With my plate full of pancakes balanced on my knees, my eyes stare intently at the dealer’s hands. The river is a Heart, just as I predicted, and I turn triumphantly to my companion, “I told you! A flush! I knew he would get a flush!”
He shrugs. “Yeah, but you only said that because you knew what the other guy had. That’s the beauty of poker on television. We know what everyone has.”
“Still”, I shrug in response, “I was right.” His nonchalance about poker, me, everything, annoys me and while balancing dishes on my forearm, I clumsily try and stand. He reaches for me and at first, I let him pull me onto the couch with him, but thinking better of it, disentangle myself and head into the kitchen.
He comes behind me while I wash away the remnants of our late night snack, muttering without really meaning it, that really this time he should clean up.
I shrug again without turning to face him.
Almost in awe, he says, very quietly, “I can’t believe you made me pancakes. You are just so nice to me.”
I shrug again, turn to face him and say without a whole lot of feeling or emotion, “I am a pretty nice person, Will. You know this. I like to do nice things for you.”
He nods and again says, very quietly, “I don’t deserve it.”
And part of me wells up in absolute frustration and screams in response, while simulataneously throwing a plate at his head, that no, he doesn’t deserve it, but he is lucky because until I find someone worthy of my devoted attention, he reaps the benefits of my late night cooking, my witty banter, my “hospitality” (how’s that for a euphenism)….but someday, it won’t be available to him and he will come to regret this exact moment when he didn’t take the opportunity, right now, at 2:30 a.m. standing in front of me in my kitchen, to declare me his.
And the significantly less dramatic side of me rolls her eyes at my dramatic side’s overreaction. That side of me knows that I will never yell at him, never give him an ultimatum, certainly never throw anything at him. I know what I have before me. I have yet again found someone who so loves hanging out with me that he will drive to see me in the middle of the night with only pancakes and poker as his incentive. I have found someone who when he holds me in his arms I feel safe and secure and like maybe everything is going to work out in a weird and unexpected way that I could never have planned. But all the while that I feel that, when I feel so happy and optimistic, there is that tiny part of me that knows it is never going to happen. That knows that these arms, while a source of comfort and bliss at odd hours of the night, will soon leave me wanting more than they can give.
So rather than yell and demand unreasonable committments which will be met with great resistance, I again shrug, kiss him gently on the cheek, and say with a mischevious glint in my eye to mask the true sadness I really do feel, “I consider this charity. Helping out the helpless. Pro bono, if you will.”
He smiles back at me, seemingly relieved that I managed to push back all the feelings that he knew his comment would bring to the surface. To him, it is just poker and pancakes.
