by Marcelo, Tif
“Um. Sure.”
Geneva made it to her bed and sat. She placed the computer on her lap and ran her fingers across her keyboard, though she didn’t press on any of the buttons. She clicked on random emails, noting the myriad of incomplete boxes in her productivity app and glossing over the list, knowing Brandon was downstairs doing goodness knew what.
Luna hopped up next to her, without a care in the world.
She gave Luna the stink eye. “This is your fault, you know,” she whispered. “If you had come exactly when I called, then we would be at the big house, and I wouldn’t be sitting here hiding.”
“What did you say?” Brandon yelled. The top of his head appeared as he stood near the front door.
“I was just talking to the cat.”
“Did you tell her that this is her fault?”
“Actually, I did.” She bumbled a laugh.
He ducked back deeper into the house, chuckling. Then his voice boomed from under her. “Is it okay that I raid your fridge? I didn’t have anything to eat.”
“Oh my God, yes, of course.” Now she felt guilty. Here she was “working,” and the guy was starving. “Help yourself.”
She stared at her in-box in an attempt to jump-start her productivity.
A banner notification of a text from Nita popped out from the right side of her screen.
Nita:
I’m so glad you’re online. I’m watching the storm on the news. Everything okay there?
Geneva:
Yes. Am in the house.
Nita:
In that tiny thing? Why aren’t you in the main house?
Geneva:
Long story with the name of Luna.
Nita:
Are you alone?
Her fingers hovered on the keyboard.
Nita:
Geneva?
Geneva:
No
Nita:
?
The clanking of plates was a reminder that there was a certain someone downstairs who she couldn’t ignore.
Geneva:
Brandon
Nita:
Oh my God. I’m getting off this text. What are you doing with me?
Geneva:
You’re the one who’s texting me.
Nita:
I’m cutting you off.
Then seconds later, another text appeared.
Nita:
Go, Geneva.
There was no way that Geneva was going to just go. To “go” would mean that she would have to either pretend that she had no emotions for Brandon or act on them. And neither was possible.
Nope, she would simply stay upstairs until her bladder demanded a bathroom break.
Another text appeared on her screen, this one from Brandon.
Brandon:
Hungry?
She was tempted, in all the ways. To have a meal with him. To just spend time with him.
But right then was too close.
Geneva:
I’m good. I’m in the middle of something right now.
Brandon:
Ok.
She focused on her emails and her to-do list. Only two more homes needed work: Ligaya and Sinta, the beach house to the right of Ligaya. Sinta was proving to be a challenge. What exactly represented love?
She moved on to the next emails. The delivery dates for Helena’s B and B furnishings were confirmed. The contractor had finalized the dates for work.
Foster’s Group needed an initial sketch of ideas, so Geneva tugged the leather-bound Traveler’s notebook to her lap and grabbed her pouch of colored markers. In her sketch notebook, she started the beginnings of a color palette inspired by Foster’s corporate website. Then, on the next page, she wrote down bullet points and questions to bring up to its owners.
The work was straightforward. It was almost old hat. She had a groove, a routine. Soon, she fell into thoughts of colors and fabrics, and her page was covered with doodles.
An email popped in from Nita. It was Geneva’s flight confirmation to the Foster’s Group meeting in three days. It was a straight shot to Chicago, to their headquarters, leaving at noon.
Above her, the light flickered, taking her out of her thoughts. She lifted her gaze to the window and noted the time. Only a half hour had passed, and the sky was pitch black, without a hint of light from the stars or the moon.
Then the house plunged into darkness, leaving the glow of her computer and iPad, luckily both still with power.
“Shoot.” She crawled to the edge of the loft, where Brandon’s curses trailed upward. “Brandon?”
“Aha!” From downstairs exuded a glow. “Ate Bea and her preparedness—yes!” The glow transitioned to a clear, bright light that he shined upward. “A flashlight, and a good one.” Shadows played across his face. “You wanna come down? Or are you good up there?”
“I’ll come down.” Now that it was dark, admittedly the fear had begun to creep in, especially as the wind howled through the shuttered windows.
“I’ll light your way.”
“Thank you.” Eyes on where he aimed the spotlight, she stepped down, keeping her hands solidly on the ladder rungs.
As both feet found purchase on the ground, the house groaned. The spotlight moved to the front windows, to where Brandon aimed and was turned. Geneva sucked in a breath.
Then their surroundings descended into another level of quiet.
“As soon as it all settles down, Chris said he would drive down in the van to grab us,” he said.
“Okay.” Unexpectedly, her voice shook. “Sorry. I thought that this wasn’t going to be a big deal, but that was super loud.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s all much worse in the dark.” He moved past her to the kitchen, avoiding her eyes. “But I saved you a sandwich.”
“Thank you.” She lowered herself into one of the kitchen chairs, where the plate, covered with plastic wrap, sat. When she peeled it back, her appetite returned in full force, and her stomach rumbled.
Brandon leaned against the kitchen counter and took a drink of tap water. Unease radiated off him; his left hand clutched the rim of the sink. She could have sworn that the glass shook as he tipped it back to drink.
“Wanna join me?” she offered, not liking the looks of him.
“I already ate,” he growled.
“I mean, just to chat.” At the rear of the house, the wood settled with a groan, but she tamped down her nervousness with a smile.
“I’m good right here.”
Geneva pushed the chair with a foot. It squeaked against the floor.
Brandon eyed the chair.
“What. Do I have the cooties? You weren’t so scared about it the other day,” she dared. This was the worst kind of low blow, and not Geneva’s style at the very least. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how to flirt, but flirting with Brandon was like playing with wood laced with lighter fluid. One spark was all it took.
Luckily, her bluff worked, and Brandon walked over. He sat down in the chair, though he leaned back, legs out in front of him. He stuffed his hands in his pockets.
She split the sandwich in half and wrapped one piece with a napkin and offered it.
“It’s yours,” he said.
She smiled, warmed once again. “I only had three slices of bread left, which means that you left me this full sandwich and you ate a half one, and the heel of the loaf at that. I also know how much you eat.” She shook it in front of him. “PB and J. You love it as much as I do.”
“Sure?”
“Yep.” She gestured toward the chips. “You can’t have any of the salt-and-vinegar chips, though. That’s all mine.”
He brought the sandwich to his lips. “Oh, I know about you and your salt-and-vinegar chips. I have a permanent bruise on my shoulder from when you tackled me when I once grabbed a bag that you were keeping for your midnight snack.”
Her cheeks burned, and a giggle escaped her lips. “Only-child problems.”
The
y both ate in silence. Brandon gobbled up his sandwich in one and a half bites. He always did inhale his food.
“So, what’s up? What’s wrong?” she asked, examining her sandwich. It was very much Brandon’s way, with the ratio of peanut butter to jelly at two to one.
He shook his head. “Do you mean besides the fact that we’re in a tiny house during a tropical depression?”
The crack of thunder brought Geneva’s gaze upward.
Next to her, Brandon jolted.
“Bran?”
His napkin was in a ball, and he fussed with it. Just as she was quick to express herself, Brandon was methodical and careful. He took his time. So, she waited, eating a chip.
“My parents.” Brandon’s words were almost a whisper. “It was a storm.”
“Oh.” Geneva exhaled. Of course. She felt foolish now, forgetting. “Their accident.”
Tita Marilyn and Tito Joe’s car accident had happened on the Beltway, on what had ended up being a six-car pileup during a rainstorm, triggered by a vehicle hydroplaning across three lanes. A thorough investigation had found that the driver of that hydroplaned vehicle had had a blood alcohol level over the legal limit to drive. These days, none of the Pusos drank—not even a glass of champagne during Chris’s wedding—for this very reason.
He nodded. “It’s stupid that I’m scared of storms when nothing happened to me.”
She shook her head. “It’s not stupid.”
“Yeah, well, I wish I didn’t feel this way sometimes.” The muscle in his jaw worked; he was clenching. “Because it wasn’t me who was out there. I had been so cocky that day. It had been a great day.” He shook his head. “And then Beatrice called, and I got in my car to head to Annapolis, and the rain was bad, still. While driving I had visions of them and what they looked like, what the car looked like.” He swallowed. “While I’d been thinking about how awesome I was, my parents were being sideswiped.” He shut his eyes.
“Oh, Bran.” She reached to his shaking hands and slipped hers in between his. He clutched onto them. “It’s not your fault.”
“It doesn’t have to be my fault, does it, to feel like I could have done something?”
The question hit Geneva in the soft spot of her heart, in the place she kept shielded most days. It was a place she didn’t visit often or allow anyone else in, where loss and regret resided. Even if she didn’t know how it felt to lose her parents, loss was deeply ingrained in all the things she would never experience with her father.
Things changed in a split second. With one hydroplaning vehicle, or the rogue blood clot that had embedded itself into her father’s brain, their lives changed. There were also secondary effects, like the acquisition of Heart Resort and her parents moving to Tennessee. Then the tertiary effects, like Brandon’s regret and Geneva’s indecision.
She was thankful for the tabletop, which grounded her. “You’re right—it doesn’t have to be. How can I help?”
“Thank you for asking. I’m . . . okay right now. Times like these . . . they’re getting better, but I have a ways to go. I’m working on it, figuring out what is what.”
She squeezed hard against Brandon’s strong hands, hands that she had witnessed create something out of nothing. They were capable, a reflection of him and his spirit. He was so self-aware; he wasn’t afraid of vulnerability. He smashed all her preconceived notions of bravery—this was probably why it had been hard for her to move on.
Then why do you?
Silence settled between them while Geneva searched for the answer to her own questions.
“Are there games in here?” he asked, the change of subject like cold water to the face.
It nudged Geneva from her thoughts. “Games?”
“Lemme go check.” He let go of her hand and stood in a flurry, taking the flashlight from the table. Geneva breathed out as it darkened around her, releasing the pressure that had built up in her chest.
It didn’t take long for Brandon to come to the conclusion that there wasn’t anything to pass the time with. There was virtually no storage to scour through.
Then she remembered that they did have one source of entertainment. “Oh, duh. I have my iPad. I downloaded some shows from Netflix. I’ve got a full charge.”
“You just said my most favorite word besides pizza.”
“Except.” Her gaze darted to the two uncomfortable chairs. “There’s no real place to watch movies except for—”
Upstairs.
The mood flipped, and Geneva’s thoughts gravitated back to the stark present of their solitude.
“That’s all right,” he said, as if reading her mind. “We can watch right down here at the kitchen table.”
Back up at the loft, Geneva grabbed her iPad from her bed. Luna was stretched out in the folds of the white sheets, paws extended, clearly communicating that the mattress would be way more comfortable than those kitchen chairs.
That’s asking for trouble.
But this isn’t the bad kind of trouble.
Yes, it is.
Luna meowed and slapped at the air, waking Geneva up from her argument with the devil on her shoulder.
This was all silly. What was wrong with her? She and Brandon were adults. Surely they could watch a show together on a bed. Brandon was more than a gentlemen, and she could keep her hands to herself.
“Everything okay up there?” Brandon yelled up.
You’re going to be mature about this. Geneva nodded at her decision. “I have a better idea. Do you want to come up here?”
Silence ensued from the first floor.
“Um. You sure?” he asked.
“Yes.” With the answer, she became more and more convinced. “Yes. Yes, of course. What was I thinking? Come up here.” She waved him up. “I’ll light your way this time.” She turned on her flashlight phone.
Brandon climbed the ladder and entered the loft, making the space twice as small.
She backed into the loft, without much choice but to sit on the bed as he crawled in. He stuttered in his movement, unsure where to go, because it became clear that there was no other option but to get on the bed with her.
The awkwardness was so thick that it brought Geneva to giggles.
He stilled. “What?”
“Look at us, Brandon. We’re acting like we’re in high school. Come on this bed, jeez.”
His facial expression eased, and he joined her. “Can I . . . lie down?”
She straightened and sat cross-legged. “Of course you can. But I appreciate that you asked.”
Brandon stretched out on the bed, and his eyes just about rolled to the back of his head. He groaned. “Sweet relief.”
“It’s a comfy bed.” She laughed, but her heart squeezed. It had been a long day for the both of them, and with what he’d revealed downstairs, he’d needed a moment to relax.
“Yes it is.” His eyes shut for a beat, his voice a rumble, sending heat through her body. He turned so he faced her, sliding a hand under his cheek. There was a slight bit of fuzz on his chin, and she noted the few curls in his thick black hair. Like this, he was a mix of young and grown Brandon. More than once, when they were together four years ago, Geneva had watched him sleep. Alternately, she’d loved knowing that she would wake up with him already up and about. Then his dark eyes opened, and he looked at her through long, thick lashes. “So what’s on the docket?”
She had been so entranced with this man in her bed that she’d accidentally pressed one of the app icons so that it prompted her to delete it. She snatched her finger back and reset the screen, then tapped on the Netflix app. She flipped the screen around, showing the list of all the movies she’d downloaded.
She braced herself with a grin because she knew exactly what he would say.
“Noooooo.” He threw himself backward on the bed. “Not thooooose.”
“Did you expect any less?”
“For a woman who doesn’t like to stay in the same place, you sure have a reliable movie list.”<
br />
“Some things really can’t change.”
He held out a hand. “Give me that thing.” With the iPad in his hand, Brandon read out the choices. “Titanic—nope, no drowning ships and dying people please. Top Gun—nope, I grew up with my own version of Ice Man, and watching Val on the screen doesn’t really excite me. The Holiday—dear God. And Notting Hill? Jeez.”
As he continued to critique her list of nineties movies, Geneva watched the predictable expressions on Brandon’s face and her heart swelled with the familiarity of his smile.
“You’re really going to make me pick?” he asked.
“Surprise me,” she said, though it wouldn’t be a surprise. She foresaw his answer much like she knew Beatrice’s favorite dessert, halo-halo, at any celebration dinner. As dependable as her mother’s phone calls.
Her mother.
Geneva had been so fixated on Brandon’s presence that she’d forgotten about her mother. She’d intended to call her as soon as she was at Puso; Lisa’s worry over Geneva’s safety rivaled any helicopter parent’s, and it hadn’t stopped after she’d become an adult. While her mother was sensitive to Geneva’s need for independence and privacy, she expected a check-in when there was something big, such as a storm, coming through.
“How about I compromise and we watch Twilight. There’s at least a plot in there, and a fight scene.”
She giggled and hopped onto her messages on her phone. “Hold up a sec—I need to text my mom.”
Geneva:
You’re probably watching the weather, but don’t worry I’m fine.
When she pressed the green button, the status bar inched but stopped just shy of completion.
He blinked up at her. “Connection down?”
“Looks like it.”
He pulled his phone out of his back pocket. “Yep, I don’t have signal either.” He pressed to call one of his contacts and put the phone against his ear. “Looks like there’s no cell reception.”
“My mom’s going to be worried sick. She’s already on the verge of getting on the road herself to drag me back home.”
“That would be a sight.” Brandon snickered, then stopped as he caught her expression. “Something up between you and Tita Lisa?”