this feel right or does this feel wrong?” He pauses. “And if you think it feels right, then you have to open yourself up. I say this because I know you, Thalia. Opening up is hard and it’s scary, but you have to do it if you want to move on in life.”
“You mean, give myself the green light?”
“Yeah. Sure. Whatever analogy you want. You have the green light here, so go through it. If you get where you need to go, great. If you don’t, hey, at least you’re not standing still. Right? If I may throw another analogy your way, you miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.”
“Michael Scott,” I comment.
“No, Wayne Gretzky,” he says incredulously, not getting my Office joke. “Anyway, I’m really glad you called me. You know, your brothers never talk to me about any of this stuff.”
“That’s what their wives are for.”
“Hey, Dads are good for something too.”
“They are. Thanks for listening, Dad” I tell him, my heart feeling full.
“You’re welcome. Now I’m going to go upstairs and hit the hay before your mother yells at me about falling asleep in the recliner again. I love you, sunshine.”
“I love you too.”
I hang up the phone and stare at it for a moment.
The need to text Alejo is rising. I should reach out to him, say something. After what my dad said, I feel like I’m losing time for some reason.
But Alejo’s pissed at me for putting our relationship on pause, and in retrospect, I don’t blame him. Yeah, he’s funneled that energy into the game and he’s scored two goals in the last three games, which is great. He’s back and his passion for it is showing.
But, selfishly, I miss him.
I want him.
We have a gala tonight at some old palace to honor Luciano getting the Sportsman of the Year award.
Maybe I have the chance to make things right.
“Thalia, you look fantastic!” Vera exclaims, tottering over to me on her spiky high heels as I step inside the entrance to the palace, slipping between two grandiose pillars. “You’re like a disco ball. But make it sexy.”
I look down at my dress and stick my hips out like ta-da. “Thank you. You don’t look so shabby yourself.”
My dress is one-shouldered, nipped in at the waist, with a scandalously high slit up the side, made entirely of ice blue sequins. Since it’s the Christmas season and Madrid is going through a cold spell, I figured it would suit the occasion.
Vera’s dress is a 1950s style black, off-the-shoulder velvet number that clings to her hips in a very flattering way, her breasts pushed up to her neck, her hair down in ringlets. I took inspiration from the last time we were together at Alejo’s party and smudged my eyes up with dark blue glittery eye shadow as an homage to her.
“Where’s Mateo?” I ask her, looking around.
There’s a ton of people here gathered around the large hall. Dim glowing lights hang beside opulent chandeliers, there’s a red carpet, everyone’s in a tux or in gowns, and waiters dressed like penguins walk around with plates of champagne and tapas.
Vera plucks two glasses off a passing tray and hands one to me. “He’s off being a coach and doing his coach duties,” she says. “Face of the team and all that.” She gives me a smile. “So, how are you doing? You know I keep saying this, but we should really talk more. Granted, you’re probably as busy as Mateo is, but still.”
“I agree. We should. And I should start carving out some time for some kind of a social life.”
“Well, what are you doing for Christmas? Are you going home?”
I shrug, even though I know I’m not.
“Okay, but if you find yourself with nowhere to go, you can always come over and have Christmas with us.”
“You don’t go home for Christmas?” I ask her.
“Are you kidding?” she says with a laugh. “My family is a mess. And anyway, we’re scattered all over the place. My brother Josh lives with his wife in New Zealand. My sister is in New York. My parents are divorced. It’s much easier to stay here.”
“Well, thank you for the invite. I’ll let you know.”
“Oh, and there’s the man of the hour himself,” Vera says, raising her glass of champagne at Luciano who comes striding over.
I do the same. “Congratulations, big shot.”
He puffs out his chest, looking extremely suave in his tuxedo, his dark hair slicked back. “Thank you, thank you,”