Page 58 of Love and Other Goals

Laughing, I say, “I can’t even try to pretend that’s not true. When’s the championship?”

“Sunday at three o’clock, so we’ll have a light practice tomorrow and watch some film of the other team that won today.”

“Well, go celebrate with the guys,” I tell him. “Can’t wait to hug you when you’re back.”

When we hang up, I open the map on my phone. It’s about a five-hour drive from Brooklyn to the city in Oklahoma where the tournament is being held. Mental gears turning, I send a text to Linh to see if she and the other soccer girlfriends would be up for a road trip for Sunday’s match.

Linh

OMG yes. Let’s do it. But as a surprise!

We can take my car. Check with the other girls!

Sunday morning, I pick up Linh, Reagan, and Samantha, and we drive the five hours to arrive at the tournament stadium just in time for the match. We’re all wearing our old jerseys, and Samantha spent the drive making signs for us to hold.

The Townsend section of the stands isn’t super full, so we’re able to snag a bench on the front row right as warmups are ending and the players get ready for the starting lineup announcements. When Mateo’s name is called, I scream at the top of my lungs, and his head whips around my direction at the sound of my voice.

The look of shocked happiness on his face is so worth the ten hours I’ll spend in the car today. And then some. I mime shooting an arrow at him, and he catches it against his heart with a wink.

I make up for missing Friday’s match by yelling double at the refs today, especially when they totally ignore an opponent blatantly tackling Mateo from behind. It makes me nervous. Missed calls like that often increase the physicality of the match when players think they’ll get away with more contact.

A few minutes later, the same player aggressively tackles Mateo before he’s reached the ball. The entire Townsend cheering section boos until the ref finally holds up a yellow card. Mateo is still on the ground, holding his left leg. My heart sinks. Soccer players are notorious for their theatrics, but I know Mateo, and he has too much integrity to high-key fake an injury. My hands are over my mouth as I pray he’s okay.

Andrès is there, holding a hand out to help Mateo up. Mateo slowly stands and limps around for a few seconds before shaking off the pain and taking a few small hops to test out his leg. He waves a hand to the concerned crowd, eyes finding me to send an unspoken message that he’s fine. I finally exhale with relief.

Mateo is awarded a free kick for the foul. With as far back on the field as he is, I’m curious to see if he’ll send an assist to a teammate for a header or try to sink a shot.

I don’t have to wonder for long as he runs to the ball and sends it sailing behind the keeper into the top right corner of the net. The crowd erupts with cheers as we go up 1-0, and the guys smother Mateo to celebrate on the field.

Multiple mini heart attacks later, we’re screaming in the stands and the team is rejoicing in victory on the field. Linh and I hug each other as we jump up and down. “I’m so happy we came!” she yells to me. “Same!” I yell back.

I look up and see Mateo jogging across the field toward the stands. I lock eyes and grin at him. I lean over the edge of the stands when he runs up to pull me into a hug across the barrier. His hands are around my waist, and I hug one arm across his back and clutch the other hand behind his neck as he buries his face in my shoulder.

“You’re here,” he speaks into my neck before pulling back to look me in the face. He swipes a hand up into my hair, holding on to the back of my head.

“I’m here,” I say with a smile. “You were there with me when I got my trophy this week. I couldn’t miss watching you get yours today.” We just stand there grinning at each other as everyone celebrates around us until a few of the guys come up and jump on Mateo from behind, still riding high on the special adrenaline that comes from a hard-fought victory.

The guys return to the field, and Mateo makes it a point to walk around and shake hands with each of the players from the opposing team. We stay to watch the trophy presentation, but then we hit the road to drive back to Brooklyn before it gets too late.

After dropping the other girls off at their respective houses, I drive back to AOPi. Sitting in my car in the parking lot, I text Mateo to let him know I made it back safely.

Mateo

Good. On the team bus riding back that way

Is everyone still hyped up?

Mateo texts me back a photo of Andrès dead asleep against Chris’ shoulder, whose mouth is hanging wide open, also sleeping.

I snort.

The three dots start bouncing and continue for a long time. I keep tapping my thumb on the edge of my screen to keep my phone from turning off as I wait for Mateo’s message to come through.

Lana. Thank you so much for coming today. That doesn’t feel like enough to say. But thank you. Sometimes it really sucks that my parents aren’t able to come watch me play, especially in big matches. Looking over and seeing you in the stands, being able to come over and hug you at the end…I can’t express how much that meant to me. Thank you for driving down and back to be there for me. I don’t deserve you.

Tears spring to my eyes as I read his message. I know how much it meant to have my parents and grandparents on the sidelines back when I played, and that was just high school. Mateo has never let on before how hard it is to have that missing, but it totally makes sense. I’m so glad I decided to get down there today. This amazing man deserves every ounce of effort I have to give.

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