Chapter Thirty-Two #2
If Adrian took the job, he would have told his kids about it first, right?
I haven’t seen them since that last practice in Berkeley—when Rohan gifted me a video montage of my top ten moments from the summer, and Peter surprised me by showing up at the dock and diving in for a one-armed hug.
I haven’t seen any of their videos since, haven’t been able to bring myself to watch, but I’m sure Rohan would have an opinion about all this, one he’d be willing to share with the entire world.
I flip to TikTok.
The first few videos from the last week or so are normal—practices, songs, dances. Then I get to one filled with Rohan’s face. He’s walking up the stairs at the boathouse, forehead still dotted with sweat from practice. He announces that their coach has called an emergency team meeting.
This is it.
The next video centers on Adrian, standing in the middle of the erg room.
The camera pans and I can see guys sprawled across the floor, rolling back and forth on seats.
Peter is there, too, cross-legged with one arm in a cast. Even on the tiny sliver of screen, Adrian’s smile is like a steel rod through my sternum.
He tells the kids that he was offered an opportunity to coach elite athletes. It’s far away so taking it means he wouldn’t see them much anymore. He wants to know what they think before he accepts.
Kids eye each other uncertainly, as if looking for clues to their own feelings in their peers’ faces.
“What would we do without you?” someone asks. I recognize him as a shy redhead that sits in the bow seat of Adrian’s fastest quad.
“East Bay Rowing would hire someone new,” Adrian replies. “But you might be without a coach while they look for a replacement.”
A muffled harmony of grumbles rises up through the room.
“No one could ever take your place!” someone out of view shouts.
A chorus of agreement meets this declaration.
Adrian winces.
“How soon?” another asks.
“Unfortunately, I’d need to start immediately,” Adrian admits. “I negotiated with USRowing to let me fly to Nationals so I can be there for everyone racing, but you’ll be on your own right after.”
A chorus of grumbles and thumbs-down follow. I hate what I see in Adrian’s expression—the pain their disappointment is causing.
“I’m sorry, guys,” Adrian says. “I know it’s not ideal. I’ve got some thoughts on contingency plans, like about how you can support one another until the club gets a new coach in here.”
This is met with only another harmony of consternation.
“We need you.”
“No one else would be as good as you.”
“What about next year?”
The camera jostles as Rohan stands. His voice bites out through the clamoring crowd. “Do you want the job, Coach?”
Adrian looks at him. Right at the camera. Right at me.
“I would be lying,” Adrian says, “if I said the answer was entirely yes. It’s a really big promotion.
It’s an almost overwhelming challenge, so I’m not positive that I’ll succeed.
But—” He takes a breath and rolls his thumb over his palm.
“I want to give it a try. Someone I trust told me that I’m selling myself short.
That I’m better than I think I am. I’d like to see if that’s true. ”
My heart lurches with love and pride.
The angle changes as Rohan plants his phone in someone else’s hands. The video catches his face. He crosses his arms and the frowning teens filling the room turn. Even though this happened more than a day ago now, my lungs still as I await his verdict.
Rohan looks around the room, administering his attention to each person’s face. Then he says, “If he wants it, then I think Coach Crawford should take this job.”
My breath releases in a rush. On the video, faces uncertainly swivel toward one another. This, apparently, is not what the other kids expected. Still, Rohan tips his chin defiantly, waiting for someone to challenge his verdict.
One of them rises to it—Matt, a petty kid with a mop of curly hair and a splash of acne. “And just leave us? He’d let us taper alone and only show up for the medal ceremony? What kind of coach would do that?”
Rohan wheels on him. “He’s the only reason any of us qualified for Nationals in the first place and the only reason any of us has a shot at medaling.
He got us this far. We can go the rest of the way ourselves—supporting one another.
Figuring it out. It’s what he would do for us if the tables were turned. It’s what he’s always done for us.”
“Yeah,” Matt spits back. “Except now. When we need him most.”
“Actually,” Peter says, low enough that if the room weren’t already quiet, he might not have been heard, “when he needs us most, we’ll be there for him.”
My heart stutters as silence descends once again, even thicker this time.
Rohan nods, pleased, then turns to Adrian. “I think you should take that job, Coach. We’ll be fine. We want you to be happy.”
Adrian looks around the room. The stunned silence has shifted—an occasional nod. A half smile.
Another guy jumps to his feet. “I agree with Rohan and Peter. You should go for it, Coach.”
“Yeah, we think you should do it!” another yells.
“We support you.”
The kids break out into applause. Adrian blinks and raises a knuckle to his eye.
The video ends.
I’m so happy for him. I’m so proud of him.
But I’m so devastated for myself. It’s all turned out even worse than I thought it could.
I love Adrian. I love rowing.
I’ve just lost both.