I checked my phone during the free time I had in the NBC interviews. The crew followed us to the pool to film us practicing and interviewed Coach David. It felt like being a part of a reality show for two days as they gathered footage. They came into our home to interview us. Lillian and I hid in the downstairs hallway and listened as they asked Talia tons of questions about growing up in Kauai and how her family taught her how to swim at two. They asked about competing at Stanford against Lillian and me and how she survived living with two Golden Bears since our colleges were ultimate rivals.
When it was my turn on the second day, the same female interviewer asked me what life was like living with fellow Olympians Talia Papani and Lillian Verkler. I tried to lay on the charm and wit, discussing how Lillian and I were always trying to pull pranks, and ever since the International Swimming League formed a year back, and the three of us signed up for the San Francisco–based team, the Cali Condors, Lillian and I got the ultimate revenge for Stanford stealing the Pac 12 and NCAA championships: All of Talia’s swimming was done in the Berkeley pool.
Then she asked what inspired me to be an Olympian, and I reflected on those pivotal moments during Beijing and thought about Kennedy. Every moment, she’d been by my side.
My agent, Lucy Ehlmann, sat behind the camera as the interviewer segued into my personal life. She’d put me through media training in preparation for the biggest stage in swimming. All of Team USA had to know how to respond professionally, divert any questions looking for dirt, and suppress negative emotions. Plus a bunch of other rules, like how we had to sing the national anthem and put our hands over our hearts because people would criticize us, our patriotism, and our spot on the American team if we didn’t do those things.
The NBC interview was my first true test.
Part of it was learning how to answer personal questions, and I’d get more of those than my teammates because I was the only out swimmer on Team USA. She asked me what it was like being an out athlete in an industry that had a history of not being accepting. I told her I was very privileged. I had a supportive family, supportive friends, a supportive college. I discussed how my sport was more accepting than a lot of others. When the International Swimming League started last fall, they agreed that all men and women would be paid the same, and that set how progressive the sport was compared to others. I’d never felt pressured by my teammates to stay in the closet. But I recognized my privilege. Football still faced homophobia. Soccer still faced a large pay gap and fans shouting homophobic slurs at games. We didn’t see that in swimming.
“Hungary’s Amira Kőszegi is the number one swimmer in the world, favored to win all her races in Tokyo, and she’s also out.” The interviewer just had to remind me of the biggest thorn in my side, someone I’d done a good job compartmentalizing about until I landed in Tokyo. “How have you been preparing to go against the reigning Olympic gold medalist?”
I gulped. I could only imagine Talia and Lillian listening, and I could picture them hiding their laughter behind their tightly cupped hands. All the races Amira Kőszegi qualified for were mine: the 200, 400, and 800-meter free. Plus the two free relays. I’d only beaten her twice out of a handful of races. I also might or might not have slept with her in South Korea the summer before at the world champs. Oops. But with that small tidbit aside, the interviewer was right, she was one of the few out athletes in the swimming world. Sure, she’d never had a grandioso outing, but she’d dated a British actress, and in all her interviews, she’d made it no secret that she was into women.
I thought a lot of things about Amira. I envied her because she was so fast. I was jealous that she caused an upset in the free events in Rio and snatched them from the Americans. But then, I also thought she was a class act. I admired how she didn’t care about what people thought of her or her sexuality, and I loved how she was a leader for the LGBTQ+ movement in Europe.
And I thought she was an amazing lay. But I couldn’t tell the interviewer the last part. I told her everything else.
Lucy gave me an A in my first media training test.
* * *
“Earth to Quinn,” Talia called from the next lane.
We were on our second to last practice before leaving. We’d gone from swimming nine miles a day to two. David had us doing easy kick sets using the kickboards. We loved them because it meant we could talk during practice.
“She’s been in a daze lately,” Lillian called across the lanes.
“Must be the girl,” Talia said.
I rolled my eyes. “I’m sorry I tuned out while you guys were discussing Tinder Fireman for a good ten minutes. You know my brain can only handle about two minutes of heterosexuality.”
Except I wasn’t sorry. Tuning them out while they discussed boys wasn’t new. Plus, while they rambled about Lillian going on a second date with Tinder Fireman, I thought about all the things that could happen when Kennedy and I spent the day together. She wanted to sightsee the next day, and I agreed to take her around as long as we did it via Uber or electric scooter since I wasn’t allowed to walk. A whole day with her sparked so many thoughts. If the perfect moment to kiss her sprang up, would I react? If I kissed her, would I be thinking about it too much during the Olympics? If the opportunity happened, would I be able to ignore it until after my races?
“You’re thinking about your high school sweetheart and your date tomorrow,” Talia said in a teasing tone.
“Maybe I am.”
“You gonna kiss her?” Lillian asked.
Talia fought back. “Lil, you don’t have an overthinker kiss an ex-girlfriend right before the Olympics.”
“She clearly wants to kiss her. Make up for that other date two years ago.”
They knew our whole story. I’d retold them while we analyzed the dinner. Lillian and Talia assumed their usual roles. Lillian was the risk taker; obvious, as evidenced by her ACL injury. She told me to pursue Kennedy. If the moment was there, I needed to act on it because I’d been thinking about her since high school, hadn’t found a girl who came close to her, and was still upset with myself for not kissing her two years ago.
Talia, on the other hand, was the cautious one. She didn’t get off on adrenaline, evidenced by her need to keep an eye on her friends’ locations during dates. Like me, she liked everything planned to a T. No surprises. Had Plan B, C, D all the way to Z laid out for any possible scenario. Talia said that kissing a girl who’d been on my mind for the last five years would unwind all my mental training. I had to be freed from stress so it wouldn’t ruin my races. She’d said I waited this long, waiting another few weeks to sort out my feelings wouldn’t be a huge struggle. Plus, after Tokyo, I was scheduled to have a few interviews in New York City if I did well, so I could always try to see her—and kiss her—then. Talia had also said the lack of sex was skyrocketing my libido, and I had to think with my brain, not my vagina.
But that was easier said than done since I was ten months into my dry spell.
My brain told me Talia was right. Occasionally, I liked to do what I wasn’t supposed to do. A small amount of thrill did intrigue me. Especially when it came to kissing a beautiful woman. I’d spent two years living a life constructed by coaches and my agent, with no room for error. All the obedience made it even more enticing to break the tiniest little rule.