Limits (9 page)

“Why? Your yeast trays, they aren’t done yet, right? You’re still checking them all the time. You have to finish those—”

“I’ve used up all my extensions, Genevieve. They’re going to send me back.” I wonder if now is a good time to kiss her. I want to. God, she looks gorgeous, her lips bright pink, her eyes flashing the way they do when she’s right on the cusp of solving a really complicated problem. The wind picks up, and I use it as an excuse to brush her hair away from her face. “I want you to know, I’m going to miss you.”

She’s not making eye contact with me. Her eyes dart back and forth and she bites her lips. She’s breathing heavy, and when she finally looks up at me, her eyebrows are furrowed low. “They can’t send you back if you’re married to a legal resident.”

“Uh, okay,” I laugh. “But that would mean I’d have to get married, Genevieve. You realize that’s kind of a big deal. I don’t even have a girlfriend.”

“Marry me, Adam.” Genevieve looks at me, her hands come up to either side of my face and grip it hard. “Marry me and be my tutor.”

Adam sits by me silently for a few minutes after my wild proposal. Then he pulls me close, kisses my temple as the ocean roars and crashes around us, and leads me to the car. The only question he asks is how to get to my house, and I answer in as few words as possible. What kind of idiot am I for
asking Adam to marry me
?

I’m clearly going insane. I shiver in the cool late night air as he idles in the driveway.

“You’re with someone.” He stares at the gauges on his dash like he’s attempting to memorize them. “Are you guys broken up? Is this some kind of crazy rebound thing?”

“With someone? What are you talking about?” My stomach knots and broils with nerves.

“The guy.” He looks up from the odometer, his mouth twisted in a scowl. “The beach bum surfer guy you were with at your brother’s party.”

“Deo.” As soon as I say his name, Adam gives a grunt of frustration.

“Yeah.
Deo
,” he says, mimicking the way I said his name.

The way-too-intimate way I said his name.

“Deo is
not
my boyfriend.” I let my hands slide back into the warm sleeves of Adam’s hoodie. “Deo is married.”

“Is there something going on?” Adam asks, not doing a very good job of hiding his
judgment.

“Seriously?” I feel my temper sputter just under my tongue. “I’d
never
get involved with a married man.”

“You guys just seemed pretty cozy that night. That’s all.”

That’s not all. He’s having a hard time getting the words out. He’s avoiding looking my way. And then it hits me, plain the scowl on his face. Adam Abramowitz is
jealous
.

I feel flattered. And so unexpectedly happy, it’s like all the stewing rage has evaporated into frothy laughter I can’t hold in.

So I let it out, and Adam glares.

“Deo was my childhood crush,” I admit.

It’s strange to have to talk about this. Everyone close to me has always known how much I obsessed over Deo. Even if they didn’t say a word about him to me, I got so many pitying looks when his engagement announcement went into the local paper. There was practically a family grief counseling session when his wedding invitation arrived. Marigold pressed a specialty set of broken-heart healing tea bags into my hand with this painfully pitying look when I stopped by the store to pick up oils for my mother during Deo and Whit’s honeymoon.

“But nothing ever happened?” Adam’s shocked voice brings me out of my reminiscence.

“No.” I shake my head and repeat it for emphasis. “Nope. Nothing. Never.”

Adam twists his mouth to the side and lowers his eyebrows. “Does Deo suffer from some kind of serious visual impairment?”

I giggle and shake my head. “20/20 vision, as far as I know.”

“Ah. So he’s just a raging idiot?” Adam pretends to wipe his brow with relief.

I poke his shoulder and he turns to look at me while I explain my theory. “Deo probably got sick of having his best friend’s little sister idolize him. He loves the chase, you know? He loves the adventure. That’s what Whit was for him, and still is. I was always right there, always safe and comfortable. Not his thing.”

“I should hate him. But I don’t.” Adam leans toward me, and I feel my heart skip and tumble in my chest.

“You don’t?” I say it more to say words, to fill this space between us. I don’t care about Deo or what Adam thinks of him.

“I don’t.” His lips slip into a smile. “He could have taken advantage of the fact that you liked him so much. But he never did. I admire that he didn’t do anything half-hearted. And that’s why I’m telling you ‘no.’”

“No?” The word plops out of my mouth like a rock into a glass smooth lake.

“I can’t admire Deo for having the guts to let you go when he knew he wasn’t good enough.”

I hate the way he’s looking at me, like I’m some precious little girl who can’t figure any of this big mess out.

“You’re giving Deo way too much credit.” I’m shocked at my own words. I’ve never felt anything but total respect for Deo, but it took hearing Adam tell me how smart Deo was for letting me go to finally figure something out. “You were right the first time. Deo was a raging idiot.”

“Genevieve—”

“Don’t,” I interrupt, sitting up straight and pushing the hood of his sweatshirt back. “Deo has zero ambition. He was perfectly happy to spend years of his life surfing and smoking weed. The reason he didn’t end up with me is because I never stood up and told him that he was wasting his life. I was so desperate for him to like me, I just worshipped him. Nobody wants to be worshipped.”

“I agree, but—”

“But nothing.” I’m on a roll now. I feel like there’s fire burning red hot through my veins, and I want to stoke the flames. “People need to challenge each other, Adam. They need to stand up and say, ‘You’re being an ass, and I care too much to let you keep doing it.’”

“You’re being an ass,” Adam says, his words a frosty bucket of water on my blaze. “And I care too much to let you keep doing it.” He frowns, and I frown back twice as hard.

“Marry me,” I challenge.

“I...can’t.” He smashes his palms against the steering wheel. “I just can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” I swallow hard and close my eyes. “Or don’t want to?”

My ego is bruised. My fire is nothing but smoke and soggy ash. I want to cry, I want to scream, I want to kiss him. Kiss him until he changes his mind or I strip him down and press my body to his trying to make him.

“Genevieve,” he says. And then he cups my face with his hand, his eyes burning with the kind of wild hunger I knew very well. I half expect him to say—

“You need to go inside now.”

Not that.

“Adam, what I said, what I meant—”

“Please.” He pulls his hand away, letting his fingers trail down my cheek with excruciating softness. “Go inside.”

I slide out of the car and rush into the house, closing the door softly and trying to hold the sobs at bay as I press my back to the door. The house is eerily quiet. I’d have to check the garage to be sure, but I can bet I have the place to myself.

I rush to my room and tug my skirt off, pulling a pair of jeans on instead. I tie my hair back, but I don’t have the heart to change out of Adam’s sweatshirt. I know it would make things more confusing, but I’ve never taken the easy way out of anything anyway. I rifle around for my keys and get in my car, going to the one person who will understand everything, who always understands everything.

Luckily, Marigold is a total night owl, just like me. Even though it’s late, her little house still glows with a warm golden light. When I knock at the door she opens it, takes one look at me, shoos Rocko to bed, leads me to the patio out back, and says, “Spill.”

“I want something. I want
someone
.” I pace back and forth on the plant-choked bricks in her little backyard oasis, catching scents of jasmine and lavender and mint depending on what flower or herb I brush by as I walk. I see her eyes, so sweet and heartbroken, and I shake my head. “Not Deo.”

She drops her head into her hands and half sighs, half laughs. “Thank the goddess! Oh, honey, you know I love that boy with my whole heart, but if you came here tonight to tell me how right you two were for each other again, I’m telling you—I’m a pacifist, but I might have knocked you upside the head.”

I break off a sprig of mint and chew the leaves, smiling at Marigold. “You couldn’t hurt a fly, Marigold.”

She tilts her head back and laughs. “Try me, why don’t you. If it would have helped straighten your head out, I could have made you see stars.”

“I think I
am
seeing them.” I plop down next to her. “And I don’t think the guy I’m with can admit that he’s seeing them too.”

She pinches her lips together before she talks to me. “Genevieve. I love you from the bottom of my heart. But this pattern isn’t any good. You need to be with a man who sees you as an equal.”

“Or a better?” I chew on another mint leaf, and Marigold tilts her head.

“I’m intrigued. Go on.” She leans back and waits.

“There’s a guy who I know, and I really respect him.” She nods, I take a deep breath. “He asked me to think about leaving my parents’ store.” Just saying those words out loud makes me feel thrilled and strange. I notice Marigold’s mouth hang open for a quick second before she remembers herself. “He asked me to consider what I’m majoring in. He always, without fail, pushes me to do more and better. It’s like he knows when I’m about to give up, and he always reaches out and pulls me back up to go another round.”

Marigold’s smile stretches wide across her face. “I like this. I like this entire description. But, sweetie, I’m a red-blooded woman. This boy can be sweet as pie and Ghandi deep. Just tell me he has hands to die for and eyes you can sink into?”

I hold my hands out wide. “Shoulders like
this
.” She closes her eyes and moan-sighs. “I can’t look at his hair without wanting to run my fingers through it. I can barely hold his hands, they’re so big. Like puppy-dog paw big. And sandpaper rough.”

“It’s like I can
feel
them,” she says, pressing her own hands to her cheeks.

“And? He has green eyes. Like sea glass.”

“You’re
killing
me.” She leans back on her hands and gazes at the stars, soaking in all these gorgeous details before she asks the big question. “But he’s not...?”

“He’s not open to what I want.”

“Which is?”

I quirk a smile her way. “Everything. And I want it now. Right now.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “I like this new Genevieve. I think you should be persistent. Go for Mr. Broad-as-Hell-Shoulders. Don’t let him go. And live up his expectations.”

“You think?” I feel that fire, the one that went soggy just a little while ago in Adam’s car, start to reignite.

“Sweetie, your life is now.
Now
. I think you’ve spent a lot of time waiting and watching and promising to get started as soon as...what? As soon as nothing! I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen you this on fire. Harness that. Grab on and ride it right out of this funk.”

“Yeah.” I’m caught up in the cyclone of Marigold’s words. “I will.”

“From what you just described to me, you found the partner who’s going to crack your life wide open and give you a jump-start to get moving.” She sits up and slaps a hand on my ass.

Hard.

“Ouch!” I rub my bottom. “Poor Deo! Your spankings must have been brutal.”

She winks at me. “I only
look
sweet.” Marigold wiggles her eyebrows. “That was meant to spur you on, sweetie! Go get what you want. Don’t you dare make the mistake of waiting around for what’s leftover. Every good thing is worth the fight. And a really good man? He’s worth a whole damn smack down.”

I lean over and drop a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you.”

“Thank
you
, sweetie.” She holds me close for a few heartbeats. “If I couldn’t have you as a daughter-in-law, I’m forever grateful to call you a friend.”

I tamper the lump in my throat and squeeze her hand, blotting my tears with the sleeve of Adam’s hoodie as I walk back to my car, buzzed with total determination to get exactly what I want.

The cheap Formica table top is cold and smooth under my palm. I want to press my face to it and dull the thumping in my head. The never-ending drum solo kept me awake all night, thinking about Adam...and what I’d said to him.

Or, literally, proposed.

              “Thanks for meeting me,” he says, sliding into the cracked booth. His dark hair is still shower damp and tousled. I think about what it would be like to wake up and watch Adam get ready to take a shower. Or, like every frisky newlywed couple in a Hollywood rom-com, maybe follow him into the bathroom and step into the hot spray. For a second, my dirty mind imagines the entire soapy, wet scenario, and I feel my cheeks—and other places—go warm. His voice brings me back from my totally inappropriate domestic fantasy and into the present. “I guess I could’ve picked something a little...nicer.”