Page 109 of Racing Hearts

Cold rushes through me as I remember my reaction when I found them together. I acted like her relationship was shameful. Like she had to answer to me for it.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“I’m not telling you that because I want an apology—at least not right now. I’m telling you because there’s something I want you to understand.”

“Okay?”

A long pause stretches between us. It reminds me of her last dance performance. I was so young when she retired, but I distinctly remember this complicated solo. The curtain went up, the room hushed, the music started. There was this pause—this infinitesimal beat where Mom remained perfectly still, but somehow, I knew she was collecting herself. Taking a single breath before plunging in.

That pause is laden with possibility. Like the top of a stroke. Like the last deep breath before a starting buzzer.

“Rob supports me,” Mom says. “He challenges me. He fills in my gaps—takes things on that feel overwhelming to me—and I do the same for him. He’s good with spreadsheets; I’m good with people. He gave me the confidence to open the studio in the first place.”

“You’re saying…?”

“I’m saying Rob is the reason that business exists at all.”

A prickle scales my arms as my mind zips over memories from this summer, categorizing and re-cataloging. Some things make more sense now. Like the confidence that she’s had in starting a business—a terrifying new endeavor that has to have involved all kinds of skills she doesn’t possess. How successful and well organized the yoga studio seemed when I visited. She did that—but it makes more sense to know that she didn’t do it all alone.

“I want you to see that’s how love—healthy love—is,” Mom continues. “It makes you better, stronger, in the other parts of your life, too. Yes, love can tear you down. It can hurt, it can make your life worse. But if you find someone who lifts you up instead, it makes the other parts of your life better. Even if it ends.”

Clearly, we’re not talking about Rob anymore. “You think that’s how it is with me and Adrian?”

“I know it is,” she says. “I watched your race. I saw your training over the last two months. You went from dragging yourself out of the house in the morning, and going through the motions because you thought you had nothing else, to practically skipping out the front door. You fell back in love with rowing because you fell in love with Adrian. You’ve always known how strong you are, but you lost faith in yourself. You found that again, too. That’s exactly what I’m talking about. That’s the kind of love that lifts—the kind that adds instead of subtracting.

“When you find the right person,” she says emphatically, “it’s not a choice at all. When you find them, who you love will make you better at what you love.”

My throat has gone dry. The tears on my cheeks have evaporated. A sinking certainty creeps up around me, like I’ve been standing in a field and the grass has grown around my feet, but I didn’t notice until it was brushing my fingertips.

She’s right—it’s exactly the way the last two months have felt. This building sensation that everything has become fuller with Adrian in my life. She’s describing today, too. The race. The way I pulled harder, went faster than I’d ever done before.

Just yesterday, I told Adrian that my success today would be his, too. I was talking about his coaching: his technical advice, his passion, the way he’s helped me get out of my head. But the truth is so much deeper than I even realized. My life—my rowing—is stronger because of him.

“I need to—” I clear my throat.

I don’t know what, exactly. All I know is that I have to find a way to make it work, no matter how many thousands of miles stand between us. Surely, having him in my life, even infrequently, is better than not at all. Surely, it’s all worth the risk.

“I need to go,” I say.

“We’ll talk more soon,” Mom says. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I say. “And thank you.”

With shaking fingers, I hang up. Turn toward the edge of tents. This isn’t a conversation I want to have over the phone. I could get on a flight to Berkeley today. But what if Adrian has already left for Florida? He said he was starting the new job immediately.

I frown at my phone’s screen, then pull up a message to Rohan.

Do you know where Adrian will be tomorrow? I need to talk to him as soon as possible.

My phone pings with a response almost immediately.

Isn’t he with you?

I stare at the words, uncomprehending. Before I have a chance to respond, I hear my name. I spin in slow motion toward the shaft of blue sky between the tents. The world is tilting again, but this time with a kaleidoscope around me falling, dropping, descending. Clicking into place. Landing on one still image—a face amid streaking primary colors.

Thirty-Four

I sprint toward Adrian, arms pumping, legs windmilling. A dozen feet separate us, but I can’t possibly get to him fast enough. I land against his chest in the breath of a heartbeat, my body colliding like a compass finding her true north.