8. Connor
CONNOR
PRESENT DAY
“Hello, Eden.”
“Hello, Connor.”
“Close the door.” My breath speeds up. I try to mask it with a swallow.
She shuts the door as I asked, a flush spread across her cheeks.
Maybe she’s been anticipating this like me? Or maybe it’s the champagne I saw her sipping at her table.
“Nice trick with that name card,” she says as she turns back to me.
“I only figured out a plan when I could walk around this place for a minute, and I wasn’t sure you’d check your DMs in the middle of the reception.”
A smile rises on her face. “Well…it’s good to see you.”
We’re both quiet for a moment, staring. She’s standing three feet away, absolutely glorious in that blue dress with all her skin on display.
I’d love to close that three feet, but then what? We’re at my sister’s wedding, and we haven’t spoken in a year.
I hadn’t really thought much past creating a chance to talk to her one-on-one.
She sets her purse down on a shelf. “Are we staying in here and sharing a bottle?”
I glance around. One half of the room has a cooler system; the other, for the red varieties, doesn’t. I spot one red that has a screw top. Score.
“Funny you should ask.” I pull the bottle off the shelf and open it.
She gives a little laugh.
“You’re always so handy, Connor.”
“Yeah, don’t spill this time, though,” I respond wryly. “That dress looks expensive”—I bring my eyes briefly up and down her body—“and I don’t have any supplies.”
Her blush returns as she observes my perusal. Once our eye contact is reestablished, she lifts her chin and smiles again.
“Are you going to serve me?”
I hand her the open bottle. “I failed to grab glasses, so you’ll have to drink out of the bottle.”
“Classy,” she teases with a giggle before taking a swig.
“So you’ve been in California? How was it?”
“Nice. I spent a lot of time with my mom. It may be the last summer I’m there for a long time. Who knows where I’ll need to be next year after graduation.”
Memories of our conversation last year flood in. “Did you figure out what you want? Soccer versus medical school?”
“I thought I had. But then I did really well on the MCAT, and being around Mom—let’s just say her enthusiasm for her work is contagious.”
I wrack my brain for what kind of medicine her mom practices, but I don’t think we’ve talked about it before. I hedge my words instead. “Would you want to do the same specialty?”
She nods. “Yeah. Mom chose neurology after living through her favorite great-aunt’s dementia battle.
There were years when the whole family had to tag team to care for Aunt Trish, and it was really hard to watch her lose her memories, eventually lose herself.
Mom wanted to help others like her, you know? ”
“A noble reason.”
“I was only a baby when she died, so for me, it’s more that I nerd out on brain science.” She says this without any shame.
“As you should. It’s interesting shit.”
She looks excited. “Wait, you studied neuroscience in school?”
“Not really.” I’m not going to get into the reason I know more than I need to at age twenty-two. “A topic for another day.”
She looks at me with a question in her eyes, clearly wanting to ask more. Then she seems to shake it off.
“Well, anyway, Mom was so inspiring when talking about her patients that the urge to start med school sooner rather than later crept up on me again.” She gives a little shrug. “I submitted the initial app last month while I was home. So we’ll see what happens.”
“You’ll figure it out.” I wish I had more direction to give her, but that’s all I got. I have zero clue how the medical school process works.
“What about you?”
I tell her about the internship with Milo and Grace—what SLP does, and to the extent I know, my role.
“You’re keeping your foot in the door with soccer then?” She looks intrigued. “I thought that balloon had ‘popped.’” She uses finger quotes on the last word. Nice to see she remembers our conversation in that much detail.
“For playing soccer? Yes. But I think being at SLP will involve interesting work. Challenging.” Maybe. I hope so anyway.
“Will your playing experience help at all? Like, with the business side?”
“I’m sure. There are definitely transposable skills. You know how I was center mid, right?”
“Yeah.”
Center midfielders cover the whole field, and while we can get into scoring position, we also focus heavily on setting up plays for strikers like Eden. Being able to swiftly assimilate the location of other players, ball movements, and possible strategies is key.
“I’ve always been able to synthesize information rapidly—on the field, and in school. A lot of what their company does involves pulling from a bunch of disciplines and helping athletes make the best business and financial decisions.”
“We’re nerding out again, aren’t we?”
I lift the bottle. “At least there’s wine.”
“What did you major in?”
I scrunch my face. “Get ready.”
“Oh, it’s super nerdy, then.”
“Or ridiculously pretentious. It’s an interdisciplinary concentration that’s technically in Engineering and Applied Sciences, but you take classes all over the place. It’s called ‘Operations Research and Financial Engineering.’”
“Oh wow, you’ve got me beat. I’m a simple Biology major, at the end of the day. So how does your degree relate to soccer?” Her tone is understandably confused.
“It’s more about how it’ll help the players.
You study how to model math and financial questions where there’s uncertainty, apply real-world data, and make the best decision on the table.
It lines up well with the analysis I’ll do in the internship, to help them build their business and financial plans. ”
“Nice. Is a permanent job there on the horizon?”
“Yeah, if it goes well.”
“You’ll figure it out.” Her wink shows she’s deliberately mirroring my comment from earlier.
After a beat of silence, awareness dawns on her face. “You’ll be living here in Orlando?”
“Yeah, Milo has a huge office in Los Angeles too, so I might be there sometimes, but mainly I should be here.” He moved to Orlando to live with his boyfriend, a coach for the local MLS team.
“Oh—”
Then the weight between us that had been easing as we chatted returns.
Because yup, Eden just realized we’re going to be living in the same city.
I’m not going to make her ask.
“I’d like to hang out sometime again. You know, other than in a wine cellar or on the Fourth of July.”
Her eyes light up with amusement. “That would be nice.”
“Are you on or off campus this year?”
“On. There’s not exactly a lot of reasons to live off campus in the boonies where Tolliver is. Unlike in Princeton, where there’s so much to do in the little town area.”
“Wait. You’ve been there? Princeton?” When?
“It was one of the schools I visited when I was applying to colleges. One of like ten. The whole process was a blur.”
Huh, what would’ve happened with us if she’d ended up there? “The women’s team won the Ivies the last two years.”
“Yeah, they’re incredible. Ultimately, Tolliver gave me a better chance at an NCAA title. Plus the whole close-to-Dad aspect.”
“Makes sense. But how did this not come up before?” It was a Princeton Soccer T-shirt I’d given her two years ago, after all.
A smile creeps back up on her face. “We’ve only had one and a half real conversations, right? I don’t think it’s been top of mind during those particular moments.”
I huff out a laugh. “Fair.”
Half my brain is now occupied by memories of the most recent moment last July, but the revelation about Princeton tugs at the other half. Don’t let her get away yet again.
What if she’s dating someone, though? We’ve been such shitty correspondents. You can’t tell crap from Instagram posts, even though she was apparently single during spring break three months ago.
To hell with it, I’m asking. “Are you with anyone right now? Like serious?” Blunt, but whatever.
Her smile broadens. “No boyfriends are being juggled.”
Thank fuck. “What are you—”
My phone pings and I look at the text.
RAWLEY: Grace is looking for you. They’re cutting the cake in a few minutes.
I stand back up and look at her with undisguised disappointment. “Shit, I better get back out there.”
She takes a small swig of the wine and sets the bottle down on a shelf. “No worries. But maybe—”
My phone buzzes again, and a quick look at the notification screen shows it’s Landon bugging me to come back too.
“Sorry, you need to go.”
Yeah, I do. I hold the door open for her, her skirt swishing as she leaves.
I’ll DM her tomorrow to make plans. Because we will make plans.