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3one3 · 8 years ago

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The Sequel - 817

Omaha

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

“This show really blows. They need to stop letting the Americans bid for things. Did Schü call? I wish I had taken my phone with me. It was so boring over there. I could have done with some tunes,” Christina remarked resentfully as she kicked off her stirrups and slid down to the ground from her tall and rotund Hanoverian stallion. Nick seemed to be enjoying the reclamation of his place in her competition rotation after the intermediate-length absence from the circuit. He was a happy boy when he landed in Omaha, as if he hadn’t just spent 11 hours in a box on a plane. Rio, his traveling companion, was always thrilled to be getting off a plane, but his happiness was usually heavily made up of relief and not much excitement. Christina and Tom could tell the difference. Nick was perky and affectionate right away. Rio acted as if stress was melting away. He never flew particularly well, and a trip that long was hard on him. Nevertheless, the Brazilian bred warmblood was sitting in second place in the World Cup Final after the first round on Thursday night, and was calm and relaxed in his stall with plenty of hay and his favorite stuffed animal on Friday afternoon when his rider returned Nick to Tom after a brief hack. Nick only had one competitive event the entire week, and it was Saturday, so Christina took him over to the schooling ring to stretch his legs that afternoon before the dressage final started.

The only two redeeming qualities about the horse show venue in Nebraska were the ambient temperature inside, and the food. It was warm enough to ride in a long-sleeve top without additional layers, which was why she didn’t have her phone with her, and there was a vendor right in the convention center part of the facility with standard Midwest-ernized German food. Many Americans in the Midwest fancy themselves the children of generations of German immigrants, whether they really are or not. As a consequence, lots of flyover territory is full of vaguely German restaurants with food that sort of nods at authentic cuisine but definitely Americanizes it. An American bratwurst is nothing like one at Signal Iduna Park, for example, but Christina loved both kinds. She loved the potato pancakes that were closer to a McDonald’s hashbrown than her dad’s kartoffelpuffer. Tom looked like he’d had too many of them when she handed over Nick’s double set of reins. She furrowed her brows at him, silently inviting an explanation for the positively perturbed look on his face. He exchanged her iPhone for the reins.

“I think there is some bad news,” he replied, apologetic. Oh no, his rider thought. Is he not going to play? She was eagerly waiting to hear from André about whether or not he was fit enough to be in the team for the match against Schalke on Saturday. Obviously everyone wanted to play in the Revierderby. He really, really wanted to play because he scored two goals for Germany the weekend before and thought he could carry some momentum over. His wife was rooting for him. Unfortunately he was also carrying over a painful knock sustained early in that match, and hadn’t been able to train with his club again yet. She thumbed the Home button and quickly scanned the variety of notifications on the screen, expecting Tom to provide an explanation for his response. He was supposed to answer if André called.

“Oh no.” Her own response was more grave than the disappointed version of the one she said in her head a few seconds earlier. “Juan Mata could be out for the rest of the season? What? What the hell?” She swiped urgently at the Bleacher Report notification to find out what was going on, and tried to deduce it while the news article loaded. What could have possibly happened to him in training today that he’s already diagnosed and going to be out forever? Did someone break his leg or something? What the hell.

“Did he call you or anything?” her new stable manager questioned. He was already trying to get the big warmblood into his grooming stall so he could untack him and put him away. He knew her more than well enough to know that she would be very upset for the Spaniard if he were really going to miss the rest of the season, and he knew her more than well enough to know that a serious injury to the player likely would have come up as a talking point between them if she knew about it. Christina told him nearly everything on her mind when they were alone on the road, especially when they were together so much. Almost none of her friends were in Omaha. She spent nearly all of her time hanging around the stalls, except for meals, which she sometimes shared with Marcus and Ludger instead since Tom was often working while she was free to eat.

“Bleacher Report says that he had groin surgery today. How? I just talked to him last night! It must be a mistake. I’m calling him.” She furiously but absently stroked Nick’s nose while she waited for her friend to pick up, and then growled aloud when she got his voicemail. “Is it tomorrow in the UK already or something?” she asked, forlorn. “Is it April Fool’s Day already? This can’t be right. Is it all over Twi-“ A text interrupted her rant and the loading of the Twitter app on her phone.

“I’ll call you soon,” Juan told her.

“He would have said it’s wrong and he’s fine if it were wrong and he’s fine. He just said he’d call me back. Maaaan. If he got hurt today he couldn’t possibly have the surgery today too, right? Nobody does that.”

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t think so. He didn’t say anything about an injury?”

“Not a word. We talked last night before I rode, and he texted me this morning to congratulate me.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to worry you. You are talking about someone who lied to you about Seven being put down the last time we were at one of these,” Tom pointed out. He too was guilty of keeping things from her so as to keep her plate clear, so to speak, but that hypocrisy didn’t seem to matter to him, or was outweighed by his longtime dislike of Christina’s relationship with the Chelsea man.

“Nothing from Schü though?” They can’t both be injured. Jeez.”

“Nope.”

“I’ll wait for Juan to call me back and then I’ll call him, so I don’t end up with both of them at the same time.” Shudder.

“Whatever. Take your helmet and your boots off and relax. There is nothing you can do for injured football players on another continent by worrying about them and staring at a phone.”

That is a reasonable point. I’ll go change, she thought before dropping a kiss on her pretty stallion’s nose and leaving him and his handler to their business. I have to put the watch that I won for this last year on anyway before I go to the autograph table. Bleh. I appreciate fans and all but this isn’t a sport for or funded by spectators, and I’m forever afraid I’m going to get sick because they all want to hug me and shit. Or I’ll get Lukas sick. These Midwestern American folk are all really huggy. I bet nobody tries to hug me in Mexico City. Oh! Phone!

“Dude, what’s going on?” she sputtered into Juan’s ear while simultaneously tripping over a lunge whip and her own foot.

“I had a bad pain in training some days ago, we decided the surgical option to fix it is best, and now I have a while to recover,” he explained like a father trying to reassure his very young daughter that yes, the dinosaurs did go extinct, but her stuffed one survived and is fine, and no, he doesn’t miss his extinct family. He sounded very calm. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to distract from what you’re doing there, and because I’m fine. I’m disappointed that I won’t play for a while, but I’m feeling okay and there is no need for you to worry, or try to come home, or be overwhelmed with sadness on my behalf.”

“But how long is a while?” Christina despaired.

“Three, four weeks.”

“Oh. Well, gosh. The Internet made it sound like an eternity! I’m so relieved, Juanin, you have no idea.” She released a long, pent up breath and plopped on her tack trunk. Heiner’s familiar whistle was audible somewhere up the aisle and she was glad to be on the phone because it meant he might not try to talk to her. The Germany boss had been annoying her all week with mini-interrogations about her life, her training, and why she was systematically severing ties with various advertisers. He’d been so hands-off with her throughout the winter that there was a gulf between her willingness to open up to him and his willingness to advise her. Even she knew he was asking the questions so that he could help her or guide her through if she was having some kind of problem that made her want to scale back her associations with brands. It was just difficult for her to do a heart to heart about it. The rider thought of all their broad-spectrum conversations as a process- as her warming up to being able to unload the full state of the union address on him, so to speak.

Tom overheard a lot of those talks, and he was encouraging her to let the chef know exactly what was going on with her, from her homesickness to her questions about Dirk’s form and fitness, and even her relationship struggles. The groom was even more intimately acquainted with her problems than in the past since he was with her every day instead of just at competitions. He was an observant creature, like Christina, and didn’t need to have things spelled out for him. She argued that it couldn’t possibly be wise to clue the team coach in on all of her problems a few months before he would sit down with Holger to make a final decision on the Olympic team, and Tom argued back that she needed to let go of the idea that Heiner was like a supervisor she needed to avoid while sneaking out early at the end of the day, or coming back from lunch 15 minutes late. He said she needed to stop treating him like an enemy that she had to negotiate with explicitly and with subtle diplomatic maneuvers in public. Tom said Heiner was there to help, and that he sought information so he could be most useful to his riders, not so that he could use it against them. Christina didn’t 100% believe that, but she accepted that it was mostly true. She’d been burned by the man before and didn’t think she needed to share everything with him when everything included information that would make it harder for him to pick her.

“It’s just a little thing, cariña,” Juan reiterated reassuringly. “Just a small hernia. Two weeks to rest, and then I can start a little training.”

“Okay,” Christina replied, her voice quiet and private. I want Heiner to realize I’m on the phone, but I don’t want him hearing what I’m saying, she thought. Private. Her eyes were on the curtain concealing her in the stall. “Who is taking care of you? Did your mom come? Is Paula there? Is someone bringing you juice and making you food?”

“Yes, my mom was here anyway, and she’s looking after me,” the player chuckled. “It was a routine thing- the surgeon does a few every day. I’m just resting and watching TV. Do you want to speak to her to verify that everything is fine?”

“No. I trust you. I was just scared. You didn’t tell me,” his friend complained. “I was more concerned for your heart than your health. I was worried you’d be so upset not getting to play forever,” she mumbled. Her own heart felt a little funny, as it always did when she recovered slowly from a shock or a scare, real or imagined.

“My heart is fine, my head is fine, and my abdominal wall is reinforced and extra fine! Don’t worry about anything. Focus on what you’re doing there.”

“I miss you,” she said even more quietly. He had to have surgery and the time out is terrible news even if it’s only three weeks, and he’s thinking of me and my needs and my head. He’s such a good person. And a better one than me. I’d be wanting him to come take care of me and talk me out of wallowing in woe. I would want him and Schü both to wait on- Hey, wait-

“I miss you too, but I’m free to watch all of your riding now. What time tonight?”

“Is Taylor there? She probably doesn’t want to watch show jumping...”

“She’s with friends in Manchester.”

“She didn’t come back? Did you tell her?”

“We don’t see so much of each other right now. I told her, yes, but I don’t need her here to watch me rest either.”

“Oh.”

“I can’t talk more about that right now, cariña,” the recovering Spaniard added, his voice quiet too. “Another time.”

“Okay...” Are they done? He never talks about her anymore, regardless of who is sitting next to him on the couch.

“What time tonight?”

“2 am.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Christina laughed, forgetting the question on her mind. Juan sounded so thrown off. “You’re excused. You don’t have to watch. If it’s a great round, I’ll send it to you in the morning.”

“I’ll call you back again before you ride, okay? I have a few other people to get back to now.”

“Okay. Call or text any time if you’re bored resting. Love you.”

“Love you too, baby girl. Talk to you later.”

I bet his mom or dad or Toni or somebody was coming and going from nearby during that conversation, she reckoned. He was all quiet and hiding some things but then not others. Whatever. At least he’s okay and he isn’t going to be out of commission for the rest of the season. Phew. Now, boots and helmet off, and-

“Chris!”

Here we go. Heiner joined her in the tack room stall to chat while she changed her footwear and brushed out her hair. He just wanted to discuss a person he’d just met- an American trainer who he thought she might know, or know of. Christina knew the man well enough to say hello and how are you, and she knew enough of him to be able to give a decent account of his reputation up until she lost touch with the East Coast show scene not long after she moved to London. By the time André called to catch up and tell her that he wasn’t going to be in the team for Saturday, his girl had to head to that solo autograph session for the FEI. The line to meet her was ridiculous, and it didn’t flatter her at all. It simply made her groan into the phone about how long it would take to sign that many programs and posters. He told her to call him back after if she could. He was having dinner with his friend Dominic, who he’d known for at least twice as many years as he knew her.

“It’s going to be between 3 and 4 in the morning that she rides,” he told this friend, whom he met at his hometown youth club. Dominic lived in nearby Düsseldorf, and provided a companion with which to do things when Christina wasn’t around. Usually there was a third member at their boys’ dinner, but the other friend was unavailable on Friday since he did still play lower league football and had a match coming up. “I don’t know if I should try to stay up or if I should go to sleep early and then try to wake up.”

“You’re not going to stay up,” Dominic replied, assured. He was an inch or so taller than André, and spent more time lifting weights and less time running like his life depended on it. He easily reached across the table to point down into the other German’s wine glass, as if to say that the wine was going to put him to sleep.

“I could call Mel and make her talk to me so I don’t fall asleep,” André countered.

“When is the baby expected?”

“Next week. She’s having trouble sleeping now. That’s why I know she’ll be up. Her husband is with her but he’s supposed to go to the same shows as Chris after this weekend. He’s even more senseless than she is. Why would you go overseas when your wife is about to give birth?”

“You have no idea what it’s like to be around a woman about to give birth,” Dominic chuckled. His long time girlfriend’s sister had three kids, and André talked to him about where to take children in the area for fun or interesting outings when he was alone with Lukas. Dominic and the girlfriend did a decent amount of kid-sitting, so he figured he’d know.

“I don’t think Chris was bad enough that I would want to go away if I didn’t have to. I talked to her every day on the phone. She was frustrated and whiny but not that much more than usual, and she definitely didn’t have sleep problems. All she did was sleep and watch TV when she was this close. And tell my mom to leave her alone. I still regret that I wasn’t with her during the last weeks, and when Lukas was born.”

“Don’t schedule the next one to come during a tournament, then.”

“I don’t know if there is a next one.” André lowered his eyes from the conversation and grasped his chopsticks with more intent than before. “I know Chris wants Lukas to have a sibling, and she’s said many times that she wants the brother or sister to be around the same age. I don’t see her putting her riding on hold again any time soon.” Or wanting to have another baby with me while she’s walking around not even sure that we’re going to be together in the future, the BVB player added more bleakly to himself. He thought things were really feeling better between them when he left for international duty. That was nearly two weeks in the past, however, and as usual, being apart left room for doubts and disappointment. Hearing about how much fun was had trying to fit as much of Berlin as possible into two days with Juan, for example, was a small blow to the confidence with which André left Christina. Her constant reiteration that she wished Daniel were in Omaha was another annoying detractor from the sense of progress. He kept reminding himself that those things didn’t have to matter, or mean anything. He knew his relationship with her could be just fine even when she was having lots of fun with Juan, so he knew he shouldn’t worry that her having a good time with the Spaniard and her being happy with her partner might be mutually exclusive. He knew there was nothing going on between his girl and her teammate, so he knew he shouldn’t be upset that she just wished her friend were at the World Cup too. It was just irritating to be away from her, and unable to observe her and glean whatever he could from her behavior and demeanor the way he’d been doing at home. Paying attention to her and moderating his own behavior and demeanor instinctively in response was really helping to stamp out the accidental fights and flashpoints.

“I thought you want at least two?”

“I do, but who knows,” André shrugged, hoping to change the subject. “Which country to do you think has the most restaurants in the top 10? The big list, that everyone respects.”

“The US?” Dominic guessed. His right eyebrow dipped to indicate his surprise at the turn in conversation. André was waving a tuna roll around between his chopsticks, but it wasn’t like they were eating at the world’s best Japanese restaurant and had been discussing food. After deciding what to order, nobody even mentioned food.

“Spain. Chris told me that today. She’s lining up a pitch to spend our summer holiday taking the boat around Spain and Portugal. I don’t think she has any idea how big Spain is,” the player smiled, more to himself than his friend. “She wants to go to San Sebastian, which is practically in France but on the top, and Estoril way over there. They have a competition there.”

“The restaurants?”

“No, the horses, in July right after the Confederations Cup. Does Lena ever just start randomly bringing up things about places you think she might want to go to, while pointing out reasons to be there? Like every couple of days?”

“No. She picks a holiday and tells me where we’re going.”

“Oh. Actually...Chris does that too, but she also does the hints, for...lots of things.”

“You talk about her a lot more lately.” Dominic’s observation was plain and lacking any indication about how he felt about the fact he was relaying. André knew the reason he was amidst his third Christina conversation of dinner was that thinking about her, and her very name, was no longer igniting rage and hurt in the pit of his stomach. His partner wasn’t stressing him out so much anymore. He was able to think of her randomly throughout the day and focus on a positive or at least neutral issue or context rather than just negative ones. That actually marked a huge change from the last time she went away. It meant his state of mind stayed generally more neutral or positive, in spite of his boo-boo keeping him out of team training and the matchday squad. André found that encouraging as he thought it over and finished his sushi.

“I love loving you,” he tapped out to send to Christina when the plate was empty. Loving her can be so hard. Right now it’s just nice, I think.

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