Do I truly deserve his care? Am I worthy of it?
The truth is I don’t know. But I want to be.
The day before our first playoff game, I cancel the girls’ afternoon practice. Instead, I give them strict instructions to stretch, eat a good meal, and get a solid night’s sleep.
Between our late night at the stadium earlier in the week and a consistent series of tough practices, they need a night off. And I know they’re ready for tomorrow.
Luca’s traveling with his team until early tomorrow morning, Mamá and Papá are in Knoxville visiting Valentina, and Marlowe is resting now that the Sewing Circle has returned to Rhode Island.
With nothing pressing to do, I head to Abuela’s. She pulls her door open and beams when she sees me.
“Come in,” she says in Spanish. “I have horchata con fartons,” she rattles off the refreshing local drink and sugary pastries that are a staple in her household. As children, Valentina and I would race here after school to eat fartons and tell Abuela about our day. Our parents were often traveling with Alejandro for his fútbol schedule and Abuela stepped in to provide us with a slice of stability.
Maybe that’s why I find myself here today, sitting in the same kitchen, devouring the same treats from my childhood.
“¿Qué pasa?” Abuela asks, correctly reading my mood. What’s up?
I shake my head, thanking her for the horchata she places in front of me. “Nothing.”
“Carlita,” she murmurs, sitting beside me.
“I canceled practice today to give the girls the afternoon off. Our first playoff game is tomorrow.”
“I know. I’ll be there.” Abuela grins. “I bought pompoms.”
“Gracias.”
“Your parents are disappointed to miss it, but Alejandro will be there. And Luca too?” she questions, keeping her tone light. But the shrewdness in her eyes is a dead giveaway. She’s onto me.
Playing it casual, I reply, “I think so.”
“Hm,” Abuela remarks. “He’s a good boy, that Luca.”
“One of the best men I know.”
“He’s really committed to helping you with your game, with your coaching, with finding your footing back in Valencia.”
“He is…”
Abuela smiles, a knowing glint in her eyes. “A man like him, well, he’s a keeper, Carla.”
“I know what you’re trying to say, Abuelita.”
“I’m not trying to say anything. I am saying that Luca DiBlanco is a fantastic catch. And he’s sweet on you.”
I laugh. “Maybe. But I’m focused on my team right now. And then, trying to make a club team here. I don’t have time for?—”
“Real love doesn’t follow your timetable.”
“I’ve known Luca for years,” I toss out, wanting to keep this conversation on the surface.
“Exactly. There’s history there. He knows your family; you understand his past.” Abuela ticks these items off using her fingers.
“Abuela, we’re just…spending time together.”
“Hm. I’ve heard that before.”
“I’m serious.”
