#moar?

André did the talking during dinner. He gave the play by play for each of his “fantastic” goals in training and his wife pretended to be enthralled. She wanted to be enthralled. It was hard not to think about what Marco told her. She didn’t know which Chelsea player to ask about it first. Juan telling André not to call her seemed as unlikely as André making the whole thing up. Again she wondered if there was such a thing as lasting peace since again her happiness was spoiled in the space of about 12 hours. All the good feelings from her morning epiphany were beat into submission by the new issue, and she felt kind of responsible for it since she’d been moaning and groaning about missing the drama in life. She remained quiet and contemplative after dinner too, and fell asleep on the couch while André laughed hysterically at James Garner and Jack Lemon in My Fellow Americans.

“Ah, great film,” he remarked when the credits began to roll, half sighing and half laughing. “Chris?” His eyes had been on the TV and his wife was sleeping horizontally with her head at the opposite corner of the C-shaped sofa, so he didn’t notice that she passed out. “Are you sleeping or just resting your eyes?” he whispered. There was no answer.

Guess I’ll put the littler one to bed first since he’s easier to carry and I can’t sit still any more, André decided. Lukas was very asleep on his stomach. Being around lots of people seemed to make him extra tired at the end of the day and he didn’t quite make it to his normal bedtime, though “normal” was relative since his daily routine tended to evolve every 4 or 5 days. His dad carefully brought him upstairs to his crib and put him down in the very middle. He was due for a new diaper and a wardrobe change but Dad didn’t want to wake him because he’d probably be hungry then and he’d have to wake Christina too to nurse. We can come wake him when she gets up, he figured. Mausi can have a midnight snack and get his PJ’s on then. She’ll want to read him the rest of that story anyway. Can’t forget the incestuous bunny family. He stood at the crib long enough to sing a few bars of what he thought of as Lukas’ favorite “go to sleep” lullaby just in case the transition from couch to crib had lightened his slumber any.

Espen did most of the cleaning before she left for the night but André swung by the kitchen on his way back to the couch to make sure no food was left out and that there were clean cups available for coffee in the morning. No one had emptied the dishwasher since he turned it on the night before and he didn’t want Christina to notice it when she went looking for mugs and then feel compelled to empty it herself. She had a weird thing about emptying the dishwasher. It was probably her least favorite house chore and the thing she hated most about it was the cacophony of noise made by putting plates and dishes and silverware away. She hated the clap of cupboards banging shut, the scrambled pinging of metal on metal when the knives and forks were collected from their little slots in the machine, the flat dinging of glass, and the scraping of their black and white Lenox stoneware plates and bowls. She especially hated it first thing in the morning and late at night. André was always intrigued why his wife couldn’t stand silence and always had to have the TV or stereo on but equally abhorred loud noises. The TV had to be barely audible and things like the blender and food processor positively offended her ears. It was something he could never figure out an explanation for, especially since one of her favorite places to be was a rocking football stadium and she kept a catalogue of engine notes in her head for fun or just by accident because she couldn’t not notice a loud car and its particular sheet music whenever there was one in her vicinity. What he did understand about her idiosyncrasy was that she’d be angry if she had to make dishwasher-emptying noises first thing in the morning and that it would become unpleasant for him.

The footballer went back to his corner of the couch and fluffed up the two back cushions before settling in with the remote to find another movie or a show to watch. He kept up with most of the programs he liked via his computer while on the road. It was easier to download episodes of all of his favorite shows at once at the end of the week than try to keep track of which was on when and then have to fight Lukas’ schedule to be able to watch them. Even before Lukas, his evenings were seldom the same week to week, and he tended to fall asleep a lot. He was very glad to be with a girl who was as into napping as he had always been. Chris is an athlete too and she understands how important it is to rest and how much rest is really needed to maintain your body well, he thought while yawning and scanning the channel guide. Some of the guys have wives who want to go out for 9 o’clock dinners 4 nights a week, or be seen at social events all the time. We are a couch family. We have 5 couches in this house, and two of them are more like multiple couches pushed together. I should cover her feet, he realized when he glanced over at the sleeping rider and noticed her bare toes beside him. Christina’s blanket was draped over her the “short” way instead of the “long”, so it was doing a good job of keeping the floor and the cushions behind her butt warm but her feet and ankles not so much. Her husband tried to pull one corner up to cover them. He tugged too hard on the fleece throw and yanked it out from under her left arm, which woke her up. He apologized and told her it was just after 10 when she asked about the time.

“Come lay with me,” she requested in a sleepy, childlike voice with that arm reached out for him.

“We don’t both fit there,” André reminded her. Normally they cuddled at his corner because he could stretch out on the chaise and she could lie next to him with one of the footstools beside it to double its width. Her legs were short enough that she didn’t require the length. If they tried to lie side by side on the long part of the C-shape then Christina was perpetually getting that falling out of bed feeling because she was so close to the edge. “Come lay over here.”

“You can just lay on top of me. I don’t care. C’meeeere,” she half whined back. The player rolled his eyes and leaned to his right to climb over her and wedge himself sort of half between her and the back cushions and half on top of her. He landed heavily, on purpose.

“This can’t be comfortable for you,” he pointed out as she wiggled around to make room.

“I’m very comfy. Here, get in the blanky.” Christina didn’t care if parts of her ended up numb from 180 lbs of German on top of her. She just felt like having him near and kind of hoped his presence would ward off the turmoil that plagued her mind before she passed out. The was more adjusting, especially of the blanket, and André ended up with part of his right arm under his wife’s neck, his cheek on the left side of her chest and his other arm on the right, and her left leg trapped between his thighs. They were in the exact inverse of their normal positions. He rather liked it.

“Your boobs are the best pillows,” he sighed while she aimlessly rubbed his scalp with the pads of her fingers. It hurt her neck to turn her head all the way to the right to watch the TV so she just shut her eyes.

“Babe, where are the puppies?” she asked dubiously after a few minutes of just listening to the Ben Stiller comedy her husband selected.

“Pooped from mouse hunting. Last I saw them they were pretty much just like this in Spencer’s bed.”

“Do you remember collapsing on me just like this after the World Cup party?”

“Which one?”

“The first.”

“I hardly remember anything from that night. I have painfully vivid memories of the headache in the morning though, and wishing I was dead on the flight to Berlin.”

“I laid down on a couch in the lobby because I was so tired and the ladies’ room was being cleaned or fixed or something. A guy told me to just wait or go to my room. Who needs to clean or fix a bathroom at 4 in the morning anyway? And you came out of the party room to find me,” Christina explained, filling in the gaps in his memory. “You were all, “I couldn’t find you! Don’t ever leave me! I need you right here all the time!” and you made a big show of pointing to the space next to you. I think you were trying to draw an outline of me or something but you made me about a foot shorter than I really am. Then you told me to stop laughing at you, and you collapsed on me. We stayed there on the couch until Kevin Großkreutz came out to find a bathroom and poured a beer on your head.”

“The only part of that I remember is you yelling “Kevin!” because you sounded just like Buzz yelling “Kevin! What the hell did you do to my room!” in Home Alone.”

“D’you think Mou will give everybody more time off this year like he promised?” Talking about hotel lobbies and World Cups reminded Christina that they’d only just gotten back from one. Russia seemed like a lot less of a big deal because it wasn’t in an exotic, faraway place, everyone was more experienced, and they’d already won one. Having a brand new Lukas made it hard to really get into the event too. The Chelsea manager was conscious of what a big deal it was for his players that went deep into the tournament though, and his pre-season manifesto included a desire to try to get some of them more rest than they had in the season before when injuries and pressure in the table made it difficult to rotate or give guys time off from training.

“I can’t go with you to Barcelona for the Final, Prinzessin,” André replied with an unhappy sigh. “I already checked. We have Champions League at home on Wednesday and Bournemouth away on that Sunday. My only hope of a chance would be a day trip on Friday because we might get to rest, but that’s the day the crap countries ride, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, everyone rides Thursday and the 9th through 16th place teams do their second and final round Friday. We better not be in that group. But I didn’t mean that,” his pillow corrected. “Didn’t he promise three-day breaks here and there?”

“You want to go away?”

“Yeah. Just us and Lukas. No horses, no football.” No Juan, no drama. Thinking about whom to ask what in regards to Marco’s bombshell had given the rider a headache and she realized she wished she could leave the whole triangle behind sometime and not have to worry about it. Horse shows were not a good place for that because she knew she should be focused on the riding. Going somewhere alone would be like an invitation to spend the whole trip trapped inside her own head. A brief family holiday promised relaxation and distraction, the opposite of stressful introspection. “I don’t know when since I have Dirk’s surgery coming, that party in France, Arezzo, and then the Final, but maybe after that. I bet the Lake District in Italy is lovely in autumn, and it’s the off-season so booking on short notice is probably no big deal.” Her eyes were still closed and she imagined sitting in a little cafe with a cappuccino or a hot chocolate and watching boats motor around Lake Como with changing Fall leaves for a backdrop. Then we could hop in a convertible GT car, like a DB9 vert or a Jag or even something from Maranello, and go for a cruise into the mountains with all the pretty colored trees and the heat cranked. Though I’m not sure how exactly Lukas fits into that particular scenario. André lifted his head and looked at her with mock surprise.

“Why, Chris. I never thought you were the “take me away to a fabulous place” kind of girl,” he joked with an astonished frown. She pouted back.

“You know I’m not,” she complained.

“I know. I’ll keep my eyes and ears open for the schedule.” The player smiled and put his face back down on her chest. “I would love to go away with you and the baby.”

“Also, as long as we’re calling me that girl, what’s going on with the hot tub situation?”

“Hot tub guy and contractor guy are both coming Monday morning. You should be able to boil yourself to your heart’s content by this time next week.”

“Oooo I adore you, boyfriend,” Christina replied excitedly. She lifted her head off the throw pillow to kiss André’s, in his hair, and began rubbing his back with her left hand. “Thank you for getting it done so quickly. I’d still be in the casually-searching-the-internet-for-ideas stage if it were left to me to handle.”

“It’s in my marriage contract that I have to provide for my wife, and my wife is picky and special so hot tubs are a basic need. So is whisking her away to glamorous holiday locations. And also drooling on her shirt. Sorry about that,” he laughed while wiping at a moist spot on her hoody by his mouth.

“Speaking of drool, is Lukas tucked in for the night or does he need to eat again?”

“He told me to tell you he wants his midnight snack right at midnight, if you can manage.”

“Just about,” Christina yawned. “Early morning for me so I can be done riding and take a shower and stuff before the stylists get here. Going to the store first to do the food shopping too. Anything special you want when you get home from Wales?”

“Papaya and lime sorbet. Made by you. In a container that says ANDRÉ’S SORBET, DO NOT TOUCH!” André was emphatic about the warning. His wife got an ice cream maker from her brother for her birthday and used it to make sorbet right after Russia. She made a pineapple one that didn’t come out very well texture-wise and a papaya and lime one just for him, but someone ate ¾ of the pint after his initial sample and he was not happy about it.

“You know I was really the one that ate it, right?” she sniggered.

“You said it was Espen!”

“Yeah, because she was too new for you to say anything to her about it!”

“You’re terrible. Make the new nanny take the blame for your inconsiderate sorbet-binge-eating,” he scoffed with disgust. “Now you owe me. I want André-only papaya and lime waiting for me when I get back.”

“Only if you score a goal.” Christina smiled through biting her lip, knowing she was asking for some kind of punishment. Her whole body tensed in anticipation of a tickle attack, or an unkind chomp into the breast hosting his right cheek.  

“How about an assist,” he countered.

“No. Aim high, babe.”

André lifted his head again, this time to glare at her so seriously that it made his girl laugh hard enough to actually lift him up some despite his considerable weight trapping her body. Her tongue came out to taunt him and he tried to quickly grab it with his fingers but missed. She then tried to bite his pointer and duly missed as well.

“Come on; you can put your girlfriends to work to help you make it,” he whined. I’m glad I didn’t tell her about Juan yet. I can feel good going away with the team tomorrow knowing everything is just fine here. She’d have spent the whole night being upset if I exposed his bullshit today, he reasoned while trying to “cute her” into making his sorbet. He believed he was pretty good at looking cute, to Christina anyway. “Who all is coming?”

“No one who wants to make sorbet. Nat, Stef, Espen obviously, Sam, and Emily.”

“Sam? Emily? Really?” The player raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Sam’s been texting me to hang out since Lukas was born and Emily doesn’t seem to have friends. I’m making macaroni and cheese, so the more the merrier. I don’t want leftovers, because then I’ll eat them. Mac and cheese, a sports movie, and 90’s music dance party. There is no room in the schedule for making sorbet between harassing Stef for the dirt on her and Mario, and singing Ace of Base songs.” Christina “booped” him in the nose and then winced because his pointy chin sticking into her sternum was starting to hurt.

“What if I give you the dirt on Stef and Mario now? That would save you some time.”

“I want her version. But by all means, give me the Mario version for comparison.”

“No.”

“Mean.”

“How are you going to write your magazine column in the morning before the match if you’ve got a house full of people?”

“Only Nat is sleeping over and Tim said I can’t do the magazine,” she sighed. She stopped writing it when she was 8 months pregnant and promised to restart for the September issue. Her editor was foaming at the mouth for content about getting fit to ride after giving birth. “Their lead show jumping writer just did this scathing blog post about what an ungrateful little shit I am.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Well, she didn’t use those words exactly, but it was about my blowing off USET and supposedly opting out of an international jumping career and then snapping up the chance to have one with Germany instead. Tired story by now, right? But she went off on a pious rant about what I said in that press conference, but she twisted it and made it sound like I chose Germany but think I’m too good to live there and won’t leave the “glamour of London society”. Tim said the editor has to do without my column until she makes the woman write an apology. You know what really pisses me off about the Americans who still complain about me? The two best riders on their eventing team are Australian! And at least two of their best young jumper riders are currently training with Marcus. How is what I did so much worse than what Meredith did first? She married a German guy and became German. At least my dad and his whole family were born there. These people wouldn’t let it go with me even if I did live in Germany like she does. And she and Markus could live in the US if they wanted. They can train anywhere. You play here. How is it all on me?”

“Calm down, Prinzessin,” André urged sympathetically. He hated that journalists and commentators and even fans of her sport were still lobbing the passport thing at her. It was the only thing written about her that ever really got to her because it was the only thing based in truth. She didn’t care that much if gossip editors wanted to allege things that were completely made up. He knew the issue of her nationality bothered her because it was a real thing she’d done and was never, ever given the opportunity to explain the real reasons behind it. It was easy to explain away her decision to pass up USET’s offer before the World Cup in Brazil. They gave her an ultimatum after that that she didn’t like and she chose to be a good girlfriend instead of out of her depth with a coaching staff that didn’t respect her enough to extend her the courtesy of 6 weeks off. Christina was going to be offered the opportunity to ride for the UK once she’d claimed her London address as her permanent one long enough to meet the guidelines for citizenship according to the Olympic Committee. She would have passed that up too.

The truth was that she wanted to ride for Germany because of the way they valued her and because she’d had a lifelong love affair with the equestrian culture there, from the breeding heritage to how they raise their young sport horses and the quietness with which they ride. There is a sense among the equestrian sport world that German horsemanship is a class above, kind of like German football. There are elite nations in both sports and their status is earned through history, not the current talent level of their ranks. Holger forbid Christina from ever publically explaining her love affair because he thought it made it seem as if a place in their team was up for grabs for anyone who loved their culture enough, and that it was borderline pretentious to wax lyrical about something he couldn’t see the romance in. As someone born into the German horsemanship culture, he didn’t look up to and get inspired by it the way someone looking in could.    

“You’ll have plenty of time to make my sorbet on Saturday morning since you don’t have to write. Fantastic knock-on effect.”

“Actually,” the American-German rider began tentatively. “I’d kind of earmarked Saturday morning for trying to figure out why you won’t explain the Fitzgerald quote coincidence and why Marco told me you said the reason you couldn’t talk to me while I was at Aachen was that Juan conveyed to you on my behalf that I wanted to be given space.” Talking about that blog post made her just upset enough to slip into the kind of angst that begets more of itself and becomes a deceptively satisfying place to wallow. Her implied question spilled out from that place before she could over think whether or not to actually bring it up. André shut both eyes as if he knew he’d messed up, and then slowly retreated back to the corner of his couch.

“This isn’t how I wanted to do this,” he lamented quietly, eyes on her toes again since they were uncovered when he moved and she hadn’t replaced the blanket in his absence. Think, man. How do I save this and not sound like a jerk or like I’ve been keeping things from her again? The player glanced up at the TV screen, not really expecting to find inspiration there but not knowing where else to look since the girl frowning at the other end of the couch was intimidating. Why can’t there be a movie on about do-overs? There was that thing she made me watch with the dorky English guy who could go back in time and fix his mistakes and he used it to have a great relationship with that girl from Wedding Crashers and-

“Babe...”

“Juan told me repeatedly while you were away that I shouldn’t call you because you wanted space,” he admitted very quickly, feeling under fire. Composure in difficult moments wasn’t really his forte when he wasn’t wearing football boots. “He didn’t say you expressly asked him to convey the message, so Marco must have understood that part, the way he seems to fail to understand when and what he should keep his mouth shut about, actually.”

“Why would Juan say that? I never said anything to him about wanting space, or not wanting to talk to you.”

“You think I’m lying?” the authentic German asked disbelievingly. His blood pressure went up a tick and the flush in his neck became more about anger than feeling cornered.

“No, but...why would you even listen to him? You talk to him about me, like besides threatening to kill him bi-annually? I mean, you talk to him bi-annually about killing him, not that you threaten to kill him multiple times per year,” Christina corrected awkwardly. Her head was suddenly full of words that wouldn’t come earlier when she hung up with Marco, and she found herself stumbling over them. André found himself smiling at them, which made her do the opposite. That in turn had a similar effect on her husband.

“You talk to him. You talk to him when you’re upset,” he reminded her defensively while wearing his matching frown. “And he may have even offered the advice first. I can’t remember actually. Obviously he was lying. And...there’s more.”

“Why would he lie though?” Or did I just make it sound like I didn’t want to hear from boyfriend? I’m so confused, Christina thought helplessly.

“Because he enjoys like three things in life- playing football, being culturally superior to all those before him, and manipulating you into loving him. Listen, now, because it gets wor-“

“I get that you don’t-“ Christina stopped herself from saying what she intended, which was that she knew André hated Juan and thought the worst of him in every possible situation. It suddenly dawned on her that she’d rather punch herself in the face than have that discussion again. We have this talk over and over again like a time cycle we can’t get out of. It’s like Groundhog Day but with a new setting each time. He tries to tell me Juan is the most awful, manipulative person in all of London and I tell him he isn’t. He gets mad and I get annoyed. I’m so sick of it. I’m so-

“Chris, I asked him to tell me what your favorite book is- not the ones with the girls and the shopping and the handbags- a classic one. It was Friday. I wanted to make a gesture. I wanted to let you know I was there and that I knew something was wrong, even if you didn’t want to speak to me. I just...wanted to do something meaningful that would only matter to you, not something generic like sending you waffles at your hotel. He told me you like Fitzgerald’s stories- not the writing, but the stories. And I spent hours reading his writing and to be honest I don’t understand what you don’t like about it because the man seems full of lines that you would love I think if someone spoke them instead of put them on a page. I even bookmarked the website where I found all of them. He stole my gesture, pretty girl,” André told her quietly and with great sadness because he’d temporarily pushed aside his anger about it and just felt disappointment instead. “And he cheapened it with his waffles. He let some hotel employee write down his quote and some other hotel employee make you dessert. I stayed up half the night trying to make something for you like you always do for me. I know he will find a way to explain himself and make it sound not so bad. He’ll call it a misunderstanding or something and you’ll believe him and-“

“I believe you.”

“What?”