Page 108 of Racing Hearts

She’s silent for a long moment and I find myself holding my breath, waiting for her verdict. I hear her take a few steps across a hard floor. A door closes. A chair creaks.

“Tell me what happened,” she says, voice soft.

I sob. A heart-wrenching, obliterating sob. Phone still pressed to my ear, I pull my knees into my chest and brace my forehead against them, cocooning myself in a tight ball.

How can I explain what just happened? What I’ve lost. What I’ll never have. Where I went wrong. Where did I go wrong?

“Kath? Are you hurt?”

I shake my head on my knees, rubbing my forehead against my still-damp skin. “No. Not—not physically.”

A sigh rushes out of her—both relieved and even more concerned. “Tell me.”

With heaving breaths, choking sobs, and more tears, I get out the words. I tell her about the breakup, Adrian’s text, and coming clean to Carla. I tell her about the race: the beautiful, majestic, best-of-my-life race. How it still wasn’t good enough. I’ve lost my spot for good—no way back now.

And then I tell her that Adrian took the job in Florida. I tell her, truthfully, that I want him to be happy and I want him to succeed. But…it makes things even more impossible between us.

Altogether, it’s almost certainly the end of my rowing career. It’s definitely the end of us.

“Are we just doomed to repeat the same mistakes endlessly?” I ask aloud when I’ve finished.

So far Mom has remained silent, offering only small sounds of understanding. When she answers, however, her voice is sympathetic but skeptical. “What do you mean?”

“You and Dad. Me and Adrian.”

“I don’t see the similarities.”

A vinyl tent flutters in the wind, punctuating each of my shaky inhales. “This is what happened to your dancing career. You fell in love with Dad and gave up dancing for him. Then he left, anyway.”

“Your dad left,” she says, gently but firmly. “He left because our relationship didn’t work for him. That’s not what happened with you and Adrian.”

“It’s the same ending place, though. It’s always a choice between what you love and who you love. And even then, there’s a good chance you’ll lose both.”

“Kath…” I don’t hear doubt in the word. Just caution. “That’s not true.”

“Yeah it is, Mom.” I know we aren’t talking about me and Adrian anymore. Not only. “Look at your life. You spent years dating men who weren’t right for you. And you never had time or bandwidth to devote to anything else. But then, being single simplified everything for you. It made it possible for you to start the yoga studio. To be successful and happy.”

Mom sighs. In the distance, I hear the crackle of the speakers as the announcer rolls through finishes.

“Sweetheart,” she says. “I wasn’t single when I started the yoga studio.”

“I…what?”

“Rob and I have been together for almost a year.”

The world tilts. I hold the phone pressed to my ear, fingers chilled in the wind that’s gusting through the tents and sending the damp hairs on my legs into prickling goose bumps.

“Rob and I met and hit it off,” she continues. “We spent those first few weeks talking constantly and, eventually, talking about almost nothing but our biggest, most terrifying dreams. Two months after our first date, we started the business. Was that too fast? I’m sure some would say it was. But you know me, always full steam ahead.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“At first it was because, well, because you never like the men I date. I told myself I’d wait until it got serious. Once it did…then I had a thousand new excuses. You were busy with qualifiers, then World Cups. You had too much on your mind to be open to him.

“Then when you came home for the summer, I told myself you just needed to meet him first. I’d tell you after you could see for yourself how different he is. Then I saw you with Adrian, and I thought maybe, if you were finally happy in your own relationship, you’d see that I could be, too. The truth is”—she expels a breath—“I delayed and delayed because I was afraid you would judge me. Or reject him.”

My throat tightens. “And then I did both.”

“Yes. You did.”