The truth is, I feel like a fraud. How can I coach a girls’ team and instill them with values like dedication and commitment when I’m team-less? These days, even aimless?
It feels like I’m posturing for an opportunity I’m not qualified for. One I don’t deserve.
And, at the heart of it all, can I handle more rejection?
4
Luca
Luca
That position needs to be filled in the next week or two. Reach out if you’re interested.
Luca
I think you’re interested.
I sigh, slipping my phone back into my pocket.
“She still hasn’t sent in her CV?” My old friend, Álvaro, guesses correctly, switching from his Valenciano dialect to Castellano Spanish on my account. He shifts his grip on the broom handle, propping it against the wall.
“Nope,” I reply in Spanish, shaking my head sadly, as I bend to pick up a bucket.
“Leave it,” he says, gruffly.
I ignore him and carry the bucket back into the utility closet.
Álvaro is the head of maintenance at Santa Isabel and the man who informed me about the job opening. But before that, for many years, he was the head of maintenance at the fútbol academy I trained at. When Papá died, Álvaro was the man who tried to fill his shoes by giving me his time, attention, and care. He became my go-to sounding board, passing along years of wisdom and insight.
“And,” Álvaro adds, shadowing the doorframe, “I told you not to pay my rent.”
“I want to.”
“I’m not a charity case, Luca,” he says, his dark eyes serious.
“I know that,” I reply, gripping his shoulder. Staring right at him, I tell him the truth. “You’re my family.”
“Argh,” he huffs, waving a dismissive hand. But I note the emotion that fills his eyes before he turns away.
“You should retire,” I add, knowing he’ll selectively choose not to hear me.
In true Álvaro fashion, he clasps his broom handle and stalks away. I grin as he pauses to talk to a few students at the end of the hallway, always passing on a good, but truthful, word.
‘“So, you like it?” I ask Bianca as her enthusiasm floats through the line.
“It’s incredible, Luca. I mean, it’s a ton of work and I’m living on hits of caffeine but, yes, I love it.”
“I’m happy for you, B.” I mean it, too. My sister has always been a free spirit with a wild-child streak. Nothing can hold her in one place—not even me.
Our father passed when I was twelve and she was eight and since then, I’ve felt responsible for her. That weight intensified when we learned the extent of Mamma’s diagnosis—stage four breast cancer. She fought for nearly three years before passing away peacefully. And during those three years, Bianca was by her side, juggling school and caretaking.
Guilt ate at the lining of my stomach for years as I envisioned the emotional toll watching Mamma deteriorate had on Bianca. While she was holding Mamma’s hand, I was playing fútbol and sending most of my earnings to New York to ensure Mamma received the best healthcare and Bianca didn’t have to work.
Those years suppressed my sister’s spirit as much as they encouraged her to seize moments. YOLO, she loves to tell me. You only live once. And, I can admit, no one seizes a day, an opportunity, with the same gusto as my sister.
“New York energy matches yours,” I say.
She laughs. “I miss you, Luca. But I think my moving back to the city is good for you.”
