by Marcelo, Tif
“Speaking of a big head, are you down to give Tammy a run for her money?” he asked.
She peered at him then. His voice had taken a mischievous tone. “I have no idea what you’re getting at.”
“How about a recreation of our first dance?”
It took a few seconds to piece together what he was implying. “No. Noooo.”
“Sure?” He took both of Geneva’s hands into his. “You were pretty arrogant when we were paired up. God, we practiced it for forever. And at the party . . .”
“The party was magnificent. The decor, the music, the food. Your sister’s debut was perfect. But me, arrogant?”
“You literally strutted when the instructor put us front and center of the group for the dance program.”
“No, I did not!” Geneva gasped. Had she been that rude?
“Yes, you did.”
“Can you guys face the horizon?” Tammy called from far away.
“We’re running out of time, Gen. C’mon, you know you wanna.”
She and Brandon turned toward the water, holding hands. He was daring her, and when she glanced at his mischievous profile, everything about that night came into full photographic memory.
It was Beatrice’s debut, her Filipino, grand wedding-scale eighteenth birthday, and Geneva was one of eighteen of her girlfriends who’d each carried a candle to the center table, all dressed in various versions of a taffeta navy-blue dress. They’d each been partnered with someone—and she’d been partnered with Brandon. Stuck with Brandon was what she’d thought at the time, since he was that much younger.
But he’d become the best dancing partner, in the traditional waltz, the cha-cha, and the tango, and that was before the DJ had taken over the music. Brandon had rhythm.
“I haven’t ballroom danced in forever,” she said.
“Don’t worry; I’ll lead.”
Brandon had led back then too. While all the other guys had noodle arms, Brandon, in his quiet way, had taken charge. He’d made her, for a moment, feel like she could rest.
Geneva looked up at the sky and envisioned the steps, the three-count move of the waltz. Then, as if he read her mind, Brandon spun her out, then tugged her back into position. And with a gesture of his head, he pushed off to the first step.
With his cheesy smile, she was unable to contain her own joy. Did she imagine she was in the movie Step Up? For a moment, yes she did.
Ballroom dancing was an art of cooperation. It was the combination of trusting your partner’s strength and mirroring it. It had been a joke when they first were learning how to waltz; they had been a bunch of teenagers in a dance class, joking about succumbing and following and how the man supposedly led.
But she’d learned the nuances: a weak partner could cause the dance to fall apart. A stubborn partner’s miscommunication could cause errors.
Geneva would not allow them to err in front of the camera. With a straight back she danced to the sound of the water, her internal metronome, and Brandon’s lead.
Slowly, her embarrassment fell away. Her spotlight attention focused on their movements, on the push-and-pull relationship that had started when they were eighteen and sixteen. On a bond that continued to this day. A bond of teamwork, connection, friendship, and love.
Love, because that was what she felt for Brandon at the heart of it, and respect.
It was what led her back to him, despite her best efforts to stay away.
Someone clapped, bringing Geneva back to the present. She was tipped back into a dip, with Brandon’s handsome face above hers. Except he was looking off to the side.
At Chris and Beatrice, Chet, and Sal.
Geneva swallowed down her lingering giddiness. With a swift pull she was back up straight; she fixed her clothing.
Next to her, Brandon bowed, proud of himself.
But all Geneva could see was Beatrice’s curious expression.
A video call from Nita took Geneva out of the group that formed after the photo shoot. It had been ten minutes since Tammy had passed her camera around to show off the dozens of photos and a long string of video.
It had been ten minutes of awkwardness and strange emotions.
“You have perfect timing,” she said to Nita.
“I aim to please.” Nita shuffled the papers in front of her. “I’ve got a couple of things to go over.”
“Go ahead.”
“First thing: For Helena’s B and B, I received the list of furniture items confirmed for availability. They’ll ship in the next few days.”
“Great.”
“Second, the CEO of Foster’s Hotel Group prefers an in-person versus video-chat conversation and sent over their availability. They made it clear that they’re very interested, and they’re eager for you to be part of the team.”
“Sounds good. I’ll take a look at my calendar today.” In front of her, Chris, Chet, and Sal climbed into their golf carts, Brandon into his. He turned and waved. She returned the greeting, and with a smile watched as he left the area.
A flood of warmth covered her from head to toe. That photo shoot had been comfortable and romantic and deep all at once. He’d calmed her down, encouraged her, made her laugh. With him, she had no problem giving up more of herself, or more of her control, even if it was for just a set of photos.
They had another shoot planned the next morning, this time with them frolicking in the waves. Would they need to be in swimsuits? Would she be able to keep herself from ogling him?
But all her thoughts promptly fell by the wayside when she noticed everyone had left except for Beatrice, who was sitting in her cart with the phone against her ear.
“Geneeeeva,” Nita said.
“Yes, I’m still here. Sorry.”
“Foster’s Hotel Group has a stipulation regarding your arrival time.”
“All right.” She clicked onto her iPad calendar app.
“You’ll need to leave four days from now.”
Her Apple Pencil hovered over the screen. “Whoa. Why?”
“The CEO is heading overseas and won’t be returning for about a month, around the time when they would want to begin work.”
“This would rush me through Helena’s B and B.”
“Yep.”
Geneva blew out a breath and leaned back against the seat of the golf cart. In her head, the days clashed along with her priorities, her wants and needs. If she took this interview with Foster’s, that would mean she only had four days left on property. Four days to get everything done on these houses. Four days of being next to the salt water, and being with people she loved. Four days to be with Brandon, who, despite their back-and-forth, made her happy.
Leaving Heart Resort early was also a definitive decision . . . to not take Beatrice’s offer. And not taking Beatrice’s offer meant saying no to a new opportunity to design for herself.
Herself.
The more Geneva thought about the possibility to come up with original design, to perhaps be the provider of inspiration rather than the one executing it, the more it tempted her. But could she give her business up? There were also other repercussions, like letting go of Nita.
No, you can rehire Nita for Beachy.
“You don’t look excited. I thought you’d be jumping at the chance.” Nita interrupted her train of thought.
She shook her head to wake herself. What was she thinking? Foster’s was a chain. She altered her expression. “Foster’s Group is playing hardball with the timeline.”
“You know the big dogs always do. In looking at the calendar, you can adjust your week break in between the resort and Helena’s B and B, and that will give you enough time to transfer to Foster’s Group.”
Geneva nodded, but despite her best efforts to be motivated by this challenge, the thought of that alone made her bones weary. “One to another, and another.”
“You’ve done it before.”
Yes, she’d done it before. And successfully. But right then, looking at the water, and then
at her best friend waiting for her, it felt less like an opportunity and more like she was being cornered.
“Geneva? This doesn’t sound like you. By now you would have plugged everything in your calendar.” Nita placed the papers down and brought the phone closer. “Hey. Tell me.”
“It’s nothing.”
She crossed her arms. “I don’t believe you, and I’m not going to schedule your flight until you tell me what’s up.”
“Hate to break it to you, but I can schedule my own flight.”
“Ah, but if there’s one thing I know about you, Ms. ‘I Don’t Know My Frequent Flyer Number,’ it’s that you hate administrative details. You wouldn’t last ten minutes doing research for rates—it’s why you hired me in the first place.”
Geneva sighed. Audibly. Loudly.
On the other end, Nita imitated her.
Geneva lowered her voice. “All right, it’s just that . . . I’ve been feeling . . . out of sorts.”
Nita leaned into the screen and whispered in turn, “But I thought you were loving it there.”
Was it love? Or was it just different? Being at the beach, her first time designing tiny homes, designing with antiques, a spark of something with Brandon, and a partnership offer. “Being out here is making me wonder if I’m simply on a hamster wheel.”
“Not a wheel. It’s called a career, a job, a business. Must I remind you that Foster’s Group is the opportunity you’ve been waiting for? Must I repeat your words? Nothing stands in the way of Harris Interiors.”
What Geneva could only describe as heartburn swirled in her chest. Because Nita was right. Foster’s was the epitome of her next step. Working this project would open up more opportunities.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” Nita asked.
Geneva smiled at this. “You know most everything about me.”
A pensive smile appeared on her face. “Okay then. Does this have anything to do with the guy in the photos?” Nita waved the words away. “Let’s put a pin on that for a second and let me say on the record that you have appeared on our social media probably four times the last year; yet, in six days you appeared on Heart Resort’s social media eight times. Does all of this—this entire change of heart—have anything to do with that guy?”
“Brandon Puso.”
“Even more interesting. A Puso.”
Geneva thought about it, remembering the first day she’d arrived at the resort. How she’d felt her entire body exhale, and that was before she’d known Brandon was around. “No, not in that way. It’s just that I am, for lack of a better word, tired.” She winced at her words. Saying it felt like she was admitting defeat, especially when she was surrounded by people—Nita, the Pusos, the Heart Resort staff, even the retailers and vendors she dealt with—who hustled. Who was she to be tired, when everyone was working? She avoided Nita’s eyes.
Nita leaned back in her chair. “Hey, Geneva, look at me.”
Geneva dragged her eyes to the screen.
“I know it took a lot to say that, and I commend you for it.”
“I feel horrible.”
“You shouldn’t—”
“It’s not like anyone is holding me to some standard. I work for myself.”
“And yet, we are hardest on ourselves. You notice that I said ‘we,’ because you’re not alone. You have to be a little type A to be an entrepreneur, a little bit of a hustler and a workaholic. It’s huge to admit when you want to rest. What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know.”
She slapped the desk, lightly. “This is what I’m going to do, because I’m an amazing assistant. I’ll set the flight in four days. Like you said, Foster’s Group is negotiating. It’s in your pocket to do what you want with it. But if I don’t set the flight and you end up wanting to go, then it will be a bigger issue.”
Geneva heaved a breath. “Thank you.”
“Of course. And not to sound like I’m placating you or anything, but I’m proud of you.”
“I don’t feel proud.”
“Then maybe a little rest is what you need. Because if you’re not your best cheerleader . . . well . . . but I’m not going to lie, as someone who’s worked with you for a couple years, I’m rooting for something to happen with this Brandon Puso. He’s cute.”
“Our families are too close.”
“So you’ve thought of it. Interesting.” Nita looked around as if being watched. “And can I tell you a secret? That families-too-close thing is an absolute weak excuse. You know that, right?”
This can only be temporary. I have a home to go to, to manage, and you . . .
The words she’d told Brandon four years ago rushed back. It had been a logical excuse. Was it relevant today?
“Look, I’ve no right to judge,” Nita continued, “but I also know your travel patterns and . . . well . . .”
Geneva snorted. “Travel patterns? What am I, a bird?”
“Yes, for all intents and purposes. And your migratory patterns seem to veer away from commitment, except at this instance, when . . . maybe your subconscious knew that Brandon would be there.”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“See? A bird. Fly away.”
“Nita, seriously.”
“I am. As a heart attack. Sometimes you need to talk about it. Sit long enough to ruminate where it’s uncomfortable.” She thumbed her phone. She hummed a litany of opinions.
“What are you doing?”
“Going through the Heart Resort website. It looks like it’s under construction.”
“Yeah, about that.” Geneva chose her words carefully and prepared herself for her friend’s onslaught. “We’re one of the models for the resort website.”
“On the website!” Nita threw her hands up. “That’s it, then. My expectation is for you to be involved from here on out. Not only for pictures, but videos”—she counted the list on her fingers—“and DIY tips, and day in the life. I can think of a million things we can do to amp this sleepy social media up. In fact, since it’s taking a bit to scour through the applicants for your social media assistant, I’m going to start reposting these photos! Your clients need to know that you’re working on such an exciting project. Anyway . . . you need to plug in.”
“All right, all right, we’ll talk about it. I won’t promise anything, but yes,” Geneva said.
“I don’t even know what to say. Except that I’m hurt.”
“Are you really?”
“No, I’m not—I’m irritated. But I’ll table it since you’re my boss, and I’m way more curious at what happens between you and Brandon.”
Geneva spied at Beatrice, who was still chatting. There would be more to report to Nita once this was all said and done. She heaved a breath. “Thank you. For being, well, on it.”
“It’s what I do. Keep me posted on your decisions. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but you have choices. We can move things around, and you can always say no.”
But that was the problem. When it came to business, she rarely said no. Her father had taught her about the magic of yes; their family to-do list was the epitome of it. To say no to Foster’s would be like stomping on the brakes, only to watch the world pass by. Then again, saying no to Beachy felt like bidding farewell to an entirely new career path.
After Geneva hung up with Nita, she stepped out of her golf cart. Beatrice was off the phone. “Hey, Bea.” She kept her voice light as she climbed into her cart. “You didn’t have to wait for me.”
“My next meeting isn’t until much later. Everything okay with work? That looked pretty serious.”
“I just got a contract proposal for a job with a hotel chain.” Geneva filled her in about all the details, and Beatrice listened with rapt attention.
“Wow.”
Geneva avoided her eyes because Beatrice was surely putting all the pieces together. “I would have to leave earlier if I’m interested.”
Her eyebrows plunged. “How much earlier?”<
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“In four days.”
“That’s . . . soon.”
“I know.”
“Have you decided?”
Geneva shook her head. She knew what Beatrice was alluding to—her offer for Geneva to stay. She shrugged. “It’s a hard decision to make. There are so many loose threads.”
Beatrice nodded, gravely, though she kept a smile on her face. “This is a huge deal.”
“Huge. And . . . I feel like I’m in the same spot as you.”
“You’re debating what you ought to do versus what you want to do.”
“Yes. I have built something. To leave it means . . . I don’t know what that means in full. That alone is overwhelming. From the jump, it means having to figure out how to support myself.” Geneva thought back to Rhiannon’s question in the van the other day about college majors. Geneva’s approach had been to put her body and soul into her studies, and even when she’d changed focus, she’d only done so when she could financially risk it. “Everything takes money. Others have the ability to take risks without consequences because there are backups in place, and I just don’t have that. For me to pivot would mean that I have to be comfortable with someone’s life raft nearby.”
“I get it. I have three life rafts available, and I’m the life raft for others.”
To be a person who everyone leaned upon was a responsibility that was both a privilege and a burden. “Our decisions are hard. In a perfect world—” Geneva started, and thought of her to-do list in that leather Traveler’s notebook. She tried again. “In a perfect world, it would also be easy to achieve everything we set out to do.”
Beatrice grinned. “We shouldn’t even talk about the perfect world. It’s not one. We have responsibilities.”
“This is why I love you. We can dream and be real all in one conversation.”
“And it’s why I want you here all the time. But I understand, Gen. I know you’ll make the right decision.”
“Thank you.”
“Since we’re being real.” Beatrice looked down for a beat. “I’ve been sitting here trying to figure out how I can talk to you about something. Not Beachy related.”
“Just tell me.”
“Promise not to take it the wrong way?”