The Cards We Draw, The Ones We Play

Fire embers dance towards the midnight sky as the orange glow of the fire flickers shadow and light across his face. The face I had grown to love over the years. The face that will continue to be etched with memories and smile lines that stretch from the corners of his eyes, begging for more moments of shared laughter. I wonder if the lines in my face would give away the gnawing guilt and pain that ached my bones and the nausea that swelled in the pit of my stomach.

“Marshmallow?” Felix asks, drawing his half-burnt marshmallow from the fire, extending it towards me. I wring my wrists, out of comfort or anxiety, or perhaps old habits—it wasn’t worth my own debate. I smile. I’m good at that, in moments like these. Pretending everything was all okay, when in fact, I feared, it wasn’t. I take the marshmallow, letting its heat singe the tips of my fingers before filling my mouth. Couldn’t talk. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t.

Felix sits perched on the log across from me, the lower half of his body, engulfed by the fire, his eyes wandering, hoping and dreaming as they scanned the stars, envisioning a future we both wanted, but I feared I could not have.

I take a swig of my beer, and then another, and of course, another. Because at this point, what did it really matter? Conversations are easier with the lubrication of alcohol, right? Even if it’s one with the person you have spent almost every waking moment with. Felix laughs because he thinks I’m letting loose and he raises his drink in salute, before downing the rest of the liquor.

Beer swishing against glass. The crackle of firewood exploding under heat. The rushing river, desperate to reach the calm. An orchestra to our fourth-year anniversary. 

Felix hands me another marshmallow.

“You know,” Felix begins, his eyes flickering across the stars. What’s he searching for up there? “We’d probably get more marshmallows out of this if you were roasting them, too.”

I stifle a laugh. “Yeah, probably.” It’s all I can manage to say.

Felix glances at me from the corner of his eye fleetingly, his brows slowly drawing together before releasing again. He pops three marshmallows on the stick and rotates them over the fire.

“You okay?” Felix asks, the glance of concern returning.

I force a laugh. An eye-roll. He’s being silly!

“Yeah!” I say, trying to convince myself, too. “I’m just a little tired,” I say honestly now. And I was being honest about being tired. The chill of the night air against the nape of my neck felt colder now as it battles the heat of the fire on my face.

Felix finishes the last of the marshmallows after offering them to me, which I politely decline. I stand, brushing the debris from my pants and mustering what I thought could be a convincing smile.

“I’ll join you in a sec,” Felix calls after me as I make my way into our tent. I lay back against the gravel that stabs through the material and digs into my back as I watch Felix’s silhouette. The lantern that lays next to me burns a blinding white light and images of the hospital the afternoon before flashes through my mind. The drab white ceiling. The haunting blue sheets. The faint rhythmic beeping of machines counting me down to this moment. I can hear bark and stick crunch underneath the weight of Felix’s footsteps, the wind blowing pressingly against the material of the tent. I draw in a shaky breath and wipe away the tears that burn against my eyeline.

I bite the bottom of my lip, trying to string words in my mind in the best way possible. Tonight, out of all nights, simply wasn’t the best night for such news. But it was enough to chew me up from the inside and deteriorate all hope within me that I couldn’t possibly bite my tongue any longer.

In one swift movement, Felix puts out the fire and the shadow consumes him whole. He has disappeared. I flick the lantern off, allowing the darkness to engulf me, too. For a moment, laying here, watching my breath float in front of my face with every exhale, I truly feel alone.

I sense Felix’s presence emerge through the opening of the tent. He groans with each movement, deterioration catching up with our bodies already. Material and blanket swish underneath both our weights as we shift and writhe into place, and soon, I feel him at rest beside me. I shift my body over, facing upwards into the dark.

“Is everything okay?” Felix whispers between us. The sound of movement tells me he’s facing me.

“Yeah,” I breathe. 

“I know when you’re not.”

“Yeah,” I repeat again, slowly accepting defeat. Somehow, the darkness makes this easier.

“What’s going on?” Felix’s hand searches for mine and I’m tempted to withdraw, but for now, I let him take it. His hand is warm against the iciness of mine. I can feel the crevices in his palms, the calluses at the base of each finger, the love he reserves for me between them.

I let out a heavy sigh which eventually transforms into nervous laughter. I wipe it away with a free hand over my face. His hand squeezes mine in reassurance. I wish I had him there to do that yesterday. The haunting sounds of machine monitors resumes their echo in the back of my mind.

I turn to face him.

“I went to the hospital yesterday,” I whisper, the words fighting against the sound of wind and river around us.

Felix remains quiet. I know this game. I keep talking.

“There’s something wrong with me, Felix,” I admit, and I can feel the weight slowly lift off my shoulders, but instead, returning to fill the constant churn within my stomach.

“What’s wrong?” His voice wavers, the end of his words breaking off into silence.

“I’m sorry, Felix, I—”

“You what?”

“I’m so sorry.” Hot tears burn my cheeks now, and sniffles echo around us. I choke on my words, trying to find them in each shuddering breath, “I-I can’t—we can’t, I mean, you can but—”

“Elina.” Felix says sternly. His hand has tightened around mine, begging me to steady myself, and I can imagine the frown lines etching deeper into his face. My heart thrums loudly in my ears, harmonising with each chime of the machines. The stream crashes against the riverbeds. The wind whips at our tent. I inhale the heat of his breath.

“I can’t have children.” My heartbeat goes silent. The machines flatline. The walls go up and my breath remains hitched in my throat. Felix draws in a sharp breath, closing the space between us.

Then, he exhales. His body rotates, facing away from me and up to the ceiling of our tent. His hand loosens around mine, but it’s still there. I tug on it, urging him to say something, anything. I panic.

“I wouldn’t blame you, you know, if this is all too much. Because it does feel like a lot and I know you’ve always wanted kids, and I know we’ve always spoken about it, but I had this feeling, just this urge to go get checked and I went yesterday, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, because, honestly, I didn’t know how to tell you and—”

“Elina.”

I stop.

The air is still.

“Elina, it’s okay.” His voice is soft. Quiet. Gentle. And I wasn’t sure whether he was telling that to himself, too. Coming to terms with the same facts I was delivered only yesterday, wondering how the hell could we play this out.

“It’s okay,” Felix says again. His fingers tighten around mine, reminding me of his presence. He shifts again, the heat from his body returning to shelter me. He releases a soft laugh. “And here I thought you were dying on me.”

I didn’t have anything to say. Through the shuddering sobs and endless sniffling, those were all I could muster.

“We’ll figure things out,” Felix says, his voice softer and gentler than ever, but not failing to hide the shakiness in his voice. He draws me closer to him, body pressed against mine. Coddled, like a baby. He sniffles close to my ear, and a tear splashes against the side of my face. “There are always other options. We could always adopt.”

“You don’t have to do this,” I say barely a whisper. “You can go on to have a family…be with someone who can give you that. I can’t be that person.”

“You are my person, Elina. We can still have a family." Felix holds me closer, his arms wrapped tightly around my body as if in fear of letting me go. "It’ll just be a little different.”

“And you’re okay with that?” I ask gingerly.

“I’m okay with that. As long as I get to spend the rest of my days with you, I’m happy.”

The breeze whispers lullabies through the trees. The river trickles lightly in the distance.

The night will turn over to day.