still has my phone.
I grab my jacket and leave, stepping outside into the brisk air, trying to figure out what Helen is going to do with that information. I mean, I could deny it and pretend it’s some other Alejo. There has to be hundreds of thousands of them in this city. But after the conversation earlier, I know there’s no point. And despite my resting bitch face, I’m a terrible liar.
And I don’t want to lie about him.
Helen eventually steps outside the bar and hands me my phone back.
“You have a lot of explaining to do,” she says stiffly.
“Look, before I tell you anything, can you promise me it will stay between us? That you won’t tell Stewart, or even Kazzy or Liz? Or Frank? Please?”
She gives me a steady look. “I won’t tell anyone on one condition.”
I frown. “What’s the condition?”
“I’ll let you know after. Now, talk.”
We walk through the streets for a while, and I tell her everything.
From the very beginning.
And I have to admit, even though this is less than ideal, it feels good to finally get it all off my chest. I’ve been carrying this around with me for so long.
But Helen doesn’t look impressed in the slightest. Not that I expected her to be, I just thought maybe she could be happy for me, just a little bit.
“I haven’t told anyone else,” I admit when I’m done.
“I don’t blame you,” she says. “And if I were you, I’d keep it that way.”
Ouch. Okay, that hurts a little.
“Listen, Thalia. I don’t know how to say this without coming off as insensitive or a twat, but you’re really disappointing me here.”
Oh god. It feels like I’m talking to my parents.
“Disappointing you?” I repeat, my gut clenching. “Because I didn’t tell you right away?”
“Because you’re shagging a twenty-three-year-old boy!”
“He’s twenty-four.”
“It doesn’t matter. You’ve lost your bloody mind is what has happened here. You’re drunk on Spanish dick and making some extremely bad decisions!”
I swallow hard. “It’s just sex,” I say quietly.
“Is it? No. It’s not. I just read your texts, I just listened and watched you talk about him for the last twenty minutes. You’re in deep, Thalia, and you know this is only going to end in tragedy for you. The worst is that you can lose your job, which is just so bloody stupid on your behalf. Other than that, he’s going to get bored of you and find someone else, because that’s what boys his age do. I mean, you’re forty! You’re old!”
I glare at her. “Forty is not old,” I snap. “You’re forty-three.”
“I’m old!”
“You’re the delusional one here.”
“Okay, so maybe I’m old compared to him. But so are you! Listen, I’m glad you had some hot sex and maybe you needed a rebound to get back at Stew—"
“This was never about getting back at Stew!”
“Or maybe to get over Stew. Whatever it is, I get it. You’re divorced and feeling bad, and your self-esteem is low and you’re lonely so you turn to this Spanish football star. But seriously, Thalia, you need to take a good hard look at yourself and what you want in your future. Because if you keep this up with him, it’s not going to be a happy one.”
I want to argue about all of that with her. I should.
But the truth is, I have nothing to say.
Her words sink in because there’s some truth there in the mix.
We get an Uber for the rest of the ride back to my apartment, and we’re both silent the whole way. It isn’t until we’re going up the stairs that I say, “You said you wouldn’t tell anyone on one condition. What was the condition?”
She sighs and pauses on the dim stairway, looking up at me. “The condition is that you’re completely honest with yourself about why you’re with him. I just want you to dig a little deeper and really think about your future here. Because, honestly, from the outside looking in, it’s not good. And you look bad. You don’t want to be one of those old cougars trying to hit on young men, making bloody fools of themselves.”
I turn around and head back up the steps and down the hall to my apartment.
The Younger Man: A Novel Page 24
