21. Avery
Chapter 21
Avery
After Valentina stood her ground, her family settled down. Kind of.
It was a quiet, resigned type of acceptance. One that was awkward and stifled. One that let me know that Valentina may have won this battle, but the war is far from over.
I hid in the kitchen, desperately trying to concoct something for Christmas Day lunch.
“Don’t stress out. The pastries and bagels were a nice touch and will hold everyone over for a bit,” Carla says, peeking into the liquor cabinet.
“I have a wine cellar.” I point to the living room.
“Mamá has already started in on the second bottle.”
“Excellent,” I mutter. I suppose the addition of alcohol could go one of two ways—spike everyone’s anger and remove whatever restraint they’re currently hanging onto to avoid ripping into me or turn us into one big, loud, happy family. I pray it’s the latter.
“And I have a feeling Raia would have ordered lunch and dinner as well,” Carla adds.
Raia! “I need to thank my sister.”
Carla grins and passes me my phone. “I’ll give you a minute.”
Once she leaves the kitchen and I hear her join Valentina and their family, I quickly read through the messages sent by my sister and Cohen.
Sighing, I dial Raia.
“How’s it going?” she answers on the first ring.
“It’s him? He called already?” I hear Cohen in the background.
“Yep! Pay up, sucker,” Raia replies.
“What are you talking about?” I frown before realization knocks into me. “Are y’all betting on?—”
“So many things, bro. And I’m losing,” Cohen hollers.
“Take me off speaker,” I tell Raia.
I hear my best friend chuckle in the background.
I also hear my sister’s fucking grin through the line.
“So, how’s it going?” she asks.
“Thank you for breakfast,” I say seriously, hoping there’s also a lunch and maybe dinner on the way.
“Oh, it’s all right,” Raia says, her tone also serious. “I also ordered a roast for lunch.”
“You’re the best,” I breathe out. “Thank you.”
“The Garcias are a tough family to infiltrate,” Raia says sympathetically. “I bet you were caught off guard this morning.”
“We were in the fucking shower,” I growl.
“Oh, shit!” Raia murmurs. I hear the exchange of money take place and Cohen’s chipper laughter ring out.
Sighing, I hang my head. “Any advice here?”
“Honestly, just be yourself. You’re a good guy, Avery. And it’s obvious that you care for and love Valentina. Any parents would want that for their daughter. She’s happy; she’s thriving. And while you can’t take all the credit for that, you can claim some. Her family will see that if they spend time with you. All of us were skeptical at the beginning?—”
“We thought you’d get an annulment,” Cohen calls out.
“But look at the Christmas Eve we had last night? Valentina is part of our family now and we couldn’t be more thrilled,” Raia continues.
“Even if you stole Rai’s thunder!” Cohen again.
I hear my sister smack him.
“I’m happy for you both. And I know Carla, Alejandro, and their parents will be too. Just, hang in there. Give it some time,” Raia advises.
“Yeah,” I breathe out, knowing she’s right. “Thanks, Rai.”
“Love you, Ave.”
“Call back if there’s a physical altercation of any kind,” Cohen demands. “A thrown plate or wine glass counts!”
“Stop it,” Raia admonishes him, disconnecting the call.
I shake my head and drop my phone back onto the counter.
“Your sister is a lovely woman,” Mrs. Garcia says, and I jump, spinning around to note her standing against the kitchen island, one hand planted on the tabletop, the other swirling a glass of red wine.
“She is,” I agree, leaning my back against the countertop and turning my body toward her.
“Your parents seem like good people.”
“They are. A little nutty but overall, wonderful people.”
Mrs. Garcia studies me for a long beat. Feeling like it’s a test, I don’t break eye contact.
“I love your daughter, Mrs. Garcia,” I say truthfully. “I know this must feel like a surprise and I understand your and your husband’s apprehension. But I’m glad you’re here. I want you to spend time with Lena and me. I want you to see us together and understand that what we share is real. Valentina means everything to me.”
Mrs. Garcia sighs and takes a sip of her wine. “Yes, well, it was easier to pretend this was a mistake when we were reeling from the news, in Spain. And then, the entire plane ride over the Atlantic, discussing it amongst ourselves.” She gestures toward the living room where her husband and son sit with Carla and Valentina. “But now that we are here, it’s clearly going to be more of an uphill battle.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
Mrs. Garcia sighs. “I admit that Vale looks happy. Glowing, even. As a mother, you learn to read your children. And her eyes are brighter, her smile bigger, her backbone stronger than I’ve ever seen her carry herself. She’s gained a type of confidence, of trust in herself, that she didn’t have before. I suppose a part of that has to do with you.”
“Perhaps a part of it. But Lena is strong all on her own.”
“ Si , she is.” Mrs. Garcia nods. Her mouth hitches on one side. “Lena. No one has ever called her that before.” She meets my eyes. Sighs. “But, Avery, how long will this marriage of yours last? You and Valentina hardly know each other. Trust me, playing house and making a marriage work, when every single brick is stacked against you, are two entirely different things.”
“Why do you think everything is stacked against us?” I question.
She takes another sip of her wine, rolling her lips together thoughtfully. “You have a very demanding career. Vale does as well, but in a different way.”
“A lot of couples have ambitious career paths.”
“Yes.” She nods in agreement. “But if you and Valentina start a family, how will those career paths balance each other out?” She quirks an eyebrow. “You, like my husband, are a professional athlete. You have less flexibility. As such, the bulk of compromising, of sacrificing, would have to come from Valentina.”
I open my mouth, but she continues.
“I’m not saying it as a judgement. It’s a fact. And as much as I don’t truly understand my daughter’s career choice, I know she loves the path she is on. At least in Spain, she has help, support, if she decides to grow a family. Here, she has no one.”
“She has me. She has my family,” I retort.
Mrs. Garcia sighs again. “I know it seems easy now. Straightforward. But life has a way of speeding up and complicating things. At Valentina’s age, I never thought I would be a stay-at-home mother, traveling across Europe for fútbol games. If I didn’t embrace the sport, the lifestyle of it, I would have lost everything. The only way to save my life was to make fútbol a big part of my identity—same as Rueben, Ale, and Carla. And I did so with my mother’s unwavering support and constant help when the children were small, and as they grew older.”
“But Valentina didn’t pick soccer,” I point out.
“She’s the only one who chose a different path,” Mrs. Garcia agrees, tilting her head. “And I’m not sure where that will leave her because in a way”—she gestures toward me with her wine glass—“she picked a different type of fútbol .”
I close my mouth, seeing where she is going with this. The life of a professional athlete eats up the lives of everyone else in the household. Is that what she’s worried about? That there will be no room left for Valentina’s passions to soar?
It’s not an unfair concern. It’s just that I’d never let that happen.
But why would Mrs. Garcia believe me when she hardly knows me? When she doesn’t know the man I’ve become through my marriage to her daughter?
Raia was right—the Garcias need to see Valentina and me together.
I roll my lips together and change the subject. “Lunch will arrive shortly. I would have prepared something?—”
Mrs. Garcia holds up her hand, stopping me. “We really bombarded you today, Avery. I’m glad we got to meet you, but we’ll be out of your hair shortly.”
“I’m happy you’re here,” I admit. Even though this conversation has been far from pleasant, it has given me insight into Mrs. Garcia’s concerns.
Mrs. Garcia swirls her wine again. She nods and meets my gaze. “I am, too.” She glances toward the living room and back again. “Are you coming to the charity gala in Chicago?”
“I can’t.” I shake my head. “I have a game in Boston on the twenty-eighth.”
“Ah,” she says, giving me a look as if this proves her earlier point. “Well, if you don’t mind Valentina missing your game, it would mean a lot to me if she joined us at the gala. We don’t see her as often as we should and I’d like to spend some time with my children all together.”
“I understand,” I say, meaning it. It’s the same type of desire my own mother would crave. A night out with her kids. “If Lena wants to attend the event, she definitely should.”
Mrs. Garcia finishes her wine and places the glass on the island top. “Good. Thank you, Avery.” She nods once before entering the living room.
And it seems like it’s neither scenario one nor two. There is no yelling or big, happy family. There’s a strange type of stalemate. One with begrudging respect but still, no clear winner.
“I’m not going to skip out on your game,” Valentina says, shaking her head.
“Sweetheart, you’re not. There will be tons of games for you to attend,” I explain.
“Not if you don’t make the playoffs,” she shoots back.
“Damn,” Ale mutters.
“Harsh,” Carla agrees.
I roll my eyes. “We’re going to make the playoffs.”
I pull Valentina away from her family’s eavesdropping.
Still, I hear Mr. Garcia mumble to his son, “That’s the type of confidence you need to have as team captain.”
Of course, he would never admit that to me. He’s hardly looked at me, never mind spoken. Instead, Mrs. Garcia is the parent laying down the law. She’s a fair, but firm, competitor, and I know it’s going to take a hell of a lot more time to prove that I’m invested in my marriage.
To get on their good side, I try to help Mrs. Garcia’s cause. “Your mom really wants you to attend. She wants time with all her children.”
Lena lifts an eyebrow. “And you’re concerned about my mamá’s wants because…”
“I want her to like me,” I admit.
Valentina smiles and places a hand on my cheek. “Eventually, she will. How could she not?”
I sigh. “They’re not embracing us the way I thought they would.”
“They’re acting exactly how I expected,” Valentina admits, disappointment coloring her tone. “Come on, let’s eat.”
Valentina refuses to commit to the idea and I let the topic go. Instead, I follow her to the table where a roast, vegetables, potatoes, and salad sit in the center. Thank God Raia saved Christmas.
We say grace and begin to eat, but the conversation is stifled.
Sighing, I try to break the ice. “When’s your next game?” I ask Alejandro.
“The ninth,” he replies, taking a sip of wine. “Against Barcelona.”
“That’s gonna be a shitshow,” Carla muses. She glances at her sister. “When’s your research trip, Vale?”
“January 4,” Valentina replies, taking a spoonful of mashed potatoes.
“Where are you going?” Ale asks.
“The Great Smoky Mountains,” Valentina says, not elaborating.
Her family is silent for a beat, staring at her.
I note the hope that flares in her eyes, but she keeps her expression neutral.
“Oh? What’s the research topic?” Mr. Garcia asks, reaching for another helping of veggies.
And just like that, my wife’s shoulders relax, a smile crosses her face, and she leans forward to tell her family about her research, the program she launched at the nature center, and the work she’s doing with Dr. Mendoza.
They give her their full attention and ask relevant questions. I watch as Valentina comes alive, talking with her hands, her eyes sparkling.
At one point her mom’s expression softens and she beams at her daughter with pride.
It’s the type of reaction, the kind of support, Valentina has been chasing for years. Deep down, I know she’s going to attend the gala with her family in Chicago. And I hope that her time with them helps soften their outlook on our marriage.
I insisted that Valentina’s family stay with us.
Of course, they protested. But as it’s already Christmas Day, they couldn’t find a last-minute hotel reservation. Even name-dropping Garcia and Callaway didn’t work—go figure.
While Mr. Garcia seemed truly affronted at this realization, Alejandro and Carla laughed.
“I suppose we’ll have to take advantage of your generosity,” Mr. Garcia grumbled, clearly frustrated to accept my offer.
“You’re not,” I assured him. “We’re family now.”
He turned sharp, assessing eyes on me. “For now,” he replied, his tone cold.
“Papá!” Valentina exclaimed.
The temperature in the room dipped after that. No matter how hard Valentina and I tried—card games, more bottles of wine, Christmas cookies—we were unsuccessful in initiating any type of warmth or Christmas revelry. Instead, I decide to turn in early and let Valentina have time with her family.
As I say good night to the Garcias, they thank me politely.
I ready for bed and hear the family switch from English to Spanish. Their voices lose some of the chill and sharp edges of the day. Instead, they fill with humor and start to flow with ease.
By the time I slide under the duvet and open a book, there are shrieks of laughter and the familiar rhythm of storytelling. I listen to Lena’s laugh, her voice, her joy. It bowls into me and gives me pause as I wonder, when was the last time I heard her sound that animated in a group setting?
Sighing, I try to focus on the words on the page. After ten minutes, I give up. I’m more interested in knowing what’s causing my wife to giggle and clap her hands in joy. Will I ever share that kind of familiar ease with her? Will her family ever embrace me the way mine has welcomed her? Will the Garcias accept our marriage?
I hate that I truly don’t know. I hate that when I close my eyes for sleep, my wife isn’t in our bed, and that old restless energy returns.
“I don’t want to leave you,” Valentina says, wrapping her arms around me.
I cradle her against my chest, bending to kiss the tip of her nose. As much as I don’t want her to leave, I refuse to stand between her and her family. The Garcias have been with us just shy of twenty-four hours and I am not sad to see them go.
“It’s only for a few days.” I deepen our kiss, feeling myself harden as Valentina moans. “Your family misses you.”
“Well, I’ll miss you.” She pouts.
I smile and brush her hair out of her eyes. “I’ll miss you too. But I have a game that day. We’re leaving for Boston the night before. I’d hate the thought of you being alone in the condo, or freezing your ass off in Boston, when you could be with your parents and siblings.”
“I know,” she agrees.
I squeeze her delectable ass. “Go. Have fun. And I’ll see you when you get back.”
I wrap an arm around her waist and tug on her small suitcase, rolling it from our bedroom to the foyer where Valentina’s family waits for her.
“I don’t even have a dress,” Valentina grumbles.
“We can rectify that!” Valentina’s mother promises.
“Have a great trip,” I say, holding out my hand to Mr. Garcia.
He shakes it firmly, squeezing my hand hard. “Have a good game.” It’s as cordial as he’s been to me, and I now understand my sister’s, my coach’s, and my teammates’ warnings. Rueben Garcia is tough as nails and doesn’t give a goddamn inch.
While this makes him a worthy opponent, it also makes him a difficult father-in-law.
I shake hands with Alejandro, who has been quiet today. I’ve felt his eyes assessing my relationship with his sister, but he hasn’t commented. I hug Mrs. Garcia in farewell and kiss Carla’s cheeks good-bye.
When the Garcias move into the hallway and call the elevator, I turn toward my wife.
I give Valentina one last, long kiss good-bye. “Send me pictures,” I whisper.
She wrinkles her nose but bites her bottom lip adorably. “If you’re lucky.”
I snort and tug on the end of her hair. “I already am, Lena.”
She smiles and leans back in for another kiss. “Good luck at your game.”
“Have fun at the gala,” I reply.
“Jesus! It’s only a few days,” Alejandro comments.
Valentina rolls her eyes. “I’ll see you soon.”
The elevator arrives then, and I wave good-bye to the Garcias as they pile inside. Valentina gives me one last wave.
When the doors close and the elevator car descends to the lobby, I sigh and turn back to my condo. Staring at the empty space, I already miss Valentina. The condo feels too quiet, too empty without her.
Shaking my head, I pick up my phone and text Cohen.
Avery
What are you up to?
Cohen
Vale left?
Avery
Yeah. It sucks.
Cohen
Tell me about it. Raia’s on the same flight.
Avery
Want to grab a beer?
Cohen
Meet you at Corks in thirty?
Avery
See you there.
Relieved to have plans—anything to get out of the condo and leave the bitter reminders of this Christmas behind me—I rinse off in the shower, dress quickly, and drive to Corks.