I mind since it’s nice to have so much friendliness in such a big city.
Maybe making friends here won’t be so hard, I think, watching the grandiose buildings along Gran Via zip by, including the famous Tio Pepe sign. It’s kind of weird being older and knowing you have to go through the process of making friends again. When you’re young it just seems so much easier. You’re not set in your ways yet. The world is open to you, as are the people in it. Even though I know forty isn’t old at all, it’s old enough that little things like friendship are harder to come by.
Where would I even start? Where do people meet people? Are there expat groups in the city? Will I make friends with the football players’ wives? When I moved to Manchester it felt easier somehow, maybe because I was more open and hadn’t been hurt yet, or maybe because there was no language barrier. It was luck that I met Liz. I met Helen through Stewart and I met Kazzy through Helen.
Here, I don’t know how it’s going to happen but I do know I’m going to have to get out of my shell a little bit.
And just like that, even the thought of putting myself out there makes my body suddenly seize up, my chest feeling heavy and suffocating, like it’s filling with poured concrete.
I close my eyes and drown out Manuel and concentrate on my breathing. Though I’m still on antidepressants, I’ve been weaning myself off of my anxiety medication, so panic attacks like to raise their ugly head at the worst possible times. It’s not just a mental thing either; it’s a full-blown physical attack that makes me feel like I’m spinning out of control, and my body is turning against me. It feels like I’m dying, and no matter how hard I try to convince myself that it’s all in my head and not real, I don’t believe it.
This time, the breathing works, and I win. Control comes back to my body and my heart slows. I’ve been on antidepressants for the last four years, but the panic attacks only started once I suspected Stewart of cheating. I like to think, in time, I can kick them to the curb just as I kicked him. I know they do me good and I’m not ashamed to take them, but they just remind me of why I’m on them.
Manuel heads through the manned gates of the Ciudad Real Madrid, the massive training and administration complex for the team, which is just north of the city. The car goes around the circular fountain and comes to a stop outside a sleek glass building. I look to see Mateo come out. He spots me, waves, and strolls over.
He opens the door. “Buenas días,” Mateo says as he smiles down at me. “Welcome to your first day.”
I tell Manuel thank you and get out of the car, pulling up my messenger bag.
“You nervous?” Mateo asks as I shut the door and the car pulls away.
“Do I look nervous?”
The corner of his mouth quirks up and he moves his head from side to side. “More or less.”
“I’ve never been very good at first days,” I admit to him, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “The first job I ever had was when I was fourteen and working weekends at the video store. First day, I ended up outing my high school math teacher who had rented a whole bunch of porn from the adult section.”
Mateo is staring at me with a bemused expression, brows raised. “I know you’ll do just fine.”
He starts walking off toward the doors and I quickly follow, my face going a bit hot. Why did I have to mention that? Not exactly professional.
I take in a deep breath and remind myself to relax. If Mateo thinks I’m nervous, I certainly don’t want to give that impression to the team, nor do I want to open my mouth and let verbal diarrhea flow out.
“So, what do you think of Valdebebas?” Mateo asks as we step through the automatic glass doors.
“Well,” I say, as I look around, taking it all in. “All I’ve seen so far of the famous Valdebebas is the massive fountain and a hedge that’s been clipped and trimmed to spell out Real Madrid, so I’m pretty impressed so far.”
His dark eyes twinkle. “I know it doesn’t have the level of security you had at Carrington, which personally makes