We reach the table, prompting a flurry of introductions. Coach Taylor’s husband is named Matt. He works in real estate, he tells me. Coach Jackson’s husband, Louis, is a journalist. He’s also written some short stories for theNew Yorker, Coach Jackson brags, obviously proud of her partner. I wind up seated on Louis’s other side, so I mention that my mom is a writer. He’s heard of her books, he tells me, then asks a series of questions about her work.
Answers come easily, until he asks when her next novel is releasing.
“Did you see the review ofBridge Through Londonin theNew Yorker, Louis?” Otto asks, interrupting.
Louis brightens. “I did! I thought…”
I tune the rest of Louis’s reply out, glancing down at the dinner that the waiters delivered. I’ve barely eaten, nerves about my speech occupying most of the space in my stomach, but I take a small bite now as an excuse to opt out of the conversation for a moment.
It’s going to be harder to say goodbye to Otto this time, I realize. I didn’t think that would be possible. I was soresolved when he arrived to keep the armor around my heart impenetrable, and he drilled through the safe anyway.
It’s not just the physical awareness or the draw to be close to him. It’s him being defensive about my career. Him knowing that my mom’s next book would be a difficult topic for me to discuss. All of those add up to him knowing me in a way few people—maybenopeople—do. And I can’t write the past few months off as young love or Olympic excitement or naivete, the way I attempted to forget Paris.
After the dinner plates are cleared away, the speeches begin.
I play with the napkin on my lap as a variety of important people I’ve never heard of speak about the importance of education and athletics, about Boston’s sports legacy and always striving to achieve more. Brady’s speech is brief and charming, highlighting the work done by EmpowerEd. Photos of him tossing a football with little kids scroll on the screen behind him, but I am barely paying attention.
Finally, Eloise Knight steps onstage. She introduces herself, sharing the short history of the Siege organization and mapping out all that she hopes to see ahead. She ends with, “And here tonight to make an exciting announcement about EmpowerEd and Boston Sports’ partnership to support and advance girls and women in sports is Siege player and Boston native…Claire Caldwell!”
Polite applause scatters throughout the room as I stand, taking small steps away from the table so that I don’t step on the hem of my dress. Cassidy was thrilled when I asked her to help me pick out an outfit for this event. I love the dress I wound up wearing, green and Grecian-inspired, but I’m not used to wearing a gown or heels. Falling on my face isn’t the first impression I’m aiming for.
I weave around the table in front of ours, then take the steps that lead to the platform that’s been set up with a lectern.
Eloise gives me a hug when I reach her, whispering, “You’ll be great,” before heading off the stage.
I know she meant to be reassuring, but it only mounts my anxiety. I hate letting people down. Hate feeling like I didn’t do my part.
I adjust the microphone, tilting it up to accommodate for being taller than Eloise is. She’s reached our table, but I don’t watch her sit down. My gaze slides left, focusing on one face in this ballroom full of strangers.
He’s already looking at me.
“Good evening, everyone. I fell in love with soccer when I was five years old. I scored twice in my first game—once in the wrong goal—and it was the highlight of my week. I couldn’t wait until the following Saturday, so I could do it all over again. My parents had to buy a second jersey because I wore the original so often that holes started forming in the fabric. As I got older, everything else in my life changed. Relationships with family, friends, and school evolved, but soccer always remained a constant. It shaped me and challenged me. Gave me purpose and gave me confidence and became such a central piece of me that it really wasn’t until I sat down to try to write what I wanted to say tonight that I realized the full extent of its influence.”
I suck in a deep breath, releasing some of the nerves with my exhale. Some confidence seeps in. So far, so good. The audience is attentive, listening raptly.
“It’s an honor to be here tonight, to announce EmpowerEd’s new scholarship, Game Changers, aimed at expanding access and encouraging a new generation of women in sports. I’ve been lucky enough to have access to incredible opportunities over the years—coaches who believed in me, teammates who lifted me up, family who cheered me on. Their encouragement was essential, and so were the role models I looked up to.
“This scholarship will not only inspire female athletes with the drive and the potential to take their athleticism to the next level; it will ensure they have the financial means to get there. It won’t only support individuals; it will forge an important path. It will provide opportunities where they may not have existed before, empower girls and women to believe in themselves, to chase their dreams, and to know that their potential is limitless. I am so proud to see these organizations, to see this city, take steps toward supporting that mission.
“Thank you to all of you for your generosity, for your belief in women’s sports, and for your commitment to making a difference. Together, we can inspire future champions.”
I smile as the crowd applauds, relief streaming through me as I carefully retrace my steps off the stage.
My whole table is standing and clapping when I return. My cheeks feel as though they’re radiating heat, and the sweat from my palms has dampened the note cards I wrote my speech on.
I meet his gaze again as I reach my chair.
Otto nods.
This time, I nod back.
41
OTTO
“Icould come out of retirement if you want to practice some shots.”
I glance over my shoulder at Nicole, who has a stack of cones tucked under one arm. Practice—my final practice with the Siege—ended a little while ago. We leave tomorrow for Miami. When we return, I won’t be part of the Siege any longer.
