Wild Card

by Elsie Silver

For the ones who were told their dreams were too dreamy but who went on to make them come true anyway. And for my awful high school English teacher, Mr. C, who looked me in the eye at sixteen years old and told me I’d never be a good writer. Thanks for the motivation.

And that voice? It’s the furthest thing from girlish. That voice is all grown-up. It’s not giddy or overly bright. It’s all honey and spice, smooth with a hint of heat—borderline sensual without even trying.

Her face breaks into the most heartrending smile. And all it does is make me want to pay her more compliments.

This is me. I still want to be silly sometimes. I love to explore. I like to look at the glass as half-full. Hell, I will happily make lemonade. I’ve worked too hard in recent years at accepting and loving myself to let one random, grumpy guy in an airport make me second-guess who I am⁠—

This always happens to me. I meet someone who seems great, and then they slowly start to annoy me. They get attached more quickly than I do, and I end up feeling locked in, tied down, stuck.

“Easy, girl. Don’t eat too much.” Easy, girl? I pause, my brows furrowing as I stare down at the two bite-size pieces of food on the napkin in my hand, wondering if I misheard my “boyfriend.” Did he really just tell me not to eat too much? “The fuck did you just say to her?” Bash’s voice is cold as ice from across the table.

And for what it’s worth, when doomsday hits, he’s not invited to my bunker. But you are.”

You can take your bad energy elsewhere, Bash.” His head snaps up as Clyde chortles. “Bad energy?” I lift my chin and wave a hand over him. “Yes. It’s time for you and your fully blocked crown chakra to go.” Clyde nods. “Oh, you’re right. His crown chakra is fucked.” Bash glares at his friend. “Why are you pretending you know anything about the crown chakra?” “Gwen told me about the chakras yesterday. She said one has to do with enlightenment. And you are certainly not acting very enlightened.” I blink while Bash scowls. “Well, forgive me for not taking lessons in enlightenment from a guy who believes Tupac is still alive.”

“Only you could make giving me a kidney about yourself. Oh please, Clyde, let me give you a kidney so I can feel better about myself,” he teases in a whiny voice. I scoff. “You know what, maybe I should just let you die.” “At least then I wouldn’t have to spend all my free time with a guy who cries as he masturbates while thinking about his son’s ex-girlfriend.”

“Clyde, for fuck’s sake, I’m trying to give you an organ, and you’re sitting here shit-talking me to my face.” He smacks his lips. “Someone’s gotta do it. You’re more depressing than I am, even though I’m the one who’s dying. Surprised you’re not offering me both kidneys with how goddamn emo you’ve been lately.”

“I don’t want to be an old pervert like Bash, but I need to point out to you that our chests are very different.” I bite down on a laugh and just end up snorting.

I’m a sensitive gal. I’ve always felt things just a little more deeply.

West strides out of his kitchen with a shit-eating grin on his face and a kidney-shaped cake in his hands. He stops at the head of the table, right beneath the banner that reads We’re going to miss you, Daddy! “Bash, congratulations on finally finding your perfect match,” he announces to the dining room full of our friends. “None of us expected it to be Clyde, but sometimes the heart wants what the heart wants. And I, for one, could not be happier for you. Or him.”

“For example, right now my thoughts start to turn to what must you think of me? I was often told growing up that I’m too much⁠—” “Who the fuck told you that?” She doesn’t respond at all to my outburst even though all I want to know is who had enough nerve to say that to her face so I can set them straight. “And I allow myself to acknowledge that I am not every person’s cup of tea. Maybe I am more than they can handle. And that’s okay because I’m quite fond of myself and no one can take that away from me. I’m at peace with who I am, so what you think of me doesn’t matter.”

So much regret. Should have, could have, would have. Why didn’t I take his number? Why didn’t I try to find him? Why did I automatically assume I wasn’t good enough for him to stay interested?

“Quit gawking at his ass,” Clyde whispers, making me snap my gaze away. “I’m not. I’m looking at his back.” He giggles. This grizzled old man giggles. Like a little girl.

“Almost as impressive as the depth of my daddy issues and the uniform kink my upbringing sent me out into the world with.”

“Well, I think being nice has more to do with behaving in a way that’s driven by social expectations. Whereas being kind is behaving in a way that’s driven by a concern for other people’s well-being. And the two are not necessarily mutually exclusive. I’d be rather wary of someone who is nice but not kind.”

“It’s a miracle I’ve survived this many days post-surgery without someone propping me up with every pillow in this house.” I turn back slowly to face Bash, who clearly just can’t help himself. “Do you want me to come upstairs and get you settled as well? If you keep this attitude up, I can hold a pillow down over your face to make it stop.” Bash swallows roughly while continuing to glare at me but says nothing. “Careful,” Clyde interjects with a raspy cackle, “some people are into that kind of shit.”

“Careful what you wish for, Gwen. I’ve got a laundry list of ways I’d like to watch you work for it, and none of them involve poker.”

“It’s not complicated. You look at her like she hung the moon, and she’s the only woman in the world who finds your shitty attitude to be endearing.”

“Coming right up. What my girl wants, she gets.”

“Wow,” I sigh. Because no other word seems to do this view justice. “This is beautiful.” “Yeah. It is,” Bash agrees. But when I turn back to face him, he’s not looking out the window. He’s looking at me.

“Lose the fucking jeans, Gwen,” I bite out, trying to hang on to some shred of control. “Or what?” she taunts, twisting her grip again and giving me her best bratty look. “Or I’m going to blow all over your hand instead of in your tight little cunt.”

“You could have come up with some other excuse. Like… Clyde invited everyone over for a group taint-tanning session?”

“You’re a fucking wild card. Unpredictable and never what I expect. You scare the hell out of me every damn day. But today more than any of them. Because I thought I lost you.” His voice cracks. So does my heart. “And I love you, and I hadn’t even gotten the chance to tell you.”

“Ma’am, do you have marijuana plants in the back of your truck?” Bash pulls back ever so slightly, our watery eyes meeting tenderly as I shrug. “Sorry, I couldn’t leave Maya’s babies behind.” Bash pulls me in again now, a tearful chuckle getting lost in the strands of my hair. “Like I said, a fucking wild card.”

“This is too much.” I cup her jaw and smile down at her. My wild card. My tequila. My everything. “Nah, with you, it’s never enough,” I