Chapter 18 Luca
Luca
“I can’t thank you enough for this,” Alejandro breathes out as he watches the Sewing Circle flit around álvaro, flabbergasting him through a mixture of Spanglish, baked goods, and bawdy jokes.
“Try the banana loaf.” Gladys pushes a dish underneath álvaro’s chin, arching an eyebrow as she waits for him to take a square.
“Comer!” Judith hollers, ordering álvaro to eat.
“Why do people always think that speaking louder in any language will somehow help anyone understand them? Volume and comprehension are not connected, Judith,” the third member of this eclectic group, Dorothy, explains.
She takes a seat next to álvaro and reaches for his hand. Squeezing his fingers, she closes her eyes as her lips begin to move, silently mouthing…a prayer?
Horror and panic wash over álvaro’s expression and his eyes cut to me.
“Tranquilo, todo está bien. No hacen dano a nadie,” I offer. Relax, you’re okay. They don’t hurt anyone.
álvaro’s eyes widen farther.
Alejandro sighs and flashes álvaro two fingers to signify two more minutes and he’ll remove the bustling women he arrived with, turning álvaro’s quiet, tranquil flat with cats into a tornado.
“How’s Marlowe feeling?” I ask, noting the tight expression my best friend wears.
Ale sighs. He looks miserable as he admits, “She’s so sick. She can barely keep anything down. We were in the hospital twice for her to rehydrate. And of course, we’re happy about the baby. She’s elated. But it’s hard watching her suffer like this.”
“I bet,” I admit. “I had to google hyperemesis gravidarum. Never heard of it.”
“Me neither, tío. I thought it was just morning sickness.” He gestures toward the Sewing Circle. “They arrived to help Marlowe and I’m relieved they’re here since our schedule is about to pick up.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “Champions League quarterfinals are next week.”
“Plus, the Cup game,” Ale adds.
“Right,” I say, noting how álvaro seems to relax now that he understands the Sewing Circle really does want to feed and cheer him up. “Marlowe’s grandpa?” I question.
Ale shakes his head. “He couldn’t leave Marlowe’s dad unattended.” He lowers his voice even though no one can hear us. “Her dad’s not doing well. I think this is his final stretch and Marlowe isn’t well enough to travel…” He trails off.
“I’m sorry, Ale,” I say, meaning it. I know all too well how hard it is to watch a loved one suffer from afar and not be able to hold their hand and offer immediate comfort. It’s gut-wrenching, twisting your insides up in knots, while layering it all in a healthy dose of guilt.
“Me too,” he murmurs. “It sucks to feel so fucking helpless.”
“I know.”
He glances at me and, as if recalling the years where Mamma was sick, dips his head in understanding. “I know you do.”
We’re quiet for a long moment before Ale sighs, swears, and claps his hands together. “Alright, ladies, what do you say we leave álvaro to rest—”
“How much rest does he need? Movement is better at this age, Alejandro,” Dorothy interjects, scolding Ale.
“He does have a lot of cats,” Judith remarks.
Gladys nods. “Should have gotten a dog. It would have forced him to walk several times a day.”
“Do you remember my dog? The little Chihuahua?” Judith laughs.
Gladys wrinkles her nose. “That yappy one? He was terrible.”
“She,” Judith corrects, narrowing her eyes at Gladys. “And she was protective.”
Dorothy snorts. “She was four pounds. What was she going to protect you from?”
“My grandson is getting a dog for Easter,” Gladys admits. “But not a Chihuahua.”
“Ooh, is the bunny bringing him?” Dorothy claps her hands together.
Gladys nods, grinning. “I wonder what he’ll name him.” She turns back to álvaro and practically yells. “?Qué nombres?” She jabs her fingers at álvaro’s cats.
He jerks back, his head snapping to me.
“Gigi? Coco? Caramel?” Gladys continues to ask at top volume.
“Why don’t we visit the cathedral?” Ale tries. “We can do some sightseeing.”
Judith wrinkles her nose. “Sweetheart, if you’ve seen one church in Europe, you’ve seen them all. What else you got?”
“This is different, Judith,” Dorothy says. “This one has the chalice from the Last Supper in it.”
“Ooh, really?” Gladys asks excitedly. “I’d love to see that!”
Judith looks up to the ceiling, as if asking God, or some higher being, for patience.
“There’s also the central market,” Ale adds.
“If you can help me with the ingredients, I can bake some nice, simple treats for Marlowe,” Gladys offers.
“My daughter says I need to try a…agua de Valencia.” Dorothy squints at the screen of her phone before looking up. “What’s that?”
“And does it have alcohol?” Judith presses.
I stifle my laugh.
“Um, sí. Yes.” Ale nods.
Judith beams. “Let’s start with that. Then, we can go to the cathedral.”
“Have fun,” I murmur under my breath.
Ale drops his head and nods. “Vale. ?Vamos, chicas!”
Judith giggles. “He called us girls.”
“Oh, those were the days,” Dorothy agrees.
In one synchronized movement, the three women turn to álvaro and unleash a stream of instructions, dropping to kiss his cheeks in farewell. They pass me in a single-file line, reaching up to cup my cheek, pat my arm, or, I swear, one of them even pinches my butt.
“Ah,” I jump, not expecting it.
“Lint,” Judith whispers, her eyes sharp.
Ale snorts. “I’ll call you later. Gracias, tío.”
“Buena suerte,” I reply. Good luck.
And then, as quickly as they arrived, the Sewing Circle departs and silence falls over álvaro’s flat.
My old friend tips his head back, closes his eyes, and murmurs, “Menos mal que se han ido.” Good thing they left.
I snicker and leave álvaro to rest as I feed the cats, clean up the kitchen, and rummage through the new assortment of baked goods Gladys insisted on leaving behind.
Taking a bite of a walnut brownie, I think of ways I can help support Marlowe and Ale through this trying time.
“B, I can’t talk too long,” I tell my sister as I stow my shoes in my locker.
“I know. Good luck today!” my sister replies. “I wish I was there.”
“Me too,” I say, meaning it. It’s the first time in a decade that League Valencia has advanced to the quarterfinals of the Champions League. Under Alejandro’s leadership, we have a chance of being named the top club in Europe.
Energy crackles through my limbs and I pull in a breath. “Everything okay in New York? You good?”
“I’m great, Luca. Honestly,” B replies and I hear the lightness in her tone. She sounds good…whole. “I’ve got some photoshoots lined up this week for brand collabs and I’m meeting friends for brunch in a few.”
“Okay, have fun.”
“You too! This is your season, Luca. In all things, not just fútbol.”
“Hope so, B.”
“Love you.”
“Love you, too,” I say, disconnecting the call and handing in my cell phone.
I move through my pregame rituals. Looking at my parents’ pictures, saying a series of quick prayers, having a moment of gratitude, and murmuring the refrain to Mamma’s favorite song—Gino Paoli’s “Sapore di Sale.” Taste of Salt.
When I open my eyes, I note Andrés patiently waiting off to the side. Having witnessed my random collection of rituals for years, he cocks his head. “Ready?”
I suck in a breath and nod. “Andiamo.” Let’s go.
Our team forms a huddle before we take the pitch.
“This is our game today; our pitch,” Alejandro states. “We’ve waited a long time to play at this level, in this championship. Leave it all out on the pitch, everything you have. We do this big today.”
My teammates nod in agreement. A tense silence, filled with nerves and expectations, hopes and years of dreams, stretches between us.
Our coach, Javi, lists last-minute reminders. The trainers move from player to player, double-checking wraps and tape-ups. And then, League Valencia steps onto the pitch.
Hundreds, no, thousands, of fans surround us as the stadium erupts with cheers and our club chant. Scarves wave, foam fingers jostle, and the cheers are deafening. I freeze, standing still as I take it all in.
I’ve been playing professional fútbol, calcio, since I was nineteen years old and this moment has never gotten old.
Witnessing the support of thousands of people is something I will never take for granted.
This sport has seen me through the best and worst moments of my life and has shaped every aspect of the man I am.
Pressing a kiss to my two fingers, I lift it to the crowd and am rewarded with louder screaming. Alejandro tosses an arm around my shoulder. “Come on, tío. Let’s do this.”
I fall into step with him and run through warm-ups. When I look up into the stands, to the family box the Garcías always occupy, I note the Sewing Circle, clad in visors and oversized sunglasses; Alejandro’s polished parents, Rubén and Paloma; his fun-loving Abuela; and Carla.
I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face when I see her in the stands. And even though I knew she’d be here today—Alejandro is her brother—I can’t help but feel like she’s also here to cheer for me.
It’s been years, eight to be exact, since a woman showed up for me. I didn’t realize how much I missed that. Having someone to count on, experiencing that extra zip of excitement, trusting in another’s presence. Rolling my lips together, I pull in a breath and vow to make this one of my best games.
Today, I’m playing for Carla.
The game starts and I lock in. Keeping my body loose and limber, I scan the pitch for opportunities and seven minutes in, spot my chance.
As Carlos moves behind the defense, I dribble the ball and maneuver to thread him a pass.
He accepts it beautifully and takes a shot on goal.
He aims for the top left corner and even though the goalie dives, he isn’t able to save it.
The ball crosses into the goal and we score!
Relief unspools through my limbs as the fans jump to their feet, cheering.
“Hell yeah!” Andrés shouts.
“Bel gol!” I call out to Carlos. Good goal!
He shakes his head, grinning. “?Pase perfecto!” Perfect pass!
And with that play, we set the tone for the game. Working together, we stay steady and sharp and play to win. Our opponent, Club Lyon, plays hard but when the clock runs out, League Valencia wins 3-2.
Ale claps me hard on the back as Andrés pulls me into a hug.
“?Buen partido!” Sounds around us. Good game!
I can’t stop grinning as I pull back to glance around the stadium. The swell of love and support slams into me and I fight the emotion that wells in my throat.
In many ways, my parents, my family, sacrificed their lives to give me this opportunity. Every time I step onto the pitch, I play my hardest to honor their sacrifice.
Ale runs to the sidelines and catapults himself into his family’s waiting arms. I note Marlowe is here now, looking pale but smiling happily, with a member of the Sewing Circle flanking each side.
Andrés embraces his parents who flew in from Australia for the championship games. Carlos tosses his baby girl into the air before kissing both of her cheeks and cradling her against his chest.
I duck my head, ready to head to the locker room when my name is called. “DiBlanco!”
I turn and see Carla hanging over the divider to the stands. “Cucciola.” I walk closer.
She reaches for me and when I grasp her hand, she leans over the metal bar to kiss both my cheeks. “That was one hell of a game.”
“Grazie.”
Carla smirks, those blue-green eyes shimmering like gemstones. “You know, I think a player could learn a thing or two from you.”
I chuckle, playing along. “You think so?”
“Yeah. You should consider running a camp or something.”
“I’ll take that into consideration. You know, we’ve fallen off on your training sessions.”
“I know. It’s been busy.”
“Yeah. But a player like you…you should be playing for the national team.”
She shakes her head. “Don’t make this about me, Luca. Today, we’re celebrating you and League Valencia.”
“Vale. Let me buy you a beer at Corcho.”
She laughs. “Let me buy you a beer.”
I shake my head. “And tomorrow, meet me at the pitch in Turia at seven p.m. We’ll get back to our training sessions.”
“If you want to see me so badly, you could just ask me out on a date.”
I smirk. I love how direct Carla can be when she’s not wallowing in self-doubt. “I’ll take that under advisement, too, cucciola.”
Her eyes sparkle. “Bueno.” Good.
“Meet me by the locker room in thirty?”
“I’ll be there.”