23. Eden
EDEN
Icollapse on my bed as soon as I’m inside the suite, heart racing.
Connor and I are going to get our chance. For real.
No more hot and cold, no more confusion. If staying a secret is what’s going to make it possible, I don’t care.
He was so clear—this is dating. Not a fling. Not just hanging out casually.
If we’re on the same page, I’m more than fine keeping our business private.
I bask in the afterglow of what happened until the front door to our suite opens.
“Heyyyy,” Bree shouts in the direction of my room. “Get dressed. Everyone will be here soon.”
I debate spilling to her everything that just happened—but then I remember, it’s a secret.
So instead, I pull myself off the mattress and get ready to party with my girls.
The Hockey House party is packed, but we treat the evening as a girls’ night more than anything. Whenever a guy tries to impose himself into one of our conversations, we ignore him until he fades into the larger party.
I only acknowledge two guys myself. Greg and I share a head nod when we first make eye contact—the polite thing as amicable exes. And I give Jake a “thank you,” coupled with a small smile, when he hands me a beer in the kitchen.
“You’re welcome,” he replies. “Game went well?”
I shrug. “Just a draw. A tie.”
“I take it that’s not a good thing?”
“Nope. We should have won.”
His brow crinkles. “Bummer. Shake it off with some fun tonight. Have a good time with your teammates.”
As much as I hate the reason for his sympathy, I’m relieved by the chill response, and relax even more when I see him talking to a pretty black-haired woman for much of the night.
Hopefully, we can stay friends without any weird vibes.
“Cap, come tell Monique she needs to dump her guy,” April calls out as I exit the kitchen.
I join the crew, who then launch into an examination of our goalie Mo’s boyfriend and his lameness. He’s bailed on two dates in a row and showed up late for a brunch with her sister.
“Nah…that’s not okay,” April observes as Mo shares the details.
“Yeah, I think I’m done.” Mo seems like she’s already emotionally over him; she just needs the confirmation.
“Better to be free and independent than deal with that BS,” Bree adds.
Observing Bree in this moment, I realize if I need advice from my best friend about my situation with Connor, I can’t ask her, because I promised him we’d keep things secret.
Yeah, that won’t work for long. We talk about everything, and she’s my roommate…what if he comes over?
The thought sticks with me enough to be on my mind the next morning. So much so that when Connor texts me, I decide I want to bring it up.
CONNOR: Morning. How was the party?
EDEN: Fun, but I was home by 1.
EDEN: We were good girls. I was anyway
CONNOR: Glad to hear it
EDEN: I have a request. Can I tell Bree about our date? We don’t keep secrets, and it’s going to get weird since we live together. She already knows some of our history too.
It takes him a few seconds to reply.
CONNOR: Yeah, okay. If she doesn’t mind keeping a secret herself.
EDEN: I’m sure she won’t. Plus, then you can come over here…
CONNOR: Good point. Sold.
CONNOR: I thought we could go to downtown Orlando on Saturday? It’s so busy, no one will pay attention to us.
EDEN: Yeah, plus it’s such a hike from Tolliver, none of my classmates will be there to recognize us.
EDEN: We could do a pub crawl or something like that? When Bree and I went to Eclypse to dance, there were so many cute places around.
CONNOR: That could be arranged.
EDEN: I need to stick to tasting sizes though, being in season.
CONNOR: I’m not a big drinker myself. Sounds good.
CONNOR: I’m just glad this is finally happening
EDEN: NO JINXING
CONNOR: Let me push my luck—pick you up at seven?
As soon as I agree and he wishes me a good day, I’m across the common room knocking.
“brEEEEEE, I have some news…”
It turns out the news would keep rolling in. Friday morning, I get emails from the University of California, San Francisco, and the University of Pennsylvania medical schools requesting interviews. Two elite schools—advancing the process for my admission.
Of course, all the prospective times that UCSF has as options involve conflicts: a class, practice, or a game.
I grind my teeth. This is it, the last step of the application process. But, honestly, it feels like I’m spinning my wheels, given where my head’s at about going pro after graduation.
I stare at my email inbox for a minute. Setting up a time for the interviews, going through with them…it doesn’t seem right.
Instead, it feels like it’s time to speak with my mom about what I really want.
EDEN: Mom, can you talk?
She calls me within a minute, not bothering to text me back.
“Hey Eden, you caught me at a good time.” It’s clear she’s walking outside. “My morning appointment was rescheduled, so I’m free for an hour.” I hear the beeping of her car.
“Where are you going?”
“I promised your Aunt Celia I would water her plants while she’s in Phoenix for work, so I was going to squeeze that in.”
An image of Mom in her chic workwear, holding a watering can, brings a shake of my head. She’s the master juggler. No idea how she does it.
“What did you want to talk about?”
“So…I got two interview requests. UCSF and UPenn.”
“Oh my God! Eden, how incredible! I’m so proud of you.” Her car starts. “Though I’m not surprised.”
My stomach whirls more at her excitement. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Do you need help with how to handle the interviews? There are excellent resources with tips.”
“No, it’s not that.”
“I bet you already researched it all.” She sounds so confident in me. Ugh.
“Mom, it’s not that,” I repeat. “I’m…I don’t think I should keep going through the application process right now. I’m—I still think I want to go pro after college.”
“We’ve always knew that was a strong possibility. I thought you decided you were going to play both angles and defer medical school for a year once you’re admitted. See what you want to do from there.”
It’s what she recommended, and I had gone along, but… “It’s just—it feels disingenuous to keep going in the process at this point. If I’m playing in the NWSL, it’ll almost certainly be a few years until I start med school. My deferral will have expired, and I’ll have to reapply.”
“I know.” Her voice has softened.
“I’m…overwhelmed, Mom. The interviews are difficult to schedule with my plate already filled. It’s hard enough making sure I keep all As.”
She’s quiet for a few seconds before responding. “Give it the weekend, sweetie. It’s a big decision. I still think you should move down both paths for now.”
The thing is, Mom could do that and flourish. I’m hardwired differently. So I’m relieved when she continues, “But if you want to focus on soccer for the immediate future, you know I support you.”
The swirl in my chest slows, and I breathe easier. “Thanks…yeah, chewing on it over the weekend sounds good.”
“Love you. Call me if you want to chat about it more.”
We hang up, and a split second later, I’m collapsing on the bed, eyes closed. My head is screaming that the right thing to do is to pull the plug, give all my attention to soccer. But Mom’s arguments are logical, too.
After about five minutes of wallowing in unease, I don’t have it resolved. Let’s kick the can to Sunday, figure it out then. I promised her I’d give it the weekend, and I will. In the meantime, I’m going to park the issue.
Plus, I have my date with Connor tomorrow, finally. I’m not going to let this cast a dark cloud over it.
A knock comes at my bedroom door. “Hey.” It’s Bree. “You want to go to the dining hall?”
Perfect, she’ll distract me. Plus—food.
Except when we sit down with our breakfast sandwiches thirty minutes later, she brings the topic back to the forefront, inadvertently.
“So, I’m thinking about going pro,” she says, breathlessly.
Okay, universe. I hear your message.
“I thought you had a marketing position at Triumph lined up?”
She takes a couple bites. “Yeah, but Coach Brenner pulled me aside yesterday and said she thought I’d make a roster if that’s what I wanted.”
“Oh, that’s awesome.”
Bree hasn’t be invited to a national training camp since our younger days, but those spots are more limited than the opportunities in the sixteen-team National Women’s Soccer League. She’s an amazing center mid, so as her bestie, I’m excited if this is what she wants to do.
Selfishly, I’m back spiraling over my own choices.
Bree is oblivious, though. “Not to celebrate how spoiled I am, but the whole parents-owning-the-company thing means I can always jump in at Triumph.”
“Yeah.” I take another bite, and luckily, she changes topics.
“Do you know what you’re going to wear tomorrow? I’m down to help you pick your outfit if you want.”
Ah yes, I’ve got to figure out my date attire…
I’m grateful for the switch in subjects.
“Homework and workouts today, dress decision tomorrow.”