“It depends on if the moment is right,” I responded.
“You sure about that? I think the moment was right two years ago.”
“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
“Nope. But I’m really excited about this date. We’ve only been waiting five years.”
“I’ll make sure it’s worth the wait. Trust me.”
* * *
God, that Italy meet was awful. So awful.
My times were appalling. They were on another planet than my Tokyo times. The woman who beat me in both the 200 and 400-free was a Stanford swimmer on the DC team who hadn’t made the Olympic cut. Even she looked at the scoreboard as if it had glitched and given her the wrong time and place. But nope, she beat me fair and square by a good two seconds.
Talia and Lillian could see the disappointment and confusion on my face. They asked me what the hell had happened. Was it really the forbidden foods diet that caused me to sink? Was it because I was so tired? Was it because this was my karma for questioning if I should take a break? Was it a combination of a lot of things?
The media was quick to start questioning the results too, and one article with the headline, “Is Quinn Hughes a One-Hit Wonder?” really got to me more than it should have, but as I waited for my flight to take off, I wondered if the headline bothered me so much because it was a question I kept asking myself.
Was I a one-hit wonder? Was Tokyo my only time to shine? Ever since coming back, all I wanted to do was stay at home. Chill out. Catch up on some shows. Sleep in. Do anything besides getting in the water. Maybe this was a sign, a big slap in the face that I really did need a break.
With a ten-hour flight ahead of me, I had plenty of time to suppress my disappointment and anger. I refused to let that columnist and one meet dampen an amazing week with Kennedy. That was what we swimmers did perfectly, right? As well as conditioning our bodies to swim long distances and eat a lot of calories, we also conditioned our brains to shove any sort of crap we didn’t want to deal with in a box, seal it up tightly, and shove it way back to the dusty part of our brains for another time.
I made a promise to myself that once I landed at JFK, I would forget about the Naples meet.
* * *
The Manhattan skyline sparkled below, and knowing Kennedy was somewhere in that glowing concrete jungle elicited a flicker of excitement in my stomach. The great perk about flying first class was that I was one of the first people off the plane, and man, did I take advantage of that. I sprinted to baggage claim, cheered when my bag was the first on the belt thanks to the priority tag, and briskly walked to where Kennedy said she’d be waiting for me with a cab.
The crisp fall air greeted me when I stepped outside, and it only took a few seconds of scanning to hear a familiar shriek. That was when I found Kennedy bundled up in her purple NYU sweatshirt like the studious grad student she was, bouncing up and down as she waved for my attention. I ran over and dropped my heavy duffel bag on the ground, and she jumped on me. Catching her by her hamstrings, I could smell the peppermint gum that made her mouth more desirable, adding to that elated smile.
“God, I missed you,” I said, twirling her around before placing her back on the ground. “And you’re so warm. Let’s go to the hotel and cuddle.”
“With some tea or hot chocolate?”
“Yes please.”
“Gah! I can’t believe you’re finally here,” she said and squeezed me again as if we didn’t already do that a second before, but I wasn’t about to complain. I hugged her back. “I’ve been counting down the days since you told me about it.”
“Me too. I never thought this day would get here. I swear that flight was the longest flight of my life.”
“Well, it’s finally over, and you get to be with me for a whole week. I’m sure by the end of it, you’ll be eager to leave.”
“I highly doubt that. I’ve never been sick of you. Not even in the summers when we were little, and we were with each other every single second of daylight.”
“We have a whole week of sleepovers ahead of us. Do you know what that means?” She waggled her eyebrows up and down.
I looked skyward as my grin grew. “Lots of cuddles. Pillow talk.”
“Wine chats. Oh, please tell me we can make pizza rolls like old times?”
She clasped her hands in front of her chest, pleading. I laughed. It wasn’t a good idea for me to indulge too much during my stay, given the fact I was still pissed at myself for my Naples performance, and with the Indianapolis meet a week away, I had to prove to myself and the stupid media that I wasn’t a one-hit wonder. I was already planning on practicing at the NYU pool while Kennedy was at class, using the workouts David emailed me.
But for the time being, I could indulge in a night of pizza rolls and worry about it later.
“Sure, one night, though. I can’t get too crazy.”
She hopped and cheered. “Yes! Ah, I can’t wait. Let’s go.”
After I showered the ten-hour flight stink off me, I hopped in our king bed with Kennedy already sprawled across it in her pjs. She let out a pleasured sigh as she cozied into me, head right on my boob and an arm slung over my stomach. After all that traveling and the restless sleep the night before, being in the city with her, in a king-sized bed, would serve as a remedy to the disappointment hanging heavily on me.
“God, I barely remembered how comfortable you are,” she said, burying her face into the fabric of my sweatshirt.
I gripped my arm around her shoulders. “We only had a few cuddling sessions way back when. I think we need to make up for lost time.”
“A lot of lost time. We can fully enjoy being free and adults and not having to worry about our parents walking in. No open door policy.”
“Thank God. It’s the best part of adulthood.”
“So how was Naples?” she asked.
I bit my lip as I glanced at the popcorn ceiling. Half of me was so comfortable with Kennedy in my arms, but the other part of me still wrestled with how poorly I did and what the stupid sports columnist had to say. A con of having a professional swim league was that it offered another window for criticism, and I was starting to believe that I wasn’t ready for that.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I answered and tried as hard as I could to keep the sound of my stress at bay.
But she shifted to get a better look at me. Her eyebrows puckered. “What happened?”
I opened my mouth and then closed it, running my tongue along my sucked-in lip as I tried to find the best words to describe how much of a failure it was. “It was…I…I don’t know. It just wasn’t a good meet for me.”
She rubbed my arms, causing me to close my eyes and relax. “Everyone has a bad day once in a while.”
“Yeah but…this is right after Tokyo. I shouldn’t be swimming like this. You know there was an article with the headline ‘Is Quinn Hughes a One-Hit Wonder?’” Her frown became more detailed. “Yeah, there was. The guy spent the whole article talking about how he thinks I’m going to be like a lot of swimmers, amazing for one Olympics and then failing for the rest of my career.”
“He’s saying that after one meet? I mean, you’ve been going nonstop for how many months? With no time to rest? You’re probably exhausted. You’ll do better next weekend.”