by Marcelo, Tif
Inside, the two sides of Geneva’s brain battled for how to respond. On one side was the part of her that trusted Brandon, especially after he’d admitted his own fears just a few minutes ago. Then there was the other side—the shame. “You’re going to think I’m the worst.”
“I doubt I’ll feel that way.”
“You thought that way a week ago.”
“I was angry and a little bitter, but I never thought you were the worst.” Brandon set down the iPad on the bed and sat up so his back was to the headboard. He pulled in his legs. “Try me.”
After a beat, she said, “I haven’t been home in about a year.”
“Wow. Because of work?”
“Eh.” She flipped her phone upside down just so that she didn’t have to watch the message try to send itself. “I had time.”
He frowned. “Then why didn’t you?”
“I’ve been too busy, I guess.”
His eyebrows lifted.
She nodded. Then she shook her head. When she did, it unleashed a wave of jumbled thoughts. “It’s complicated.”
“Try me.” He opened a hand out to her, and she placed hers into his. This would be twice they’d held hands tonight; but this time, she was the recipient of his comfort. It urged her on.
“My parents tried to give me everything I ever needed so I would be successful. We even had a list of things we would do together. But then my dad had his stroke,” Geneva said. “And everything changed. No Kilimanjaro for my parents and me. No Machu Picchu. No Grand Canyon. They’d worked so hard with all these plans for retirement, and now that they’re retired, they can’t do half the things they planned.”
His gaze dropped for a beat. “The leather notebook you had with you in Annapolis.”
“I still have it.” She gestured over her shoulder. “I still add to the bucket list. I like to torture myself with the pressure, I guess.”
“I’ve never known you not to be determined.”
“It’s to my detriment sometimes. No one holds any of my goals over my head, Bran. But looking at the list and what our family accomplished together, well, it made me want to be more. Over time, I tackled that list. The more I accomplished, the more fun I had, the further away I got from home, and it just got harder to return. For whenever I did, I wasn’t sure where I belonged, and how I fit in. By their side to support them? Or out there in the world to make my way? If the notebook is accountability, my parents are reality. And I’m scared—” She swallowed and pushed the rest out. “I’m scared to find out that I haven’t done enough, that I’ve just been meandering, checking off a list that wasn’t mine but everyone else’s. At the same time, I’m afraid to find out that I’ve done all that but haven’t been a good daughter.”
“Did you really want to climb Kilimanjaro?”
“No.” She laughed. “I actually don’t like camping. Glamping maybe?”
He scoured her face. “It makes sense, now. Your boundaries.”
The conversation had happened after the first night they’d made love. They’d been lying side by side, naked, his hand resting on her waist. Vegas lights had streamed through his Airbnb windows. The rest of the family had been out there, partying, celebrating Chris and Eden’s nuptials.
I don’t want this to be complicated. I can’t stay.
“You wanted boundaries, too, for your own reasons. Though it was me who left,” Geneva reminded him. “But in this case, with my parents, it’s the opposite—”
He frowned. “How do you mean?”
“It’s me who has to go home. But it’s too late, isn’t it? You can’t use Filipino time for this.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Filipino time—a cultural concept that things happened when they happened, that it was better late than never. It had been Brandon’s father’s excuse when their six-pack had rolled into Mass ten minutes late or arrived at Filipino-hosted parties a half hour after their start time and still were among the first celebrants.
When was Filipino time an admissible reason?
Was it acceptable to be tardy, and was it fair to those waiting?
Brandon shrugged. “I hope Filipino time counts, because it took me a long time to come back here, to Heart Resort. While I give my brother a lot of grief, if the tables had been turned, I would be pissed at me too. I took my sweet time.”
Brandon slid brief looks at Geneva, careful not to linger too long. As comfortable as this bed was, he couldn’t let himself off guard. The last time they’d been on a bed together, they’d been tearing up the sheets. Her reminder that he’d had his own boundaries was a point of accountability. She was right that it was unfair to blame their breakup on her. She’d just been the one to follow through.
She tugged on his arm. “What you and your brother have going on is completely different. Chris is difficult, and though I can’t say you’re an easier personality, you are oil and vinegar.”
“Don’t you mean oil and water?”
She smiled. “Nope. Oil and vinegar. A little shake and the both of you can make something good. Hence how we are barreling toward the grand opening.”
As if the world contended, thunder crashed around them.
Brandon swallowed down the uptick of his nerves. “Um, Oscar protests.”
She laughed, and the sound of it was soothing. Brandon had missed this, her laugh and being this close to her with her hand in his.
“Filipino time still applies to you, Gen. You can still go back. You can just show up. There doesn’t need to be any fanfare.”
“Like you did?”
He laughed, though inside an alarm blared. In leaving Annapolis, he’d left a whole lot of unresolved issues and arrived with his own challenges. “Yeah, I guess so. Sometimes the lead-up’s the worst part.” Brandon thought of his own convictions, of the nervousness he’d carried walking up the steps just a week ago. “What matters is that you show up. Your parents love you. They know that you’ve been trying to come home.”
Her eyes fluttered upward to him. In them was a spark of playfulness. “We’re so much alike.”
“You’re right. And sometimes we mess up. Although,” he said, then took a breath, “you should be prepared for the unexpected if you just show up.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, I dunno. Like having to plan a grand opening. Or dealing with a storm. Perhaps meeting up with someone you had a heck of a crush on, and then having to face the truth.”
Their fingers were linked together now in their own method of play, and Brandon sensed a shift between them. Geneva had inched closer.
“The truth,” she whispered.
“That I wasn’t perfect that last day we were together.”
“Bran—”
“Gen, wait, let me say this,” he said, grabbing hold of the moment. His memory cycled back. He’d come home from work to find Geneva digging through the bottom kitchen cupboards. She’d been matching Tupperware covers to containers, and behind her had been a garbage bag of unmatched pieces.
He’d gone off on her. He hadn’t been ready for this change, for her to make this change.
He’d told her to go. And when she had, he’d waited to reach out. By the time he had, it had been like coming upon a cold case—past its statute of limitations.
“That night,” he continued, “I was scared. I was scared of letting go of anything.”
“It wasn’t my place to go through their things.”
“It was wrong for me to yell. I shouldn’t have told you to leave.” He shook his head, wishing that he’d done the work back then to let go. He was working on it this very minute, by being there at the resort and gearing himself up to tell his siblings about Mulberry Road’s sale. “It was hard for me. Still hard for me.”
“I know.” She scooted closer. “Filipino time, right?” She offered a pensive smile.
“Filipino time. Better late than never.”
He gazed up at her; half of her face was in shadow. He knew that if he came upon her
in the dark, he’d know her by touch, by voice, by spirit. That even if years passed and they found themselves on opposite sides of the world, somehow their paths would cross again.
The thought of this bathed Brandon with relief. Much like the small reminders throughout his day that perhaps his parents were milling just beyond reach, Geneva would be too.
He dared to inch closer.
“Bran.” Geneva’s voice had taken on the quality of warm sugar. At the same time, he said, “Gen.”
“Yes,” they said simultaneously, and laughed.
“You first,” he said.
“I was going to say, if we’re so alike, I wonder if you’re thinking the same thing I am.”
A curl of need started in his belly. “Is this a trick? If I tell you what I’m thinking and it’s not what you’re thinking, it’s going to be mighty awkward because there’s a storm outside and this place is as tiny as a matchbox.”
Her body seemed to relax; her hand left his palm and crawled up his wrist. It beckoned him to keep going.
“I’m thinking that I want to kiss you again. Is that what you’re thinking?” he asked.
Geneva took her bottom lip into her teeth, and Brandon’s eyes locked onto her mouth, onto the small peek of her tongue. She nodded.
But he no longer wanted to play this game. Their kisses at the warehouse, in her kitchen, and at the restaurant had been something they’d fallen into. They were instinctive. This kiss would need to be different; it would be decisive and meaningful.
“That’s not enough, Geneva. I want to hear you say it.” He leaned in closer. “Because I not only want to kiss you, but I want to touch you and take you into my mouth. I want to feel you under me and over me.”
Her lips parted minutely, and Brandon heard her exhale. Then she took his hand and placed it at the nape of her neck, his thumb on her carotid.
Her pulse was strong and slow, and when she swallowed, he felt the intimate movement of her throat. “I want you to kiss me.” Her voice reverberated so its echo reached him, to his core. “I want all of it.”
It was she who leaned forward, and the bravery took Brandon off guard. A part of him still couldn’t believe that she was here, and with him. That this moment wasn’t just another one of his dreams.
There had been so many dreams. So many questions. So many doubts.
But he pushed all that down and away.
They didn’t take their eyes off one another as they kissed. His brain needed to catalog every moment, every breath, every move of her body. How she towered over him briefly, hair falling over his face as she straddled him.
“Gen, you feel so good.” He breathed out, resting his hands on her hips, squeezing gently. Her warmth bypassed their clothing. He pushed against her, an instinct, enticing a sweet groan from her lips.
“Bran,” she whispered into his ear. “I want it all off.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He reached behind him and peeled off his shirt with her assistance. She started on her buttons, and he joined her in the endeavor.
The sight of her skin was like coming home. As he splayed his hand on her abdomen and then up to her breasts, all the years melted away. As if they hadn’t ended, as if what they were doing was wonderfully old hat, as if every day in the last four years had been spent together.
With a thumb he undid the front clasp of her bra.
She threw her head back in pleasure.
The sight of her neck, the small sign of submission, was Geneva’s tell.
So he rose higher on the bed, and supported her back with a hand. He took her into his mouth; he tended to her, noting the little things that made her gasp. He wanted nothing more than to give her everything she sought at that moment, to ease all her thoughts.
Gently, he laid her on her back and, leaning on one elbow, made his way back to her mouth. She ran her fingers up his back, a movement that elicited a lustful shiver, and he had to take a breath.
“Is this okay?” he asked to confirm. He wanted to do this right so that there would be no reason for regret.
She answered by lowering her hand to the zipper of his jeans. With the same deft movement of her fingers, she popped his jeans button open and dragged the zipper down, causing him to shut his eyes.
If this was the consequence for the second time around, for Filipino time, it was all worth it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
They tumbled through the sheets, lost in each other’s breaths and heartbeats. Slow and seductively, he peeled off her clothes until they were skin to skin. They moved, creating heat, creating fire, creating noise, until they were much louder than the storm outside. Nothing else mattered but what was happening indoors, between her and Brandon.
Geneva found comfort in Brandon. This, being intimate, was never difficult with him. He read her cues—he clamored for them. His eyes never left her face.
“You’re beautiful, Geneva.” He looked down from above, with an expression that exceeded sincerity, with such care.
She cupped his cheek. “Don’t stop kissing me.”
His lips trailed her chin and down her neck to her shoulder, fingers deftly preparing her so her body hummed with pleasure. Inside, she was a coil tightening, to the lust, to the anticipation. He was seemingly taking his time, and she wasn’t sure if she would make it.
“Please, Bran . . .”
“Do you have condoms?”
She nodded. Her whole life was with her in this house. “In my bag, at the foot of the bed.”
He left her for the moment and returned, though now his expression was determined and serious. He crawled onto the bed, a prowler to his prey. Lust filled, Geneva opened herself to him, beckoning for this moment that she’d been pining for since she’d seen him that first day.
“Gen,” he said. “This changes things.”
“Yes, I know.” She guided him toward her. “It changed from the first kiss.”
He entered her, gentle at first, then filling her. She rocked with him; she couldn’t get enough. They kissed and nipped, bodies coming together in coordinated movements. Slow at first, and then quickly and swiftly, until the coil unwound and she let go at the same time he did.
Of course he waited for her. Brandon was willing to wait. While Geneva was raring to go, he was patient. He was truly like the foundation of the home, unmoved and solid. While Geneva was trying to renovate and fix, reinvent herself, Brandon remained true, for better or for worse, through all life’s storms.
With the release came the rush of emotions. Of regret, of satisfaction, of a wish she could never say. Because there was so much left unsaid, so much in the years that had passed. Like how much he’d meant to her, how she’d measured every man against him since their affair, and how she knew that no one could be like him.
The reality that she’d left him four years ago crashed down around her with the crack of thunder.
Tears sprang into her eyes.
He fingered her hair out of her face. “Hey, Gen. What’s wrong. Was that—”
“It was perfect. It was exactly what I needed. What I wanted.”
“Me too. But . . . you’re crying.”
“I’m just overwhelmed with everything I said, with everything we just did.” She looked into his eyes, at the trust in them. It gave her the bravery to say more. “I missed you, so much. Back then, I shouldn’t have assumed that you were ready to let go like I was. I shouldn’t have gone through those cupboards. And I shouldn’t have left when you told me to. I loved . . . I love you, Brandon.”
“Oh Jesus, Geneva. I love you. I always have. I never should have told you to go.” He pressed his lips into a thin line. “I was wrong—you were only trying to help. And we’re here, and that’s what matters.”
“You’re right.” She was overthinking things again. It was her superpower, this internalization that would drive her out the door and off the resort. She pushed down her lingering thoughts and focused on enjoying the way he held her. “What do we do now?”
&nb
sp; “Do you mean like after we have more sex?” His devilish grin appeared.
She nudged him. “Yes, after that. After tonight. Tomorrow when this all passes. What do we say to your sister?”
He placed a finger on her lips. “Please don’t ever mention any of my family members when we’re naked.”
“My bad,” she said against his touch.
“I don’t want to think about anything or anyone else but you and me. So I guess that means I have to keep you distracted.” He leaned down and kissed her bottom lip.
She would allow it to happen.
Geneva rowed the kayak in the still water of the sound. Everywhere was calm: the light-blue, cloud-free sky above her, the dark-blue waters below. The warm summer wind blew gently against her skin.
Finally. She had been in search of this stillness, where there was no pressure to be anywhere, to be anything. She was, finally, content.
There was only one person missing.
In her periphery, the point of a surfboard appeared. She turned—Brandon was by her side, prone on the board. He wore a wet suit; his hair was tousled. His upper arms flexed as he paddled through the waves. He saluted her as if to say, I’m here.
Now she was complete.
But, from afar, a sound of an air horn took Geneva’s attention. She shaded her eyes with a hand. Squinting, she recognized someone waving a white flag. As in surrender, as in help.
We need to get her. She signaled Brandon, who reflected back an unreadable expression. She pointed in the woman’s direction.
“I’m going,” she yelled, and began to paddle. Then a cross wave cut through so she was pushed away from the woman as well as from Brandon.
She was being swept out into the Atlantic.
While Geneva didn’t get a good look at the woman, she knew innately that the woman was her. And she had been waiting for herself, not Brandon.
So, she left the safety of the kayak to save the woman. She dived into the tumultuous water to save herself.
Geneva’s eyes flew open and she gasped, swiftly taking in her surroundings. The room was lit, but beyond, through the loft window, was darkness, still.