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 than 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