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During one of his routine check-ups, Fernando tells Dr. Biosca that he hasn't been feeling so great lately. He lists his complaints; nausea, vomiting, headaches, fatigue, and irritability.
Paco nods, "It's probably just a stomach bug or a small virus, but I'll take some samples and send it to the lab so we can know what exactly we ought to treat for." He takes a few vials of blood and swabs Fernando's tonsils before letting the striker leave. "In the meantime, take these pills and I'll call you when the results are back, okay?"
Fernando thanks him and makes his way outside. Juan is there waiting for him and he smiles brightly.
"Ready to go? Let's get some tapas. I'm in the mood for boquerones."
The thought alone of the salty anchovies makes Fernando's stomach roil in protest, "I feel sick just thinking about it. I just want to go home and sleep."
Juan frowns with concern, "Did you tell Dr. Biosca about it? Did he give you anything?"
Fernando shows his friend the small bag of pills. "Can we go home now?"
Fernando makes Juan drive so that he can curl up in the passenger seat. Juan keeps casting him worried glances as he steers the car through the traffic, but Fernando pretends he doesn't notice. He spots a green grocer's with heaps of oranges piled outside the door and he tells Juan to pull over. Fernando buys ten oranges, six grapefruits, ten tangerines and five pounds of cherries.
Juan wrinkles his nose in amusement, "Making a fruit salad for the whole team?"
Fernando rolls his eyes and pays for the fruit. "I just feel like eating it, that's all. If I can't keep food down, then at least I can eat fruits."
Juan can't disagree with that and they drive back to their riverside apartment building. In his apartment, Fernando fills a glass up with ice and water, and he takes a selection of fruit over to the couch. Juan sets about making a Spanish omelette for lunch and hums quietly to himself as he moves around the kitchen.
When the egg mix hits the frying pan, Fernando drops the orange he's munching on and stumbles into the bathroom. Juan is next to him in an instant, rubbing his back gently as he throws up everything he's eaten.
"What's wrong?"
The blond shakes his head, "It's the egg smell. It's making me throw up."
Juan tilts his head in confusion, but Fernando convulses again and vomits into the toilet. Juan shuts the stove off and dumps the potato and egg mixture into a plastic grocery bag. He ties the bag off before tossing it into the garbage and he sticks the frying pan into the dishwasher. When he returns to Fernando, the freckled man has already flushed the toilet, and is rinsing his mouth out in the sink.
"I'm sorry," Fernando sighs.
"It's okay," Juan says. He pulls Fernando in for a hug. "They'll figure out what's making you sick soon enough and you'll be better in no time at all."
Fernando leans against Juan and nods, feeling the churning wave of nausea calm within him a little bit.
-
A few days later Fernando gets a call from Dr. Biosca telling him that the results are back and asking him to come in so that they can discuss them. He's feeling sluggish and bloated this morning, so he phones Juan and asks him if he can drive again.
They sit in the waiting room until Fernando's name is called. Juan flashes him a reassuring smile and Fernando leaves his friend sitting there as he makes his way down the hall and into the office. He is surprised to see Dr. Carneiro there alongside Dr. Biosca, but before he can even ask why, Paco launches into speech.
"Your tonsil swabs came back clean; there's no virus or infection."
"I don't understand," Fernando frowns. "I still feel sick. I keep throwing up. There has to be some reason that I don't feel well."
"There is," Eva says. "Which is why I'm here."
Fernando stares between the two of them, waiting for elaboration or clarification, but he's met with almost pitying gazes instead.
"Can somebody please just tell me what is wrong with me? Was something wrong with my blood? Is it cancer? Do I have cancer?" Fernando's vision darkens for a moment, but clears when Paco shakes his head.
"No, no. You don't have cancer. It's just…well…Eva has more experience than I do with footballers in your particular state, so that's why I asked her to come today. I'll let her tell you."
Fernando looks at her expectantly and she offers him a small smile.
"You're pregnant."
Fernando still stares as though he hasn't heard what she's said. "Sorry?"
"We tested your blood three times and the results were positive."
There's a quiet moment in the room before Fernando lets out a laugh of disbelief. "What? You're kidding, right?" When no-one bursts into laughter, when David doesn't come leaping out from a filing cabinet with a video camera in hand, Fernando sinks into the chair. "You're not kidding."
Eva glances at Paco and the older Spanish doctor sighs.
"Do have an idea of how far along you might be? We've already booked you for an ultrasound later, of course, but if you're willing to proceed with the pregnancy then we should get you started on pre-natal care as soon as possible."
Ultrasound. Pre-natal care. He hasn't heard those phrases since his wife was pregnant with Leo. The words spin around in Fernando's head until he feels dizzy, and luckily, Eva hands him a kidney dish just in time for him to vomit the fruit medley he had for breakfast.
"Do you want us to call Juan in?" Eva asks.
Fernando nods and she rubs his back soothingly. Paco uses the phone on his desk to ask the receptionist to send the midfielder into the office. While they await the other Spaniard's arrival, Paco hands Fernando a cup of water and the striker takes little sips, trying to calm down.
When Fernando hears Juan's concerned voice ask "Is everything okay?" he bursts into tears. Nothing is okay. He's pregnant. He's pregnant.
"He's pregnant," Paco says.
Fernando doesn't know what exactly he had been expecting Juan to do, but when his friend curls around him and holds him as he cries, Fernando only sobs harder.
"Would we be right," Eva asks, "To assume that you're the father, Juan?"
Fernando feels a crushing sense of embarrassment when Juan sits up and stammers, "No. We're not…no."
The doctor apologises and tries to gloss over the awkward mistake.
"Oh…well…as we were saying, we've got you booked for an ultrasound tomorrow, and we've got some vitamins and supplements that you should get started on as soon as possible. If you decide to go forward with the pregnancy, then you'll need to stay away from alcohol and any particularly strong medication, like sleeping pills or pain killers, and try not to use any aspirin."
Fernando's head is spinning, but he takes the assortment of pills from Eva's hands. Paco tells him the time and location of the ultrasound tomorrow and Fernando mutely nods that he'll be there.
The ride home in the car is awkward and silent. Juan says nothing, but Fernando can see the way his knuckles are white from clenching the steering wheel too tightly. Upstairs in his apartment, Fernando sits at the breakfast counter in the kitchen and covers his face with his hands.
"You're angry, aren't you?"
There's a sigh and the shuffling of feet across the tiled floor before Juan's voice says, "No…well, a little."
Fernando appreciates the honesty and lowers his hands. Juan looks sad and confused, but the striker can only begin to imagine what he himself looks like.
"Who is it?" Juan asks. "Who's the other dad?"
Fernando swallows the lump in his throat and clenches his jaw. He shrugs but that's the only answer he gives Juan.
Juan is quiet for a moment before he asks, "Do you love him?"
"Juan…"
"Do you?"
Fernando feels the tears welling in his eyes, shuts them and tries to imagine what his life would be like if this morning never happened.
"I just want to be alone right now."
Juan sighs and steps around the breakfast counter, swivels the stool until Fernando is facing him.
"You know how I feel about you, right?"
Fernando nods. Of course he knows. He's always known. And even if he didn't, he's certain that his teammates would be quick to inform him of Juan's obvious crush on the Spanish forward.
"This doesn't change anything. I still care about you. If there's someone else in your life you can tell me. If you want me to back off, just say. I can give you space."
Fernando leans against Juan's shoulder and holds the tiny midfielder close. Juan has only ever been the best friend he could ask for. Fernando shakes his head and lets Juan's arms encircle his shoulders.
"Stay," Fernando mumbles. "But don't make me talk about this. I'm not ready."
-
Fernando isn't ready after the ultrasound either.
The doctor stands alongside the ultrasound machine and points out the largest shape amongst the other grainy ones and tells him that he's seven weeks into his pregnancy already, but fortunately his good diet has prevented any discernible defects in the foetus. Fernando stares at the tiny shape on the screen and he feels awe. When Olalla was pregnant with his kids, he remembers the excitement and the joy, but there is something quite different when the baby on the screen is growing within him. There is a sense of wonder and disbelief coursing through Fernando that there is life inside of him; an entire being is being created in his core. He laughs a little and Juan puts a hand on his shoulder and smiles.
They hand him a black and white print-out of the baby and schedule another ultrasound for when Fernando is further along in his pregnancy.
Juan drops him off at the apartment. He has an interview with Chelsea TV to do that day, but he promises Fernando that he'll be back as soon as he can.
Fernando takes the opportunity of being alone to pull out his cell phone. He scrolls through his contacts until he finds the one he's looking for, and he takes a few deep breaths to steady his nerves before he hits the call button. It takes a few rings, but finally, when the voice answers at the other end, the familiar accent floods Fernando with happiness.
"Hello?"
"Hey, it's me," Fernando says.
"Hey, how are you?"
"Um, I'm…I'm okay. Do you think we could get together soon?"
The voice is silent for a bit before responding quietly, "You mean get together like last time?"
The striker loves the quiet rasp the words make as they travel through the telephone.
"Well, I was hoping we could talk more, actually."
"Oh." The husky tone disappears. "About what?"
"I'd really rather tell you in person."
"Nando, I'm really busy these days. I don't have the time to come to London right now. Can't you just tell me over the phone?"
Fernando takes another deep breath and stares at the grainy ultrasound photo in his hand.
"I'm pregnant."
It's silent while he waits for a reply and when it finally comes, it's not at all what Fernando was expecting.
"Whose is it?"
"Whose--whose is it?!" Fernando realises that he has crumpled the corner of the ultrasound in his shock and he desperately tries to smooth out the dent and regain his composure. "Apart from you and my wife, I haven't slept with anyone else. Ever."
"Oh. Well, you're going to get rid of it, right?"
Fernando's feelings of wonder and joy vanish completely.
"Get rid of it? You mean, like an abortion?"
The man on the other end of the line hums in acknowledgement.
"Yeah. It's not too late, right? We…you know…we met up just a little while ago."
"You want me to get rid of it? You wouldn't want the baby?"
There's a chuckle coming through the receiver, but Fernando struggles to find the humour in words he hears.
"Fernando, I've got kids of my own. So do you. I don't need another baby. Just get rid of it. The sooner you do, the sooner you can go back to playing football."
Fernando sinks into an armchair and stares in confusion at the monochrome picture of the child within him.
"I don't understand."
"There's nothing to understand. Just make an appointment with the doctor and get it done. That's it."
The striker runs his finger over the ultrasound, tracing the curve of the baby's gestational sac. He can't have an abortion. He can't.
"I don't want to."
An annoyed sigh comes through the phone and the voice says, "So what were you planning to do? Become Fernando Torres, Chelsea's pregnant forward? Don't be ridiculous. Think about your career."
"Is that what you're doing? Thinking about your career?" Fernando snaps.
"Of course. I wouldn't want word getting out that something happened between us. If you keep it people are going to ask questions and I don't want to be involved in that."
"You don't want to be involved? Isn't it too late for that? I thought we were already involved?"
Another annoyed sigh and then, "Fernando, look, what happened with us was nice. It was fun and I had a good time, but that's all it was; just a night of fun. If I didn't make that clear enough to you then I'm sorry, but I'm not interested in anything more than that."
Fernando drops the ultrasound onto the floor and he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. That voice, that voice had whispered to him the darkness of a hotel room, breath hot and damp next to his ear. How could that same voice be saying such things now?
"Can we please just meet and talk about this? I could show you the ultrasound. Maybe you would change your mind?" Fernando hates himself for begging.
"I said no. I'm not interested, okay? Just get rid of it."
The line goes dead.
Fernando sinks to the ground next to the glossy picture of his baby and he weeps. When Juan comes by two hours later after his interview, he finds Fernando curled on the floor, clutching the ultrasound, fast asleep.