Chapter Thirty-Two
If organized sports and Disney had a baby, it would be the Olympic Village.
The place was a mix of beautiful old and new architecture, cheerful volunteers, and signage so clear that there was no chance
of getting lost, despite the scope of the place. The uncanny valley vibe to it all was a reminder that somehow this was real.
We’d made it.
I looked at the other athletes around me in their colorful Village uniform jackets. It was day one of our pre-week, and it
felt like euphoria had gone airborne and we were all infected. We were enjoying a collective sigh of relief before clocking
back into athlete mode.
Or maybe it was just the jet lag.
I thought I’d be the jaded second timer to my teammates Erica Saunders’s and Kayla Ruffini’s wide-eyed newbie status, but
I was just as overwhelmed by the Olympic magic as they were. It was about to level up big time since we were heading for the
Team USA Welcome Experience building, the first defining moment of our time at the Games, since it was where we’d be fitted
for our opening and closing ceremonies wardrobe along with the rest of our gear.
I felt like a senior walking into high school with two freshmen beside me. Erica was just eighteen and Kayla was sixteen, making me crypt keeper–adjacent compared to them. But they looked up to me, and when we were together I doted on them like
little sisters.
“I am so ready for the swag,” Kayla said, smoothing her red hair the way she always did when she was trying to calm herself
down. “Did you hear we get watches and sunglasses? And a ring?”
“Just wait. We’re going to walk out of here with two suitcases full of stuff,” I said.
I was well aware of just how much merch we’d get thanks to Switzerland. I hadn’t wanted to look at it after what happened,
so even the non-Olympic stuff like the razors and body lotion we’d all been gifted were boxed up and put away in my storage
facility.
But this time would be different.
We walked into the building behind a group of guys I recognized from the curling team. I didn’t know them by name yet, but
we’d probably all be besties by the time we left. It was one of the many surprise joys of being there; there were plenty of
opportunities to bond with athletes from around the world over shared meals in the dining hall or stretched out on adjacent
tables in the recovery room.
“Ho-lee-shit,” Erica whispered once we were inside the Welcome Experience building. “This is huge!”
The dark navy-walled hallway was punctuated by faceless mannequins every few feet, each with a spotlight on them. I’d seen
videos from past welcome events and some of them looked like they took place in hastily Olympic-ified auditoriums. Switzerland
had been impressive, but Milan was already raising the bar because it felt like we were walking into a high-end nightclub.
“It’s all the past team gear,” Kayla said with reverence as she paused in front of the first pair of mannequins. “This is from 2008.” She read the accompanying description. “The first time Ralph Lauren paired with Team USA to do the opening and closing fits.”
“Ours are a billion times better this year,” Erica sniffed as she eyed the mannequin. “That white flat-top hat is peak grandpa
cringe.”
We made our way to the sign-in table, where we were handed our checklists by a smiley volunteer.
“Unreal,” Erica said as she skimmed it. “They’re giving us new phones? We’re getting so much stuff!”
An attractive woman in an official white tracksuit appeared. “Hello and welcome, ladies! We’re going to head for the Nike
room first for your kits. Right this way, please.”
We followed behind her, pausing to look at images from past Games lining the hallway.
“Quinnnn,” Kayla sang out. She pointed to a large photo. “Your boyfriend!”
As expected, the gossip about me and Ben had exploded after the show. I was oblivious to how observed we’d been while we were
together, because new paparazzi-style photos of the two of us kept appearing online. And yeah, most of them sold the romance
narrative. Even ones sneakily taken the first morning we’d met at Eagle Diner looked incriminating. I could see the fury in my expression, but to the rest of the world my intensity could be misread as me wanting to swallow
him whole. And how had I not noticed that Ben’s feet were stretched out beneath the table and nearly touching mine? Somehow
our bodies looked like we were in some stage of pre-fucking in every photo.
I joined Kayla in front of the iconic image from Ben’s final Games that had wound up everywhere.
It looked like an accidental Renaissance painting, with Ben skating in front of the rest of the pack, so low that he was nearly horizontal.
His fingertips were grazing the ice, and his gaze was fixed in the distance.
Anyone who watched the event knew exactly how strenuous the moment had been for him, but if the photo was cropped around his face it could be used in a cologne ad.
Of course Ben’s intense exertion and focus read as smolder.
His expression was at odds with the four-headed Hydra of skaters behind
him; one had his mouth in an O of frustration, another was flailing and about to fall, the guy directly behind him was grimacing,
and the final was nothing more than a helmet peeking out from behind Ben’s head.
“Not my boyfriend,” I reminded her.
My heart begged to differ. Even a photo of him evoked a tingly Pavlovian response.
“Keep telling yourself that,” Kayla elbowed me.
I had to, otherwise the big hopeful feelings threatened to take over. We’d been honoring our agreement to keep our distance,
which wasn’t easy. I’d texted him a few photos of our accommodations right after we’d arrived and gotten a thumbs-up emoji
in response, a terse reminder that I needed to stay focused.
“Right this way,” the tracksuit lady chirped at us.
Erica the rule follower flipped her hand at us and gave us a mom-glare as she speed-walked behind the woman.
And so our whirlwind day of gifting began. By the time we got to our final stop with Ralph Lauren it felt like we needed assistants
to cart around the wheelie bags filled with merch.
Noor, the Ralph Lauren stylist assigned to me, led me to a dressing room that had all the elements of my opening and closing
outfits displayed on a white table in front of a mirror with the words “Team Albright” projected onto it.
I paused as tears filled my eyes. I was embarrassed that something so simple could make me feel emotional. But it was a reminder that I was back, and Team Albright had a second chance to come in first.
“Let’s start with your opening-ceremony look,” Noor said as she pointed to the smart blazer. “Get suited up and I’ll help
you with the tie.”
She left the dressing room, and I snapped a quick photo of my reflection next to my name and sent it to Mel. She’d been taking
care of my social media accounts, and the image would be a great kickoff for my time in Milan.
The opening ceremony look was quintessentially Ralph Lauren. The fitted navy blazer had a red, white, and blue accent ribbon
running down the top of both sleeves, the polo player logo embroidered on the left chest, and a round Olympics patch on the
right. It went over a crisp white shirt, and was paired with dark-wash jeans. The coolest part of the outfit was the red tie
that made it look like a private school uniform.
Noor came back into the dressing room and helped me with the tie, and when I turned around to look at myself in the mirror
I teared up again.
“You look amazing,” Noor said as she fussed with the lapels. She moved in front of me and clasped my arms. “I watched your
episode on The Score. It was incredible. You’ve got this.”
I’d been hearing the sentiment quite a bit since it aired. What a gift Ben had given me—a chance to set the stage for my triumph
to come.
“Thank you,” I smiled at her.
I could hear Kayla and Erica squealing before I walked out of the dressing room.
“Ohmigah we look so good,” Kayla exclaimed when she saw me.
“Selfie!” Erica held up her phone.
We clustered together while she took the photo as our three stylists watched us like proud parents.
A woman with an official-looking camera walked over to us. “Hi there, I’m with Getty Images. Can we get a couple of shots
with you ladies by the logos?”
We followed her to the wall with the Olympic and Ralph Lauren logos and posed beside them. A few other people gathered to
take photos as well.
The three of us leaned into the paparazzi vibes, because yeah, we’d earned this moment.