22. Betsy

Betsy

T hree weeks later…

"What's the matter with you? You're not eating and that's not like you."

I looked up at my mother's question. We'd agreed to meet for lunch to catch up. I saw her when I'd first returned to the States, but that was at my " Congratulations on the Gold " party, and we'd been surrounded by people coming to shake my hand and asking to see my medal.

I'd pretty much holed up in my house since then, alternating between nursing my wounds and castigating myself for being chicken shit.

"Nothing."

Mom gave me the look, the one that said she could see right through me, and she wasn't going to rest until I told the truth. I'd seen it a lot growing up. I sighed.

"There's a girl. Well, a woman…"

When I didn't say anything else, my mother prompted, "And…?"

"Her name is Kelly. We've known each other from playing against each other for years, and I always thought she was a stuck-up bitch. But then we were roommates in Paris, and I got to know her better, and…"

I paused to take a bracing drink of my lemonade, wishing it was something stronger.

"I fell in love with her."

"That's great!" Mom said. She studied my face carefully. "Why don't you think it's great? Did she reject you or something?"

"Not exactly. When we were in Paris we realized that we were attracted to each other, so we agreed to be friends with benefits. That means --."

Mom held up her hand. "I know what that is, Elizabeth."

I hated it when she called me my given name, something she only did when I was in trouble, or irritating her.

"It was supposed to be casual, but I fell in love with her. Or maybe I'd been in love with her from the start, I don't know, but we only agreed to the friends with benefits relationship. I didn't want to be the clinger who can't follow the rules, you know? So I never said a word about seeing each other again, and neither did she, so we just hung out and kissed each other goodbye at the airport when it was time to go. And here I am."

"How does Kelly feel about you?" she asked.

"We never talked about that either."

Mom sighed deeply. "You kids today…do you at least have her phone number?"

I shook my head. "No, but we're following each other on Instagram now."

"Well, as they say, you need to slide into her DMs."

"And say what?" I asked.

"Say you're sorry you didn't get her phone number. Say you want to talk about being more than friends. Say whatever you need to say to be able to see her in real life again and see if those feelings you have are reciprocated. Or if they're even real."

"They are," I said firmly.

"You were in Paris, competing in the Games, that's a lot of adrenaline. You were sharing a room. All's I'm saying is that sometimes what feels like love when you're thrown together in a situation feels a little different back in the real world."

Mom paused, reaching over to squeeze my hand. "If you still feel the way you felt in Paris, then you're going to need to make a choice. Try to make something work or walk away."

"What if I want to make it work and she doesn't?" I asked.

"Well then, at least you'll know, and you can move on with your life."

As soon as I got home I opened Instagram and pulled up Kelly's profile. She hadn't posted anything since her return from Paris, but there were several photos from the trip. I clicked through them, stopping to look at a picture of the two of us in front of the Palace of Versailles.

My teammate and I are being fancy and visiting the castle, the caption read.

I stared at it for a long minute, noticing how perfect we looked together. Then I opened the direct message area, only to swear when I realized that she had her DMs closed for new messages. She didn't appear to have an account on Twitter, and her Facebook was set to private so that didn't help me.

Damn it! Why hadn't I asked for her phone number before we left each other in Paris? Even if we were going to be just friends, it would have been totally normal for us to exchange phone numbers.

I paced around my house for a while before I remembered all the emails we'd received from the coaches before the trip, sharing travel details, packing suggestions, and outlining rules and expectations. I opened my laptop, hoping that the emails weren't sent blind copied. To my relief, everyone's email addresses were there.

With shaking fingers, I copied Kelly's email address and shot off an email.

Hey Kelly,

It's me. Betsy. I was remiss in not getting your phone number before we left Paris. Since we're friends and all, I wanted to call or text you and say hi. See how you're doing. Anyway, if you'd like to chat, here's my email. Send me a text or give me a call. Hope to catch up soon, Betsy

I sent the email, then thought better of it. I couldn't pretend that I wanted to just be friends. If I was going to connect with her, I should be brave. The worst case scenario was she could not respond. Or respond and tell me to leave her alone. I opened my app and fired off another email.

It's me again. I wasn't one hundred percent honest in my last message. I mean I do want to see how you're doing. But the truth is, I don't want to be friends. Not just friends. And not just friends with benefits. I know it's lame to tell you this in an email, but I may never see you again, so I feel like you deserve to know the truth: I fell in love with you in Paris. I hope you feel the same, but if you don't, please don't respond to my email, because it will just make it harder for me to get over you. Hope to hear from you soon. Love, Betsy

A few minutes later my phone beeped with a text from an unknown number. My heart started pounding as I read the message.

Unknown: Hey, it's Kelly.

Me: Kelly hi. It's great to hear from you. What are you doing?

Unknown: Sitting at a coffee shop at the Austin airport trying to figure out how to find you.