Recipe for Love

Chapter 4

Charles

I couldn't stand myself. I was irritable and obnoxious, and every mention of the new season made me white-hot. I knew I loathed not only myself but my friends as well. Even Joris was already careful about what he said in front of me and if he did talk to me, he avoided anything related to my profession. I needed this to be over with. I wished it was at least the third race and I had at least a vague idea of how the season would develop because this uncertainty was slowly but surely killing me.

After returning from Italy, I locked myself in my apartment and completely cut off all contact that could be cut. I promised Andrea that I would handle the next preparation myself, and my days began to merge into a monotonous gray of training, simulator, diet, and sleep.

"Jesus, when was the last time you opened your windows?" snorted Lorenzo, who had come for an unannounced visit. "I don't know. Yesterday? Or was it a week ago?" I thought and put the PlayStation controller on the table. Enzo flung open the curtains and I squinted in the harsh afternoon sun shining directly into my living room. He opened the door to the balcony and let in fresh air. "You have to get out. At least for a coffee to begin with. Go shower and shave, I'll wait for you," he said. It didn't sound like a proposal, and he certainly wasn't waiting for my approval. So I reluctantly got off the couch, grabbed some clean clothes, and turned on the hot water in the shower. I undressed and looked at my reflection in the mirror. "God," I breathed. I looked like I aged 10 years. The beard on my face was no longer just three-day stubble, the dark circles under my eyes told the story of sleepless nights, and my hair was in dire need of a cut.

"Well, that's a little better. You should go see mom for a haircut," Enzo continued teasing my appearance, and I thoughtlessly ran my fingers through my hair. "Can you tell me what happened to you?" he asked as we sat down in the cafe, each with our own cup of coffee. I shrugged. "Charles," Enzo sighed and I finally looked at him.
"I'm just worried, nothing more."
"We all have some concerns. You're thinking too much about it."
"I know, as always. I'm just afraid of what will happen if I screw it up again this year," I admitted in defeat and Enzo patted me on the shoulder with a sigh.
"If you think about it like that, you're definitely going to screw it up," he said, taking a sip of his espresso.
"Thanks, that really helps," I grumbled.
"It's terrible how much self-pity you wallow in. Have you been to therapy yet?" he asked, and I shook my head slightly. I already had an appointment last week but canceled it. "Look, everyone is worried about you. Mom hasn't seen you in almost a month, you hardly say anything to her on the phone, and Arthur has rather given up completely and is just waiting for you to call him yourself. Joris is calling me to make sure you're alive. It can't go on like this. You've always been a bit of a troublemaker. I know you're the most sensitive of the three of us, but if you're going to carry on like this, I swear to God, I'm going to drag you to therapy myself."
"Have you finished?" I asked, blinking a few times.
"And you?"
I nodded slightly. "I will call the therapist and make an appointment again. I promise. And I'll go see Mum and Arthur, so they don't have to worry. And I'll text to Joris that I'm fine."
"Tell him that when you really are fine," he corrected me.

Moments later we parted with a long hug, and I thanked him for the reality check I really needed. That evening I called my mother to assure her that I was still somehow surviving and to make an appointment with her for a haircut. Thanks to a fairly strong patronage, she was able to book me for the next day.