by Marcelo, Tif
She was in Ligaya; the electricity was back on.
Geneva exhaled a breath, and she turned to her right, to Brandon’s bare back. Her panic subsided at the sight of him and the black-eyed Susan tattoo.
Geneva had had a similar dream for a while now, though this was the first time it was in the water. It always started out peaceful, and it’d turn into something panic filled, vivid, in her point of view, of her chasing herself unsuccessfully.
And apparently with this last dream, even Brandon’s appearance hadn’t helped her.
It was as if her ambition was intent on plaguing her both day and night. Whatever this simultaneous restlessness and exhaustion was couldn’t be helped by anyone but herself.
Except this time, she noted, she’d jumped into the water.
Geneva reached for her phone. Eleven p.m. They’d only been asleep a couple of hours.
She inched herself closer to Brandon and wrapped her arm around his waist. His body was warm, comforting, and she rested her cheek against his back.
No one had come close to Brandon the last four years. From the men she’d dated after him, she’d wanted everything: friendship, love, trust. She’d wanted perfection, because Brandon had been the rod to measure them by.
Now here he was.
His heartbeat was slow, a metronome of calm. A stark difference from how he had been in their lovemaking, where he was everything active, strong, firm, and, might she say, commanding.
A rush of excitement invaded her body once more, and Geneva squelched a squeal.
Brandon was snoring in this sweet way, so she slipped out of bed and donned his shirt and dug out underwear from her duffel. She climbed down the ladder, used the bathroom. Luna paced behind her as she should have done before the storm began. Then again, if the cat hadn’t purposely hidden, then this—them—would have never happened.
“Did you do that on purpose, Luna?” she whispered.
Luna jumped up on the kitchen table.
“Well, thank you,” Geneva said, rubbing her behind the ears. The cat leaned against her touch. “He’s not so bad, is he?”
She purred, until she seemingly had enough and made her way back up to the loft.
Geneva followed and after her climb glanced at the calendar on her stool, to her original date of departure, which she’d crossed out with a pencil, to the encircled new date, three days from now. She’d done that preemptively as part of her decision-making process, to evaluate how she’d feel leaving early. Next to it was her leather notebook, open from when she’d haphazardly set it down when the lights had gone out. The family bucket list, to a page. One entry stood out: Fall in love. The box was checked.
She’d checked it four years ago, a week into her affair with Brandon.
She had completely forgotten about that entry, moving on to check the other boxes, and she never looked back.
It was what she did. Would she do it again?
From behind her, Brandon sighed in his sleep.
No, I’m not ready to decide.
Geneva climbed back into bed and slid back to her spoon position.
“Hey.” Brandon’s voice vibrated through his body. Gently, he turned, and she nuzzled into his chest. If it was possible, he was even warmer, and she snuggled into him as he wrapped his leg over hers, grounding her. “How are you even awake? I’m usually up before you.”
“It’s still night. I had a weird dream.”
“Mmm . . . so it wasn’t because I didn’t work you out enough?”
Her body flushed all over again, and she nipped at his skin.
“That feels good. More,” he groaned.
“Pilyo.”
“That’s right, naughty is my middle name.” His hand slid down and squeezed her behind. “Wanna tell me about your dream?”
“You and I were out in the water. You were on a surfboard. I was kayaking.”
“Did we hang ten?”
“No, we were literally just sitting there.”
“That sounds peaceful.”
“It was . . .” Until a wave had swept her sideways, and she’d been too flustered to use the wave to her advantage, to orient herself to face the wave to overcome it, so she’d leapt into the water.
“You’re thinking again.” One eye opened. “For someone who’s supposed to be more expressive than me, you’re not saying much.”
“Hmm.” Geneva snapped out of her last thought.
“Hey.” This time, both of Brandon’s eyes were open. “Where’d you go?”
“Nowhere. I’m right here.”
And she scoured her brain on how she could always be.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Day 8
Weather: clear skies, 70°F
Tropical Depression Oscar off the coast of Virginia Beach
Brandon woke to a brightly lit home and Geneva in the crook of his arm, and he grinned like a man who’d just won the lottery. Geneva’s face was calm and had a hint of a smile. Her hair cascaded around her face and onto her bare chest.
If this was a dream, he never wanted to wake up.
The clock on the wall told him that it was just shy of six in the morning, which meant coffee time, and he patted the side table for his phone. He remembered that it was downstairs, where he’d ventured for a midnight water-and-bathroom break. There had been a couple of these breaks overnight; he and Geneva had kept each other up, either talking or making love, as well as other wonderful, sinful things that he’d hold in his memory bank forever.
He sat up and took in the remnants of their night—the comforter askew, their clothing spread out around the bed—and his heart leapt. What a difference one night made.
He dressed. All the while, Luna eyed him from the edge of the loft, so he turned while zipping up his jeans. As if the cat didn’t know what had gone on last night, but the light of day chased away the denial that the cat was a third-party observer. “Put in a good word for me, okay?” he asked Luna now, knowing how much she meant to Geneva. Today was another beginning in their story, and he wanted all the good vibes, including the cat’s blessing.
Luna meowed.
That was a good sign, right?
Brandon picked up around the bed and made a little pile of Geneva’s discarded clothing. One thing he’d learned from her from the three weeks they’d been together: she had a thing about things out of place. He plucked her phone off the floor and placed it next to her open calendar and the leather notebook cover, next to the shell he’d given her a few days ago.
His heart warmed. That was, until his gaze wandered to the date, two days from now, encircled.
Brandon backed away from the calendar like it had burned him. It was a reminder of reality. That there were time limits. That there would be decisions, not only for Geneva but for him too.
He wasn’t ready just yet.
Behind him, Geneva stirred under the sheets, and his thoughts returned to the present. It was 6:00 a.m. after another storm that he’d been able to endure, helped by the company of the woman he loved, and the first thing he needed so he could process all this was coffee.
After climbing down, he started the kettle for french press coffee, and he opened the door to the cool morning. The waves were lively. Remnants of leaves and tree branches littered the sand. Otherwise, it was as if the peninsula was bathed and refreshed, renewed. Hope was in the air; he felt it in the breeze.
While sipping his first cup, he tidied up the first floor to distract himself, and he grabbed his phone, which was hanging on to its final drop of juice. Notifications littered the screen; he plugged in his phone using Geneva’s charger and stood next to the outlet and tended to messages.
“Is that coffee I smell down there?” Geneva’s voice was hoarse, tearing his attention away. He backed up to view the loft, to see her sitting up on the bed, a sheet wrapped around her body.
“Yes, and I saved you a cup. Come on down.”
“That’s so sweet. You and Nita are the only ones who remember to save
me a cup of coffee.”
“Nita?”
“A good friend of mine, and my assistant.”
It dawned on Brandon that there was a whole section of Geneva’s life that he didn’t know about, and she with his. “Ah. We have a lot to catch up on,” he said.
The thought of her calendar popped up in his head.
Stop.
“I’ll get some clothes on,” she said.
As she got ready, Brandon returned to his phone. His eyebrows rose as he caught up with his family’s group chat. He took a sip of coffee and absentmindedly said, “This coffee is so good.”
“Isn’t it, though?” In the loft, the blanket fluffed upward with a snap. “I was on the road and had very little equipment, so french press was the way to go, and I can’t quit it. Beatrice made sure that I had one here when I arrived.”
At the mention of his sister’s name, the mood plummeted.
“Ugh. I shouldn’t have said her name,” Geneva said.
“My siblings are like earworms but for the memory. Especially because my phone is blowing up.” He scrolled the messages upward, still combing through the one-line responses each of them had answered with. It was common to wake up to the entire family having several conversations, leading to hundreds of messages.
Geneva climbed down. “We’d better call them to let them know we’re okay.”
He helped her down the final rung, drawn to her. Her hair was up in a bun, exposing the black-eyed Susan at the hairline. He’d been enamored by it all night; he kissed it again. Then, with a hand on her hip, he spun her around gently. She slung her arm across her mouth. “I have morning breath.”
He looked into her eyes, then pulled her arm down. Then he kissed her on the lips.
Her eyes fluttered open after the kiss, and he was met with a serious expression. “How do we do this, Bran?”
“What do you mean?” He cupped his hands on her behind and pushed her against him. “I thought I showed you how we do it.”
She lightly slapped him on the shoulder. “Be serious.”
He kissed her on the neck, hoping to distract her from this avenue of conversation. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Bran—”
“And I’m very serious. I’m serious about these buttons totally in the way.” He messed with the first button on her pajama top. He wanted to hang on to this moment.
But Geneva wasn’t having it. Her face had skewed into an honest-to-goodness frown. So he linked his arms around her back. “Fine. Okay, how do you think we should do this?”
“I want to tell Beatrice first, and alone.”
“Shouldn’t I tell her?”
She shook her head. “No. She’s my best friend.” She placed a hand against her chest. “I’m having palpitations just thinking of it. Feel.”
She took his hand and placed it on her heart. It beat at a runner’s pace.
“It’s going to be okay,” he reassured. And yet, the thumping against his palm had a similar effect on his heart. Any reveal, good or bad, would elicit a major reaction. And would they limit their reveal to the present? Would they have to admit to their affair from four years ago?
The phone beeped with another text. And another. And another.
Their eyes locked.
“Go catch up. I’ll brush my teeth,” she said.
As she scuttled to the bathroom, Brandon scrolled through the texts, finally arriving at the most recent ones, from this morning. “I . . . oh . . . Gen!”
“What’s up?” she mumbled, a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth.
“I’m caught up with the texts. My fam’s already out and about checking around for the damage. So far, so good on that end. No major damage to the houses, and none behind the gate.”
“Well, good. Business as usual,” she said, smiling, resuming her toothbrushing.
Then, after a final swipe up of the texts, Brandon moved to perch on the end of his chair.
Beatrice:
We’re on our way to you.
Beatrice:
We even have coffee.
The next text was sent to Brandon only.
Gil:
You’ve got about two minutes before we roll up.
From his night and the lack of caffeine in his system, Brandon stuttered, “G . . . Gen . . . they’re on their way to us.”
From outside came the thumping music of a radio’s bass.
“Is that them?” she asked from the bathroom doorway, glancing down at herself, disheveled in her pajamas.
Voices, several of them, were heard right outside, answering her question.
Geneva scrambled to fix herself, while Brandon stood to . . . he didn’t know . . . act normal. He leaned against the fridge, then decided to look into it. He breathed in the cold air, for strength and stealth.
“Here they come,” she whispered, just as the screen door screeched open.
“The rescue team is here!” Beatrice announced as she stepped in, and without knocking. She was wearing another one of her colorful dresses, and she peeled off her sunglasses. Behind her were Chris and Gil, holding two large to-go cups of coffee.
“Wow, you guys. Come on in!” Geneva squealed, not convincingly.
Brandon took a carton from the fridge and faced his sister’s inquisitive expression. “Hey! What took you guys so long? Anyone want eggs?”
Garrett:
Check in, Bran
Hello?
Doing alright down there?
I see you cleaning up that beach
Oh so you’re avoiding me now
If Brandon had not been watching his phone for Geneva’s texts, he would have thrown his phone into the water. Garrett was relentless.
Normally, he liked this quality in his friend. Garrett was a fierce negotiator, and he was one of the most determined people Brandon knew. But right then, he wished that Garrett would let up a little. He needed a moment’s break, a breather after the best night since forever and after a full day of backbreaking work. He didn’t have an answer for him about Mulberry Road, nor did he know what to say about his ultimatum. Everything seemed to fall on the next step, which was to tell the family. Though with how busy everyone was, he wasn’t sure when Geneva was going to tell Beatrice.
Tropical Depression Oscar had passed through the Outer Banks with very little damage compared to Maximus. The entire team had been scattered on the resort, cleaning up the beach and debris and inspecting all the homes. That morning, after his siblings had arrived at Ligaya, they’d scooped up him and Geneva to start cleanup almost immediately. Beatrice had naturally recruited Geneva to work alongside her, and Brandon hadn’t seen Geneva since.
Brandon entered his apartment. It was still a blank slate without an inch of fabric on the windows or on the floor, and with the barest of furniture. But it was his, and this morning, it took on new meaning. For the first time in years, he was together with his family and the woman he loved. The future held so much hope, and this apartment, in this southern colonial named Puso, he actually felt at home.
With one final look at his phone—with no new text from Geneva—he threw it, his keys, and his wallet onto the coffee table.
He dressed out of his clothes for a quick shower—he assumed that he would see Geneva for dinner and later on tonight—and his phone dinged a text message. He ignored it. It was probably still Garrett. So he took his time and showered and dressed, then, finally, after he felt clean enough, walked out into the living room . . .
And properly jumped back at the sight of his brother, feet up on the coffee table, a hand draped across the couch and the other scrolling up on his phone.
“Dang, Kuya Gil. You scared the living daylights out of me.”
Gil twisted in his seat to look at him. He had already changed out of his work clothes into one of his button-down shirts. “You drained the whole resort with that shower. That was twenty minutes!”
He rubbed his hair with his towel. “I didn’t realize I was being timed. How di
d you get in?”
“You left the door unlocked, which was good . . .”
“What’s up?” Brandon tossed his towel over the shower door and walked up while throwing on a shirt.
Gil’s hand was extended, shaking his phone. Brandon swiped it from him.
Loaded onto the browser was Heart Resort’s website, and splashed across the top banner were Geneva and Brandon, foreheads touching. It was both stunning and surreal, how good they looked and how evidently into each other they were.
“Speechless, are you?” Gil remarked. “I mean, talk about a wow-factor home page. It almost looks believable.”
Brandon willed his face into a neutral expression. He couldn’t say a word. “Tammy did a good job.”
Geneva could be telling her right now. Maybe that’s why she hasn’t texted.
“Uh-huh.” Gil rolled his eyes. “Where are you headed to?”
“To the restaurant. I’m meeting with Lainey for the final kitchen walk-through. Why?”
“I wanted to get you alone.” He patted the sofa cushion.
Oh, here we go. Brandon’s neckline itched. He felt his brother’s stare deep in his bones. “I don’t need to sit. What’s up?”
“You’re not going to tell me?”
There were two things he couldn’t have yet told his brother, so he played clueless. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Gil heaved a breath. “All right, then. I’m just going to come out and say it. Bran, it’s written all over your and Geneva’s faces this morning. The two of you are a thing. I get why you’re keeping it a secret, and you don’t need any of our approvals. But it will be better if you told our siblings rather than them finding out themselves. Despite all the secrets we keep, the expectation is that we’re honest.”
Brandon shook his head. “That is the most hypocritical thing ever.”
Gil bit his bottom lip. “Yep. Pusos aren’t perfect. Then again, no one is.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“Let’s make sure those pillows go upstairs, and yes, that afghan goes down here.” Geneva was at the door of Tiwala, which she’d designed with textured fabrics and geometric designs. With her iPad, she checked off the items as they were carried into the house. Beatrice, Eden, and Rhiannon were with her for the final decorating, with the rest of the resort crew done for the day with the storm cleanup. To make up for the delay, they would all need to work overtime the next couple of days.