IR - Future Part 1

18 Months Later

It’s not a limousine, just a nice Mercedes. It still feels fancier than it needs to be.

Michelle is in the front passenger seat. You see bright lights ahead as she turns to look at you and Ingrid in the back. Ingrid is perfectly relaxed, peering out the window in fascination, more or less ignoring you. She’s never been to Chicago, and neither have you for that matter. She looks effortlessly lovely in her blue dress, which might be a bit boobier than she intended, but that can’t be changed now. And she is just built that way.

Then there’s you in your dark pantsuit, which you don’t love. Ingrid loves it.

“Stop doing that,” Michelle warns as you fidget with your wristwatch. You make a face at her. She has no appreciation for how nervous you are. She has a lot of experience, but she’s never been in your shoes at a time like this.

The car rolls to a stop and you have to face reality.

“I’ll see you inside. Smile,” Michelle orders as the driver opens your door. You climb out into a blinding deluge of photo flashes. You spare a smile and a wave as you circle the car to help Ingrid out. She doesn’t need help, but you just feel like you should do these types of things.

The red carpet yawns in front of you as though you’re going to the guillotine. You fix your smile in place, hold Ingrid’s hand, and make your way forward. Now that you’re out of the car, Ingrid shows some nerves. There’s color in her cheeks as she stands awkwardly beside you in front of the wall of sponsors as various publications get photos of you both.

“And one of just you, Riley,” the ESPN lady says, gesturing. You reluctantly let go of Ingrid’s hand and she steps away, beaming at you proudly. You clasp your hands behind your back, straighten up, and look into the camera.

Mercifully quickly, you’re in the crowded ballroom, which is cluttered with tables, where Michelle comes to your rescue. She leads you to your spot, but you can’t sit down with Ingrid just yet. You know so many of the people here.

You pause, gazing up at the vast banners decorating the room with more of the sponsors. FUTA stands out clearly as one of the main ones, and there’s Adella’s smirking face on the banner. That could’ve been you. This is classic you. Doubting everything.

But you have one very happy Swedish girlfriend at your side, who waits patiently as you exchange hugs and handshakes with the people you know. You are not the only one who can’t relax at a time like this.

Michelle rescues you again, and you feel better when you’re at your table next to Ingrid. You’re still nervous, but at least it’s not difficult to just sit in a chair. Finally, the MC is out. You sip gratefully when a server pours you some water. Your throat is dry.

“Welcome, everyone,” the MC announces as the lights dim and the music quiets down. “To the 2024 NWSL Draft!”