Page 23 of The Wild Card
While waiting for my drink, I sit at a table across from an exposed brick wall and try to catch up on comments and emails. While I’ve taken a few days’ break from social media, it hasnottaken a break from me. The sheer number of notifications has me wanting to throw my phone out into traffic.
Thankfully, I prepped some videos before the trip so I could just enjoy my time in Texas rather than feeling like I had to create new content constantly. I’ve recorded a lot while I’ve been here, but only what I felt like capturing, not with any kind of strategy in mind. For once, I wanted to just enjoy living my life without thinking what my voiceover should say or what hashtags to use.
I publish one of my drafts now, and the flood of responses is instantaneous. People love being the first to comment on videos.
Typically, I get a little rush of pleasure seeing the likes and comments and shares rack up, but today, every notification feels like another brick being loaded on my back. This has started tobring pressure, not pleasure. I only have a few more drafts left before I’ll have to actually film fresh content.
Why does this suddenly sound so … unappealing?
The best and fastest way to replenish my sad bank account is to create more social media content. At least, until I find out when I’ll officially start working and getting paid by Brightmark.
The little break I’ve taken, posting just once a day from content I created while back in Kansas, has been refreshing. But if I want to be more independent, I need to start by getting my finances in order. And that starts by getting back to making videos. Even if that idea sounds almost as bad as being back under my dad’s thumb.
Until I took this little break, I hadn’t realized how much social media rules my life. I thought of it as freeing because of the money, but now … I’ve realized the cost for financial freedom has been my actual freedom. If I want to keep making money, I have to keep running on the hamster wheel of content creation.
Stepping off the wheel has been refreshing. And enlightening. But if I don’t start actually creating new content and engaging with comments and my followers, how long until I lose traction? Social media can be pretty unforgiving.
Which is yet another reason I need this job. So I can walk away.
“One croissant breakfast sandwich and a skinny caramel latte,” the barista says, setting a plate and a ceramic mug on the table in front of me.
I happily turn off my phone without responding to a single comment. “Thank you.”
I shouldn’t be hungry after the lunch I had not too long ago. But I was too keyed up to do much more than pick at my food. It takes a lot of restraint not to shovel the croissant directly into my mouth, but I choose to be a lady with some manners.
Squinting down at the latte, I try to decipher the foam art. It looks like she attempted to make some kind of design, but I can’t for the life of me identify what it is.
“Sorry,” the barista says with a grimace. “It was supposed to be a heart. I’m still mastering this part. Foam art is harder than it looks. I figured I’d focus first on making sure things taste good.”
“Definitely the priority,” I say, tilting my head. “I can kind of see a heart. Or maybe a gun?”
She laughs. “Actually, you’re right. It does look like a gun.”
“Perfect for Texas,” I say easily.
“That’s a fair point.”
“Unless it’s a stereotype?”
“I’d say it’s fairly accurate, but I’m a Texas transplant,” she says. “I just moved here a few months ago.”
“Me too!” I say. “I’m Molly.” I hold out my hand and she gives me a firm shake.
“Kalli. So, when did you move here?”
“I guess you could say I’m still in the process of moving? Maybe.” I shrug. “It’s kind of a long story, and this happens to be the murky middle. How do you like living in Texas?”
We chat for a few minutes about the Texas vibe. The stereotype is that everything is bigger here, and it often holds true. Every state I’ve been to has its own culture, but Texas makes theirs a bit harder to ignore. I notice new things every time I’ve come to visit Chase. Like how so few people honk their horns when driving—even when they should. Instead, half the time someone does something dumb, they’ll just wave at the other driver, who often waves right back.
Oh, and if you actually do shout “The stars at night are big and bright” in a bar, people really will absolutely clap five times and sing “Deep in the heart of Texas.” Yes, I tried it once, much to Chase’s embarrassment.
I attended one baseball game with Harper and Chase, and people shoutedStars!during the National Anthem whenever the singer sang the word. Apparently, it’s a Texas hockey thing? I didn’t even know there were hockey teams here.
By all counts, coming to Texas is, for me, a little like visiting a different planet. One with great food, friendly people, and the occasional armadillo carcass by the side of the road.
“Sheet Cake is its own little pocket of Texas, complete with small-town quirks and surprises,” Kalli says. “The Grahams have had a massive impact. I mean, look at this place.” She spreads her arms wide, sounding awed as she looks around the shop. “A few months ago, this was a dream in my head and a dilapidated building.”
“Wait—this place is yours?”
