I let out a shaky breath, standing up and heading toward the bathroom. “As ready as I can be at this point.”
“Well, what matters is that you give it hell. Don’t let anything or anyone run you off a table. Keep your head on straight and evaluate every hand before making a move. Learn the players at your table and learn their moves, figure out their tells. You know how to do it. I know you’ll be fine. Odds are you won’t even be at the same table as Skyler today, but on the off chance you are, you know her best. Show her you came to play.”
Starting the shower, I pull off my shirt and throw it on the floor, putting my phone on speaker and leaning against the bathroom counter. I’m staring at myself, but I don’t see the same man who stared back at me just two short months ago. Everything about me, about my life, has changed. “I want this, Dad,” I say, the steam from the shower starting to gather. “I want to do this for you. I know we don’t talk about this kind of emotional shit but I love you, Dad.” I choke on that last bit, tearing my eyes away from the mirror long enough to get myself under control. “And I know this is important to you. I just want you to know that it’s important to me, too, because you’re important to me. We don’t always see eye to eye on things and maybe I didn’t turn out the way you wanted me to, but –”
“Kip, stop,” he says, his voice surprisingly loud. “Damn it, you would think you’re the piece of shit father in this scenario.” He takes a few moments before continuing. “You never disappointed me, Son. You are everything I could have asked for in a kid and I’m sorry I ever made you feel otherwise. I pushed you, yes, and maybe sometimes too hard, but that’s the only way I knew how to. And I know you made a lot of sacrifices to do this for me. Please don’t think I don’t know that.” My mind immediately flicks to Skyler and I wince. “I love you, Oliver Kip Jackson. And whether you win this tournament or not, that will still be true. And when I’m gone…” He pauses and tears threaten to spill from my eyes, stinging and blurring the already foggy version of my mirror self as a tight pain radiates through my chest. “You are going to tell yourself every day that your dad loved you. And he was so, so damn proud of you.”
I nod even though he can’t see me because I need to move, I need to do something to hold it together. “I’ll call you when things are squared away,” I say, smiling against the fact that I really shouldn’t be right now. But I feel Dad smile on the other end, too.
“Carry on, soldier.”
“I love you, Dad.”
“I love you, Son.”
“Dad?” I say quickly, hoping I catch him.
“Yes, Son?”
I pause, not sure if I’m ready to tell him, but I know I need to. I want him to understand what I’m doing for him, how much he means to me. “I’m in love with Skyler.”
There’s a short pause on his end, but then he clears his throat. “I know, Son. I’ve known for a while.”
Swallowing, I nod again. “Okay.”
“Do you still want to do this?”
That’s a fucking question if I’ve ever heard one.
No.
No I don’t want to do this. But then again, yes, for him – I do. I know how much this meant to him before he became ill, how much it still does now. “Yes. I want to do it for you, Dad.”
He’s quiet for a moment, but finally speaks again. “When this is over, make her understand. If she loves you like you do her, she will let you explain.”
“Okay, Dad,” I say, still nodding.
“Okay. Good luck today.”
Ending the call, I throw myself into the shower without even taking off the rest of my clothes and turn the water up as much as I can stand, letting it scald my skin and turn it red with anger because that’s what I feel. I’m sad and I’m hurt and I’m fucking angry. My dad doesn’t deserve to go through this shit and it kills me that he has to. And I already did explain everything to Skyler, but I don’t know if it’s enough. I don’t know if anything I ever say or do after this tournament will ever be enough.
Five months ago, my dreams were so simple. Go to UCLA, intern with one of the top television networks, write for an amazing show, graduate, and one day write shows of my own. It was so easy, then. I had a clear cut, shiny view of life. Now, I’m looking through a distorted kaleidoscope, trying desperately to make out the bigger picture that all these damn jagged pieces somehow form.
Sighing, I focus on my breaths until I’m breathing somewhat normally. I have to rein it in.
Focus, Kip. Focus.
It’s day one of the tournament, and as much as I want to dwell on what my dreams mean to me now, they’ll have to wait. It’s the moment I’ve prepped for and I can’t screw this up. Game face on, no time for mistakes. All or nothing.
And I’m ready to give my all.
There’s something about a poker tournament, or just a poker game, really, that gets my blood pumping. It’s so fucking exciting. You sit down at your first table and at first, everything is slow, but the next thing you know you’re three tables down and wondering how that many hours flew by so quickly. The smoke clouds your vision, the lights and bells of the casino ring in your ears, and yet you’re completely alone – completely zeroed in.
This is a freezeout style tournament, which means no re-buys, no second chances – if you get knocked out, you’re out. Somehow, I’ve made it through the first day, and I feel like I should drop to my knees and pray for tomorrow because today was fucking tough. There were a few times where I was barely holding on and I had to make some risky bluffs to pull it back, but I hung in. And as much as I’m excited to be through to day two, I almost wish someone would have put me out of my misery today.
Almost.
The bigger part of me wants to win this. The whole thing, no matter what – or who – gets in my way.
I think it’s hard to wrap your mind around someone dying. How is anyone supposed to actually grasp that? My father is dying, though, whether I can truly face it or not. Maybe this is so important for me because I’m not sure what else to do to show him how much he means to me, how much he’s influenced the man I am now. Funny, two months ago I was bitching and moaning about his game, blowing him off every second I got and blaming him for trying to live his dream through me. But somehow, I feel like I’ve aged years in the past two months. I’m a completely different person – older, more mature, less sheltered from the reality of life and what it means. I think I get it now. The way I feel about screenwriting, about going to California – that’s how my dad felt, feels, about poker.
No matter what it takes, I’m going to win this. For him.
I’ve seen Skyler a few times throughout the day, mostly during our very short breaks between tables. The gods must have smiled down on me because we somehow managed to not get the same table. Today is a piece of cake for her, I’m sure. I remember listening to her tell me about how day one is all about playing aggressively and getting the weaklings out of the way. Of course, with random table assignments, the most important thing is recognizing who’s at the table with you – are they a pro, a fish, or somewhere in-between? Once you figure that out, she told me, you align your strategy. Day one is easy, she had said. But day two? It’s a bitch.
There are only two tables still left playing when I cash my chips in for the day and they write down my starting amount for tomorrow. I’ve racked up a pretty good starting point to head into day two, so hopefully that will help in the morning. Glancing up at the table assignment screen, I see that one of the remaining tables is Skyler’s. Because apparently I love to be tortured, I make my way over to the viewing area and watch her play from afar. She’s dressed in a big black hoodie, classic Skyler poker attire, and she’s got her head thrown back in laughter – which means she’s probably targeting a fish at her table. She knows how to confuse the daylights out of unseasoned players. They can’t figure out if she’s flirting, bluffing, if she’s a little bit crazy or maybe a mixture of the three.