I catch Ryan’s eye.
“Hey! You made it!” he says, choking down beer, looking surprised to see me here.
He winds his way through the crowd and tentatively gives me a one-armed hug.
“We finished dinner and figured why not come by?” I say.
It’s close enough to the truth. Jasmine brought over a bottle of wine for the three of us to share while Sara and I dabbed on makeup and put on sundresses. I felt more comfortable coming here tonight with a little liquid courage in my system.
“Oh, wow, nice,” he says. “Can I get you a drink?”
“We can get our own,” Jasmine says, cutting in.
“All for a good cause anyway, right?” Sara says.
Ryan gestures to the bar. “Of course.”
Sara orders a vodka soda, and I ask for the same. Jasmine squints at the array of spirits lining the back shelf of the bar and sighs at the row of draft beers.
“I’ll have a prosecco,” she says.
The bartender gives her a weary look.
“We don’t have that here,” he says, without bothering to check.
“Jasmine, this isn’t the fanciest place,” I say quietly, nudging her.
She grimaces. “Another vodka soda, sure.” Under her breath, she mutters, “Great bar.”
We take the drinks over to the edge of Ryan’s crew.
“These are Ryan’s friends?” Jasmine asks, looking curiously at the group.
“Yeah, anyone you recognize?” I ask.
The gymnastics world is tiny—I wouldn’t be surprised if she had crossed paths with anyone here.
“No, I’m just… interested, I guess. These are guys our own age,” she comments.
“Don’t get too excited,” Sara warns.
I feel uneasy—not sure what to say to Ryan, too awkward to say hi to Goose or Melissa, and too nervous to strike up a conversation with any of his other friends. Maybe I shouldn’t have come. But then, the high-pitched ding of a knife against glass cuts through the noise of the bar.
“Can I have everybody’s attention for a minute, please?” Ryan asks.
He steps on a chair so he’s high above the crowd. Conversations fade out, and people turn to face him.
“I wanted to thank you all for coming out tonight. As I’ve mentioned, all proceeds from the drinks go to a really great organization called the Elite Gymnastics Foundation, which supports elite gymnasts like the very talented athlete I’m hopefully taking to Tokyo this summer,” he says.
“Whoop, whoop!” Goose calls out.
Ryan raises his glass. “So please, drink up, and don’t worry about how you’ll feel tomorrow morning. Okay? And while I have your attention, the founders of the foundation are here—let’s give a round of applause to Avery Abrams and Jasmine Floyd.”
He raises his drink in a toast, and everyone else follows suit.
It’s a strange sensation, having people clap for me. It’s happened before, of course, at plenty of competitions, but that was different. Back then, crowds cheered me on because of what I had been trained to do. Tonight, they’re cheering me on for what I’m doing for others. This is new for me, but I like it.
Ryan hops down off of the chair and joins us.
“Hey there. Not a bad turnout, right?” he says.
“Pretty good,” I say. “I really appreciate the effort.”
“It’s pretty cool that you did this,” Jasmine says. She purses her lips. “Especially now that you’ve chosen to hang around better company.”
He raises his hands in defense. “I know, I’m glad I turned down the job,” he says. “You’re going to Tokyo, right?”
“Yep. You haven’t booked your flight yet?” she asks.
“Nah. It doesn’t really make sense to book it until we know for sure if Hallie is going or not,” he explains.
I’m in the same boat.
“Well, I’ll be watching from home,” Sara says.
“As long as you’re watching NBC, that’s fine by me,” Jasmine says. “Gotta keep those ratings up.”
“I’m jealous. Visiting Japan sounds amazing,” Sara says.
“Are you planning to stick around after the Games?” I ask Ryan.
Ryan runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, my plan is to travel around Asia.”
“Ooh, fun,” Sara says. “Where? I’ve always wanted to visit Thailand. Amazing food, gorgeous water, not crazy expensive compared to other destinations, you know?”
“Well, since I’ll be starting off in Tokyo, it makes sense to explore more of Japan first,” he says. “But it all really depends on what happens with Trials.”
“Fingers crossed,” Sara says.
Later, after Ryan moves on to chat with other people, we get another round of drinks. When they’re finished, Sara says she has to get going to her friend’s housewarming party. She invites Jasmine and me along. Jasmine, sorely in need of a real girls’ night out, gladly accepts, and so I do, too. I don’t want to put a damper on her night. We all say goodbye and thank Ryan for throwing the fund-raiser. Sara and Jasmine move ahead while I hang back.
“One sec, guys, I’ll meet you outside,” I tell Jasmine and Sara. Then, to Ryan, I add, “I just wanted to say thank you again for doing all of this. It really means so much to me that you care enough to bring your friends out for our cause.”
“It’s the least I could do, really,” he says sheepishly.
“How much money do you think you’ve raised so far?” I ask.
He scans the room. “Let’s say twenty people, an average of two drinks each, maybe…” He pauses to do the mental math. “Three hundred and fifty–ish?”
That pays for two therapy sessions, maybe three, tops. But I’m still grateful.
“That’s awesome,” I say—and I mean it.
“I’m really glad you came,” he says. “I’d completely understand if you didn’t want to, but it’s cool that you got a chance to see this.”
The emotions I’ve been feeling all day crest. All at once, I’m grateful and bittersweet and nostalgic for what we had together. I have to leave; I know if I stay any longer, I’ll only be keeping myself in a situation primed to make me miss him.
“I think the Uber’s coming,” I say. “Gotta go—have a great night.”
Before I can overthink it, I throw my arms around him in a quick hug. The wave of comfort I get from my body flush against his feels like a shock. It’s overwhelming.
“Good night!” he calls as I hurry toward the door.
I join Sara and Jasmine outside, and soon we’re on our way to the housewarming party. It’s a get-together at a condo in Coolidge Corner in Brookline with a sliding glass door that opens the terrace up to a pretty, starry night. Sara introduces me proudly to her friends, and they all go slack-jawed when they hear I’m possibly on my way to the Olympics. A lanky guy in a chambray button-down brings me plastic cups of beer—apparently, the real glasses haven’t even been unpacked yet—and shyly asks for my phone number at the end of the night. He’s so not my type that the request catches me off guard, and even though the prospect of dating someone new still feels too strange right now, I give it to him. Maybe what I need is a distraction that will take my mind off Ryan for good.