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.

“Oh, tonight? Tonight is just our meet-cute. It’s the night we’ll tell our kids about one day. Remember?”

They’re hard insecurities to shake, especially when they were planted so young, reinforced by the words I grew up hearing. But I’ve come to embrace these parts of myself. Most days, I believe they are some of my best qualities. Other days, I hear my dad’s voice in my head. And I hate it.

And I tell myself it’s just goodbye for now and not forever. Because the world works in mysterious ways, and it would never squander a meet-cute like ours.

“The fuck did you just say to her?” Bash’s voice is cold as ice from across the table.

I hate feeling like a victim. And yet here I am, playing one.

And I might not even recognize the moment for what it is.

I swallow roughly, feeling like I relate just a little too easily. It’s why I keep moving. If I leave first, no one can stop showing up for me. I don’t give them the chance to get tired of me the way my dad did.

Why did I automatically assume I wasn’t good enough for him to stay interested?

I care about him. I mean, I haven’t told him that. But I gave him my fucking kidney. What more does he want? A tattoo across my forehead?

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.

that I felt like I might actually be good at something. That I discovered passion.

“And those are tough wounds to heal. Especially for a man so paralyzed by all his own regrets.

“I guess I’m still grieving a relationship I’ll never have.

It’s the simple things. It’s building a life with someone.

It’s the realization that she’s everything I want.

It makes me feel bad that he hasn’t felt like he could tell me. It makes me question what type of friend I’ve been to him. I unload all my drama on him, but do I ever stop to listen?

You can be seen and heard in my house.

It’s not dismissive. It’s…bashful.

I hope you know what a big difference you make in people’s lives.”

“Nice of you to do this in front of everyone.” Gwen barks out a dry, disbelieving laugh as she steps away from him. “You’re the one who keeps showing up unannounced, putting me on the spot, and forcing the issue with other people around. Please, for both our sakes, just stop.”

But it’s more than that. It’s him knowing me. Knowing I don’t want roses. Or diamonds. I want this. Adventures. With him.

“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.

I hadn’t realized then what a special moment that was. I hadn’t realized that he didn’t create a lot of room in his life for laughter.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says. “No, but I wanted to.”