Page 82 of Made Better Together

EDEN: Mom, can you talk?

She calls me within a minute, not bothering to text me back.

“Hey Eden, you caught me at a good time.” It’s clear she’s walking outside. “My morning appointment was rescheduled, so I’m free for an hour.” I hear the beeping of her car.

“Where are you going?”

“I promised your Aunt Celia I would water her plants while she’s in Phoenix for work, so I was going to squeeze that in.”

An image of Mom in her chic workwear, holding a watering can, brings a shake of my head. She’s the master juggler. No idea how she does it.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“So…I got two interview requests. UCSF and UPenn.”

“Oh my God! Eden, how incredible! I’m so proud of you.” Her car starts. “Though I’m not surprised.”

My stomach whirls more at her excitement. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Do you need help with how to handle the interviews? There are excellent resources with tips.”

“No, it’s not that.”

“I bet you already researched it all.” She sounds so confident in me. Ugh.

“Mom, it’s not that,” I repeat. “I’m…I don’t think I should keep going through the application process right now. I’m—I still think I want to go pro after college.”

“We’ve always knew that was a strong possibility. I thought you decided you were going to play both angles and defer medical school for a year once you’re admitted. See what you want to do from there.”

It’s what she recommended, and I had gone along, but… “It’s just—it feels disingenuous to keep going in the process at this point. If I’m playing in the NWSL, it’ll almost certainly be a few years until I start med school. My deferral will have expired, and I’ll have to reapply.”

“I know.” Her voice has softened.

“I’m…overwhelmed, Mom. The interviews are difficult to schedule with my plate already filled. It’s hard enough making sure I keep all As.”

She’s quiet for a few seconds before responding. “Give it the weekend, sweetie. It’s a big decision. I still think you should move down both paths for now.”

The thing is, Mom could do that and flourish. I’m hardwired differently. So I’m relieved when she continues, “But if you want to focus on soccer for the immediate future, you know I support you.”

The swirl in my chest slows, and I breathe easier. “Thanks…yeah, chewing on it over the weekend sounds good.”

“Love you. Call me if you want to chat about it more.”

We hang up, and a split second later, I’m collapsing on the bed, eyes closed. My head is screaming that the right thing to do is to pull the plug, give all my attention to soccer. But Mom’s arguments are logical, too.

After about five minutes of wallowing in unease, I don’t have it resolved. Let’s kick the can to Sunday, figure it out then. I promised her I’d give it the weekend, and I will. In the meantime, I’m going to park the issue.

Plus, I have my date with Connor tomorrow, finally. I’m not going to let this cast a dark cloud over it.

A knock comes at my bedroom door. “Hey.” It’s Bree. “You want to go to the dining hall?”

Perfect, she’ll distract me. Plus—food.

Except when we sit down with our breakfast sandwiches thirty minutes later, she brings the topic back to the forefront, inadvertently.

“So, I’m thinking about going pro,” she says, breathlessly.

Okay, universe. I hear your message.