Page 105 of The Wild Card
From a speaker somewhere, music starts to play, and the women begin grabbing gifts, which were hidden among the bookshelves, piling them up around Winnie, who’s now seated in Lynn Louise’s place.
Beside me, Lindy’s eyes are bright with unshed tears. “I hate crying,” she says through a smile. “Unless it’s happy tears. Then it’s not so bad.”
The door flies open as Winnie’s halfway through opening the gifts. The young woman who enters the library is out of breath as she brushes her long, dark hair from her face, scanning the room, then sprints for Winnie, who has already spotted her and has hopped down to meet her in an embrace that almost knocks the two of them down. Only Lindy, who got up without me even realizing, keeps them both steady with an arm around each of their waists.
This must be Val.
More people run up and offer hugs while I watch from my corner, knees pulled up to my chest, where a violent swirl of emotion riots. Just being here is special—it’s not lost on me that Kalli isn’t here, nor Kyoko, who works for James and seems close with Winnie. Lindy and Winnie brought me here, and no one blinked at me twice or made me feel like I don’t belong. They did all that they could to welcome me.
And yet …
I feel like an extra on the set. Part of the scene without really beinginit. I don’t really matter because I’m not integral to the main story. Other than Winnie, I’m the only one who didn’t know about this surprise bridal shower. And I’m the only one without a gift—even Val pulls a small box with a bow out of her crossbody bag.
I watch Winnie open gift after gift, joy and melancholy twining together inside of me, the emotion so thick and heady I can hardly breathe. Needing some kind of reassurance, I pull out my phone to text Collin.
Hey, I tap into the phone, feeling at a loss for words. Or like there were so many of them gathering, jammed up behind the tightness in my throat. When I can’t think of anything better, I hit send and expect the kind of immediate reply I’ve come to expect from Collin.
Instead, a little red error appears next to my message, telling me it can’t be sent.
I frown down at my phone, then look up to the tiny icons at the top.No service, it says. Which is weird, because I know Lindy was getting texts through the meeting. I assumed they were from Pat but realized after Val ran in that they were probably from her, sharing her ETA. There’s definitely reception in the library.
Succumbing to the universal fix-all, I turn the phone off, then turn it back on again. Still no service.
I get to my feet and make my way to the front doors, trying to catch Lindy’s eye so I can wave the phone at her as a way to explain why I’m leaving. But neither she nor Winnie notice me leaving. No one does.
I slip out of the library, alone. The door closes with a soft sigh, instantly dimming the sounds of revelry from inside.
By the time I walk back to the loft, any joy that had been fighting to survive has extinguished like a candle flame in the face of a gale-force wind. And when the Wi-Fi connects but I still have no phone service, I suddenly have a guess about what’s happened.
My father cut off my phone plan.
I’d forgotten that I’m still on the family plan. Or—Iwas. It shouldn’t matter, but somehow, this seems like an ominous sign, a portent of impending doom.
I’m nothing if not dramatic.
But this time, maybe it’s earned, because with the return of my Wi-Fi comes a host of notifications. No missed calls or texts from Collin, sadly. I could have used a bit of reassurance right now, the reminder that I matter to someone. Instead, I see a notification that I’ve been tagged in a video.
I should ignore it, the way I’ve ignored my social media all week. But somehow, I just know that this one is something I need to see.
Only, once I see the video of Collin, wearing the same shirt he wore when he left the loft earlier, locked in an embrace with a woman I instantly recognize as his ex, I wish I hadn’t seen it at all.
CHAPTER 24
Molly
When I wake up,there are no tiny dwarves with pickaxes in my head, but there is a dull ache behind my eyes and another one that feels like a hedge of sadness has grown up around my heart, thick and thorny.
Collin didn’t come back last night as he promised he would. When I got up, I could justsensethe emptiness of the apartment. But this marks the first time he’s not waiting for me in the kitchen with coffee, and when I peeked in through the open door of Collin’s bedroom, there’s only a neatly made bed. No sign or scent or sound of him.
He also hasn’t messaged me, but I’ve now confirmed through attempting to use various apps and services that I only have access to Wi-Fi. Thanks, Dad. Guess he’s decided to bring down the hammer on his runaway—his words—daughter. Which means I have no way of contacting Collin on his apparently superior iPhone. I don’t have his email. If he has social media accounts, they’re private and we didn’t connect.
Which leaves me wondering if he’s okay, wondering if he’s seen Liza’s video, and wondering what exactly happened between them.
I assume Collin is fine or someone would have come to the loft when they couldn’t reach me by phone. I also assume—or am choosing to believe—that Liza’s post, which made it seem like they’re back together, is some kind of fabrication. Or at least an exaggeration. I trust Collin. And I know how he feels about his ex. I also feel like posting a manipulative, untrue video is taken right from the playbook of a woman who would steal from her boyfriend’s company and falsely accuse him of sexual harassment.
Even if I weren’t sure, I’ve now watched the video dozens of times, zooming in and pausing it to look for clues. It’s only like three seconds of a hug. No context of before or after. For the first two seconds, Collin’s hands aren’t even touching Liza’s back but hovering. If I had to guess, it looks like she threw herself into his arms and he’s trying to figure out how to respond. I tell myself that at the end, when his handsdoland on her shoulders, he’s about to push her away.
It still sucks. And it hurts.
