Furia(14)

Diego had strolled through those crooked alleyways and la Puerta del ángel, had gone down Las Ramblas and through el Barrio Gótico to the Mediterranean Sea, which I’d only seen online.

“And you found the Cemetery of Forgotten Books?”

His eyes flashed with an emotion I couldn’t decipher. “Not yet, Cami. Not yet.”

The quiet laughter coming from the TV in my mom’s room clashed with the intimate mood in the living room. The mate was lavado, but I didn’t want to change the yerba. I didn’t want to ruin the moment. I didn’t want Diego to let go of my hand.

“How did the test go?” Diego asked.

“The test?”

He studied my face, and I realized he was talking about the exam I’d taken last month. I was studying and doing prep tests when he left. He was stuck on old news.

“Oh! I aced the TOEFL and the SAT.” Before he could say anything, I added, “Not only that, but you’re now speaking to a licenciada in the English language.”

“You’re still planning on going to school in Norteamérica, then?”

When he said it like that, it sounded so simple: because I had aced the tests, all the doors would be open to me.

“No,” I said, and sipped my mate. “It’s impossible.”

All my life, I had wanted to go to college in the United States, because there I could play fútbol while I got an education. But school in the States was irrationally expensive. With the exchange rate from peso to dollar, I wouldn’t be able to attend if I saved for a million years, not even with scholarships.

But the Sudamericano would be a window of opportunity for a team to discover me. I could put college on hold and keep playing fútbol. I’d start small on a Buenos Aires team like Urquiza. Their men’s team wasn’t even in the first division, but the women had been to Copa Libertadores de América.

Maybe in a few years, I’d climb my way up to the North American national league, the best women’s league in the world. Then my English would serve me well.

“Nothing’s impossible, Camila. I assure you, the people who knew me when I was nine never imagined that one day I’d be playing in Italy.”

He was right. Diego’s was a Cinderella story, which inspired me. It really did. After all, Rosario exported players to all corners of the world. Male players.

“Anyway, look at you! A licenciada!” he said. That smile again. “You should’ve told me!”

I retied my hair. “Well, you’ve been busy, haven’t you?” I hesitated, but if not now, when? “Besides, it’s not like we’ve been talking. You stopped calling me and never wrote me back.”

The glow on his face dimmed. “Ay,” he said, placing a hand over his heart.

“Ay,” I echoed.

Diego bit his lower lip. “I’m sorry . . . things got . . .”

“Complicated?”

He nodded and grabbed my hand again. “Camila, you don’t know . . . I almost quit so many times. I missed you. I was homesick, lonely, confused . . . The mister said I wasn’t playing with my heart and asked if I wanted to come home.”

“What did you say?”

“That I wanted to stay in Turín. What else? Being there was my dream, and the possibility of them sending me back was terrifying. I focused all my energy on doing my best one day at a time. Before I knew it, weeks had passed, and then I didn’t know how to explain . . .” He exhaled like he had just dropped the heaviest burden. “Forgive me?”

In my imaginary conversations with Diego, I always confronted him without hesitation, stating that we could still be friends, that we could pretend the kiss and the heartbreak were blips we could jump over and move on. But a part of me had always worried that we could never go back to the way things were before that night at the club. I didn’t want to lose him.

I’d never expected an apology. I wasn’t ready for it, and now I was disarmed. It would’ve been so much easier to hold a grudge forever.

His explanation made sense. In his place, I would’ve done the same thing. The time apart had taught me I could live without him. Perhaps what my heart needed was closure, and his being here explaining, apologizing, was enough.

Diego looked at me like a man waiting for his sentence.

Finally, I said, “I’m glad you stayed in Turín. I really am, Titán.”

“I’m glad you have your degree. People need English for everything,” he said. “Are you making any extra money with it?”

I laughed. “Extra money? I don’t have any money.” I shifted in the chair. My foot was falling asleep. I had the terrible habit of putting my leg under my bum to make up for my height. It messed up my ankle, and if Coach had seen me, she’d’ve had my head on a platter. “I went to the new mall to apply for this job at a clothing store. They asked for English speakers.”

“And?” He motioned with his hand for me to continue.

“Marisol came along, and after I completed her application and pretty much coached her through the whole interview, I didn’t get called back, but she did! No, don’t laugh. I speak English fluently and know accounting and tons of other things, and they hired her. She worked for two days and quit. They still didn’t call me.”