“I’ve been your mother for twenty-seven years, Damián. I’ve known something was off the last few years. I wasn’t going to ask you until you were ready to talk.”
My eyes are wet. I notice the wet the way I notice my heart rate after a sprint. A fact about the body, arriving without announcement. I blink.
“How long have you known?”
“Munich. After your first year with them You came home for a week and you were different. I asked and you said it was a long season. You’ve said long season every time I’ve asked. I learned to wait.”
“That’s three years.”
“I’m aware of the math, Damián.”
“I told Tomáš it was a mistake.” The sentence comes out before I decide to say it. “He confronted me. I told him it was nothing, a poor decision, it’s over. I used those words. Poor decision.”
“And was it?”
“No. It wasn’t a poor decision. It was the truest thing I’ve done in years and I called it a poor decision because Tobík didn’t match the plan. I’m not straight but I don’t know what the right words are.”
She lets that stay in the silence between us.
“I’m terrified, Mamka.” I hear the word leave my mouth. “Not of him. He’s the clearest part of this. I’m terrified of the person underneath the plan. Dad built something. Twenty-seven years. The early mornings and the corrections and the captaincy at the end. I’ve never had to find out what’s beyond the plan.”
“You’re finding out now.”
I sit with those words. “I don’t think I can sign the contract. I’m sitting in a hotel room talking to my mother at seven in themorning because you’re the only person on earth I can say any of this to out loud.”
“You’re saying it, though. Damián. That counts for more than you think.”
“Mamka. Dad will...”
“Your father loves you in the only language he speaks. We’ll deal with your father. He’s my husband. I’ve had thirty-five years of practice.” A beat. “You worry about the other thing.”
“The other thing?”
“The man in Atlanta you finally told me about.”
I laugh. The sound comes out wet and surprised, and the surprise is at the sound itself, because I don’t laugh like this. This is the sound of a person who has been holding something for three years and just heard his mother describe it calmly from across the ocean.
“I love you, Mamka.”
“I love you too. Take care of your hands. You gesture when you talk and your hands are how you make your money. Goodbye.”
The line goes dead.
I know the next step. I need to call Peter and tell him my decision which will start a cascade of effects. Munich. My father. My friends. All expecting me to sign with one team, when I want another.
I pick up my phone and find Peter’s number before I can question this decision any longer.
His voice is the voice of a man who has been waiting five days for a phone call he assumed would contain the word yes.
“Damián. Good morning.”
“Peter. I have two things.” Quick and professional. My register for contracts and agents and decisions. “I am not signing the extension. Please inform the club with my gratitude for the offer and the armband. The answer is no.”
I can hear the calculation happening on the other end. “You are certain?” he asks after a minute.
“I am.”
“They will want a reason.”