A concussion like yours is not to be trifled with, the doctor had said to me, and he had urgently advised me to stay in bed until mid-January.

He couldn't have known what these words would do to me.

He couldn't have known about Liam who had called me right after Christmas, telling me great things were afoot. Things that needed my presence. Things involving that promotion of mine and a possible move from the 12th to the 13th floor of our 22-floor building. So his boss—a divine member of the Pantheon a.k.a. the board—wanted to see me, to have the talk with me. And the talk had to take place before the end of the year because the semi-god would be on a sabbatical for six months starting January.

Neither could the doctor have known about Braces. The time to show her my phone number was running out.

And today was the last fucking day of the year. The last chance.

A chance? 

It did not even merit that name. It was more of a... tiny probability, further reduced by the fact that I had to drag myself out of bed and onto an earlier train than usual because the talk was scheduled for 9:40.

Bad luck had tricked me out of my multiple chances to stalk Braces in December.

Yesterday, I had spent all day in bed, trying to come to terms with my fate.

But then, Janice and Helen had visited me, with Helen wearing a resigned smile and Janice a curly Lego-blue hairdo.

Our daughter told me you love women with dyed hair, Helen had said, winking. So we thought this might cheer you up.

And sorry to inform you, she had added, but I won't start dyeing my own hair.

That had made me frown at Janice and ask her what else she had told her mother.

My daughter's crimson blush had looked cute against her blue hair. She shrugged defensively. I just told her you're superdad, she added, and that you can make things come true.

So here I was, my head spinning from its untimely concussion, approaching Charles/MGH, trying to make things come true.

My gaze wandered to the iPad screen. Battery: 94 percent. Good.

I then forced myself to relax my grip on the tablet, afraid I'd break it.

There just had to be a train on the track next to us. And she just had to be on it.

But there wasn't. And she wasn't.

As my passenger car came to a stop, the slot next to it was empty—there was no Braces in sight.

Beyond the deserted track, bland-faced commuters stared into nowhere, standing in front of a billboard advertising T-Mobile's services in magenta: Get Your Year's Deal Now. Time is Running Out.

I pushed my head against the window, peeking ahead, willing her train to appear with my mind.

It didn't.

The door next to me opened, admitting a small crowd and a tiny gust of fresh air.

Seconds passed, probabilities dwindled. T-Mobile was right—time was running out.

"Please stand back." The speakers warned.

Pneumatics hissed.

Grabbing my stuff, I lunged for the door and blocked its closing jaws with my bag.

With a reproachful beep, they opened again, and I escaped, stumbling out onto the deserted platform.

I'd just take the next subway. I'd blame MBTA for being a few minutes late for the meeting.

A few stolen minutes for a last chance.

My train rumbled away, leaving two parallel, empty tracks behind—and me with an onset of nausea on the platform next to them.

I could show her my phone number when she arrived.

But would she be able to read it? With the additional gap of a whole track separating us?

No, she wouldn't.

I checked the layout of the station. I had never exited here and didn't know it. It had two platforms and a pedestrian bridge connecting them.

I ran for its stairs.

Ascending the metal steps, I heard the rumble of the incoming Red Line, northbound.

Her line.

As I crossed the bridge, the train thundered beneath me, its brakes screeching.

The northbound came to a halt, and its doors opened. Taking two steps at a time, I flew down the stairs.

When I reached the platform, the passengers were already boarding. Panting now, I sprinted to the T-Mobile billboard and peeked into the car, craning my neck, trying to spot her. She'd be on the other side of the train, maybe even looking away from me—hoping to see me in my train.

I'd know her by her hair.

Probably.

But I didn't see her.

Dashing forth and back along the train, I checked out more compartments. Until the doors hissed close and the train left.

No Braces.

Once more, I stood alone on an empty platform.

I checked the time. I'd definitely be late for that meeting. And I'd be even later if I waited for another northbound. For another chance to find her.

It was a slim chance.

But it was so worth it.

I loosened my tie, feeling hot in December.

On the platform opposite, a man wearing a luminous yellow waistcoat was sweeping the concrete floor—slow, methodical, each stroke stirring up a little cloud of dust.

He was whistling. I knew the tune.

Always look on the bright side of life
Always look on the light side of life

If life seems jolly rotten

There's something you've forgotten

And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing

When you're feeling in the dumps
Don't be silly chumps
Just purse your lips and whistle, that's the thing

I exhaled noisily as the next southbound train rolled in. If I had gone back to my platform, I'd be able to board it now. I'd be only a little late, then.

So what.

I idled the time away, impatient for the next Red Line coming from downtown.

One by one, future Red Line passengers joined me in my waiting, on their way to their last workday of the year, or to wherever. New England Patriots hoodies seemed to be in fashion among them—was there a Patriots end-of-the-year-event somewhere?

The next pair of trains, one from the North and the other one from the South, rumbled into the station at the same time. When the one on my side stopped, I paced its windows, peeking in, looking for her face or a shock of dyed hair.

No Braces.

Not even a minute later, both trains moved away, leaving me alone on my platform.

I checked the time. It was 9:33.

These two had been our trains. The ones we had always been on, each time we had met.

And my meeting at work would start soon—without me.

Should I call Liam, apologize for being late?

Probably yes. Instead, though, I switched my phone into flight mode. Grim satisfaction seized me as I tapped the airplane icon.

Who had invented the idea of being available 24/7?

An idiot, that's who.

The tracks gleamed in the light of the sun. It shouldn't be so warm at the end of December.

I loosened some more buttons of my shirt and fingered the t-shirt underneath, stirring it for some air. The tee was blue, like the shirt, but a much darker shade, with a red emblem covering my chest. My daughter's birthday gift—the Superman t-shirt.

Superman and superdad, she had said. And a superdad could make things come true.

The air felt like spring, not like December. Like a beginning, and not like an end.

Was it time for a new start? Time to say goodbye to Braces? Time to embrace a new year without her?

Before I made a final decision, I'd give her one more chance. One more train.

The man in the yellow waistcoat was still sweeping the other platform with small, precise movements of his broom.

I counted his sweeps, reaching 139, a prime number, when I heard the next train from downtown.

Last chance to see—Braces.

I made sure to stand right in front of the T-Mobile billboard.

Time's running out, it still insisted.

Yes, it was. Now or never.

Turning my back to the magenta message, I watched the first cars pass. When the train stopped, I walked up to the closest window, peeking in.

A woman sat on the seat on the other side, right where Braces would sit. She had her face turned away from me. Wild, blonde curls crowned her head.

I knocked on the glass, awaking a frown on the face of the passenger closest to it.

Sorry, buddy, but this is important.

The woman still faced the scenery on her side.

I whacked my hand against the glass.

The passenger next to me showed me his middle finger.

The woman turned her head towards me.

A thin, long nose at a right angle to thin, pinched lips.

Not Braces.

Quickly, I checked the other windows, to the left and right, first running one way and then the other.

When the doors closed with a final hiss, I knew.

I had lost Braces for good.

The train accelerated and pulled out of Central/MGH.

This was it.

It was time to go back to my side of the station, to my side of life.

Supermen don't cry.

But superdads did—and they couldn't make all things come true.

At least, the sun was shining on that side.

I headed for the stairs. 

A/N: Music theme song: Goo Goo Dolls "Iris."