Page 74 of Wild Card
I chuckle into the quiet room. I shouldn’t be this amused by her. Hell, she shouldn’t be cracking jokes like that. I kind of thought we both agreed we wouldn’t. And yet, here we are, unable to stop. After three days of darkness and destruction, teasing Gwen feels too good to turn away from.
Bash: You could always play with Clyde?
Gwen: Too far. Clyde is basically a cool, weird dad. And trust me, I’ve seen enough helping him post-op.
The mention ofdadhas me wondering about her backstory. Her life. I want to know so much more about her. I’ve never asked because it’s never felt like my business, and it always seemed like a bad recipe for growing far too close to her. So I’ve tuned out every mention of her dad and her family life.
Now doesn’t feel like the right time, either, so I deflect with a sad little dig about what has been irritating me since I walked out the front door.
Bash: Maybe Tripp will play with you?
Gwen: Oh, I bet he would.
My molars grind. I’ve instantly set myself on edge.
Bash: Well, problem solved then.
Gwen: No, Bash, not “problem solved.” I don’t want to play with Tripp. Plus, I sent him packing three days ago, which iswhat you really wanted to know, isn’t it? If you’d stuck around long enough to even say goodbye, you’d know that.
I bristle, propping myself up against the pillows. Then I peer around the empty room as though someone might be watching me and chaperoning this text conversation.
Bash: I wanted to give you guys space.
Gwen: Oh, fuck off. You’re being a petty little bitch. Just admit it.
I sigh. I am, but I’m not prepared to admit in writing that I’m jealous of my own son. That I felt a quick thrill of satisfaction knowing she turned him down—maybe even turned him downfor me.
Bash: He’s not good enough for you.
I regret sending it the moment it’s gone.Thatwas petty. Or maybe it wasn’t. At the very least, it’s true. If Gwen only remains a friend, I would stand by that assessment.
Even though she can’t end up with me, I like her enough to want it to be someone better than Tripp—or at least this current version of Tripp. He’s got a lot of growing up to do before he can even hope to handle a woman like Gwen.
Gwen: I know.
Bash: Good.
There. That was fatherly of me. I’ve steered our conversation into appropriate territory and feel almost good about it.
Until Gwen comes in with the last word.
Gwen: I’ve decided to be patient. Wait for someone better.
Frustrated by the thought of her dating anyone else, I put my phone away and flick on the TV. I haven’t been able to sleep much anyway.
Which is probably why it feels like I stay up all night thinkingI could be better.
On day five of the job, we seem to have reached some level of containment. Homes have been decimated, wildlife has been lost, and even though I should feel satisfied with our accomplishments, my heart is heavy.
So much loss.
And somehow the sentiment of “it could have been worse” rings hollow. Sure, it could have been worse, but for so many people, so many animals, this was the actual worst.
Yesterday, I watched a husband console his wife as she sobbed about losing the only photos she had of her deceased parents. It broke me. I went numb just to get through the rest of the day.
And when I got back to the hotel, I’d texted my mom just to say hi and tell her I love her. She retired and moved to Mexico five years ago to be near her sister and brother-in-law. I’m happy for her. She raised me all on her own, working long and hard to provide the best life she could for us.
I don’t know a single person who deserves a peaceful, warm retirement more than her. As her only child, I make a point of visiting her as much as I can—but in that moment, Imissedher. It made me realize we don’t have forever.
