Furia(67)

“Fancy!” I teased her.

She gave me a side-eye. “Not as fancy as what you-know-who drives.”

“Voldemort?”

Now she laughed. “You’re such a great deflector. No, Diego, boluda.”

I forced myself not to blush or smile and said, “You’re the one changing the subject.”

Yael pulled into my monoblock’s driveway. The engine of her car grumbled, impossible to ignore. Do?a Kitty and Franco seemed to be coming back from Ariel’s market, plastic bags in hand. They both looked curiously at us. I waved. Franco waved back, but his grandmother pretended not to see us.

“Nosy neighbors, huh?” Yael asked.

“You have no idea.” I leaned in to hug her.

“You have no idea what the neighbors say about Luciano and me. They’re disgusting.”

Just thinking about it, I shuddered. “But no one is asking if you need help, right?”

We shook our heads in unison, and I said goodbye. Dashing past Do?a Kitty, I ruffled Franco’s hair and climbed the stairs two at a time.

Although the Southern Cross already shone in the sky, I was determined to get my mom out of bed. She hadn’t helped me become a futbolera when I was younger, but she’d helped me get to the tournament. I wouldn’t be here without her, and she needed me.

“Hola, nena,” Pablo said when I opened the door. He sat in front of the TV, the volume muted for a commercial. Nico sat next to Pablo, his head on my brother’s lap.

“Pali!” I said, running to him. I hugged him tightly, blinking quickly so I wouldn’t cry. “You came back!” He laughed and kissed my forehead, and I looked into his dark eyes. “I missed you, tarado.”

He just smiled. That was Pablo. He hadn’t missed me, and he wouldn’t lie. I let go of him and asked, “Is Mamá still in bed?”

The TV sound came on. It was a Ben 10 episode, and Pablo reached over to lower the volume again. “She’s in the shower,” he said. “We talked for a while, and then she said she wanted to get changed.” I could hear her singing.

“How long have you been here?” I asked.

“I came as soon as I got your message. I was in the area anyway. You never see me, but I’m always around.”

He might have meant well, but his words sounded too much like something my father would say.

“Where were you?” he asked.

“I went to a march for the girl that died today.”

“Another one?”

I crossed my arms tightly to stop my shivers. “Her name was Eda. She was twelve.”

Pablo’s jaw clenched.

“Marisol’s having a girl. I mean, we’re having a girl.”

A girl.

My brother was going to be the father of a girl. I was going to be an aunt.

I hugged him again. “Congratulations, Pali. I’m so happy for you.”

It wasn’t a lie, but there were so many things unsaid that my words sounded false anyway. How were we going to protect her? How did he feel watching the world destroy us?

“Let’s celebrate with some mates.” I headed to the stove. From the corner of my eye, I saw a suspicious puddle in the middle of the floor. “Nico,” I sighed, and my dog, knowing exactly what I meant, whined pitifully.

Pablo just laughed as I cleaned up the mess.

After the initial burst of emotion, an awkwardness fell over us. I hated the feeling, like a wet fog that pressed me down, but I didn’t know how to talk through it. The only words that came to my tongue were accusatory or mocking. Why had he left Mamá? Why hadn’t she been invited to the ultrasound? Was that why she’d been so depressed? How could he not tell me about the baby when he first found out? And why did he have to wear the same cologne as Diego’s? But nothing good would come if I started interrogating him.

Pablo might not have been an active liar, but he knew to stay quiet when he didn’t have the advantage. Lying by omission was lying, too.

Since talking about either of our lives felt off-limits, I turned to the one subject that always united us: our father.

“And where is he?” I asked.

“I don’t know where he is now, but we had a meeting with the boss at the club. Papá’s trying to change the contract for the loan.” Pablo’s tone of voice suggested he’d more than made peace with our father.

“Loan?”

Pablo rolled his eyes at me, and the urge to smack him was so strong I clutched my hands together. “I have an opportunity to go to Mexico next year. On loan, but still.”

All my diplomatic good intentions vanished. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

His lips parted a couple of times, but no words came out. He finally crossed his arms and said, “Look who’s talking.” The venom in his voice found its mark.

My pulse quickened. “What do you mean?” I asked, walking over to where he sat. I wasn’t afraid of him.

He shoved his phone in my face. It took my eyes a second to adjust and read the words. It was a headline in La Capital.



league champions eva maría competing in first sudamericano tournament to take place in rosario.



I scanned the article. It was mostly about Coach Alicia “la Fiera” Aimar. How she had been part of a team of women’s soccer pioneers who’d played in the U.S. in the early nineties. It also mentioned me, but not by name, only as Pablo Hassan’s sister and Diego Ferrari’s latest love interest.