that I wasn’t able to have that kind of life with Stew, but right now I’m so focused on the interview and the future that I feel nothing over it.
That’s progress.
“Again, nothing is final,” I remind them. “I mean, it’s Real Madrid.”
“And will you be the head of the physio team like you were here?” Kazzy asks.
“Pretty much,” I say, feeling more uneasy about my chances.
“You’ll get the job, Thalia,” Liz says. “You were the unsung hero of Manchester United.”
“No, that was Stewart,” I remind her.
“Stewart does shit,” she says.
“Shhh,” Helen hisses, glancing around her. “Do you want to start a riot in here?”
It’s no secret that Man U fans are crazy. I used to be a sports therapist for LA Galaxy and I had no idea what the soccer (sorry, football) fandom was really like over here. No one in the US seemed to care too much about the game (compared to the NFL, NBA, etc.) but here it’s a religion. When I got hired by Man United, they didn’t prepare me for the flack I would get for being not only a new member of the team but a female one as well, nor did they warn me that fans were nutty to begin with.
Stewart was the assistant coach at the time. I’ve been in this business since college and my number one rule was to never ever get personally involved with a member of the team.
I broke that rule with Stew.
And then he broke me.
Maybe we broke each other.
Anyway, Stewart is the head coach now and everyone either loves him or hates him depending on how the team is doing. Right now it’s July and there are only “friendly” non-competitive matches being played, so the fans have calmed down a bit. Still, I get paranoid that someone is going to recognize me every time I go out and it won’t help if I’m badmouthing the team, or Stewart. I was already dragged through public hell with the divorce and the scandal.
“Sorry, Helen,” Liz says with a look that means she’s not quite sorry. “I forget sometimes you’re still friends with Stewart.”
“We’re not friends,” Helen says, avoiding my eyes. “We’re just friendly.”
Hmmm. Even though Helen just had Stewart and his new lady whore over for dinner last weekend. I don’t bring that up though. Helen’s husband is Stewart’s best friend, which is how we met in the first place, and as much as I hate the fact that she still sees him, at least she never brings him up around me.
The waiter comes back with my sparkling water and Kazzy raises her glass to me.
“Well, I don’t care if I’m jinxing it or not. Here’s to you, Thalia. Happy birthday, happy freedom day, happy getting the job you want and the life you deserve.”
If I was on my fourth martini, I probably would have started crying over that. But I manage to hold it all together.
“Thank you,” I tell her warmly, and we all lean in and clink glasses. “Here’s to what’s next.”
Despite my best intentions, the next morning I still wake up with a bit of a hangover.
“Is this what forty is like?” I groan out loud, reaching over to silence the alarm on my phone.
I lie back in bed for a moment and assess the damage. I have a headache, but painkillers and a vat of coffee should take care of that. It could be worse.
I slowly sit up so I don’t get nauseous and take stock of my room. It’s small and dark, reminding me of a cave or a tomb, with only a small window that looks right out onto a willow tree that blocks what little sun this area gets. When I first moved out of the house, I didn’t really care where I lived, I just knew I couldn’t be with Stew. Plus, I was out of a job. This place was cheap and as dark as my soul, the perfect place to curl up and drown in my depression.
Now, well, I have to say I’m looking forward to saying goodbye to this place. Even if I don’t get the job with Real Madrid, the settlement from the divorce will happen soon and I can take that money and move anywhere I want.
The thought brings a smile to my lips as I head to the washroom to get ready. For the longest time it scared me, shamed me, to go from being part of a couple, a partnership, to being on my