My family.
My incredible wife, who I’ve won back in a few ways already and plan to win back in every other way and then some before the night’s over.
22 GENEVIEVE
“Pass the flautas,” Lydia says, her voice loud like she’s asking for the second time. Very possible. I’ve been spacing out a lot lately.
“Oh, sorry.” I hand her the dish. “Glad to see you’re eating again.” The words come out wilted, and I know things are bad. I can’t even poke at my sister…this is just bad.
“Funny,” Lydia says sharply, but her eyes aren’t bright with annoyance. They’re bright with pity. I hate that. Ever since I came to stay with my parents’ almost a week ago, all I’ve seen are Rodriguez eyes full of pity.
I can’t tell if my parents are more disappointed in me or scared I’ll end up moving back in. They don’t understand time apart. They’ve been married for almost forty years and have never spent a single night apart. They don’t get that Adam and I really need this time to figure out what the hell we’re doing and where to go from here.
Every time my phone rings, I jump, wondering if it’s the Office of Immigration, if I’m about to be arrested or fined. Or wondering if it’s Adam on the other end of the line, and what I’ll say if it is. We’ve talked exactly once since I left days ago. It was awkward and full of hurt, on both ends I think, but neither one of us was willing to say what the other wanted to hear. That everything would be okay. That we be home—in our home—fighting for what we’d built together.
After talking with Marigold, I’m even more certain that what I feel for Adam is real, but I can’t push him to answer that he feels the same. And I can’t sit around and base my life around whether Adam loves me or not in order to be happy, though I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I miss my husband something fierce. But I don’t want to talk about that at Sunday dinner, and everyone else seems to have forgotten how to talk to me at all since I got here. Like, they’re afraid to say the wrong thing because I might crack or something.
“We got that new bedroom suite in yesterday at the shop, Dad,” I say. Everyone, including those who have no stake in the family business—like Enzo, Deo, and Whit—all look at me like I’ve just said the most interesting thing in the world. “You know, the cool mid-century looking pieces?”
“Excellent!” Dad’s voice is overly animated. He’s always excited about the shop, but this is overkill. “We have the annual sale coming up, too. Maybe you can plan to schedule some extra hours in to help out with inventory. We could use the help, and if Adam is…working in the lab, you’ll have the time.”
My stomach tightens at the mention of more hours at the store, of falling deeper into a permanent career answering phones and helping customers choose accent pieces. My parents built an incredible business, but it’s theirs. I have no personal stake in it, no ownership. I’m just a regular employee punching the time clock. And with each punch, I feel more and more stagnant.
“I’m going to get a refill,” I say, clutching my nearly full glass of water.
I pass through the kitchen and walk straight out the back door, letting the flimsy screen slam behind me.
I can’t blame my family for wanting to work me like a slave. They even pay me pretty decent wages. It’s just never occurred to them that I might want something apart from a life peddling curio cabinets and area rugs.
“Hey, Gen.” Whit’s voice interrupts the quiet of the night, and her body blocks out the warm gold light coming from inside the house. “Food’s getting cold.” She closes the door and shifts from one foot to the other. “You alright?”
“I am. I guess,” I say, wondering how much Deo told her about my breakdown at Marigold’s. And how much Marigold might have told them. I feel exposed and sad. Really sad. “Would you mind telling them I’ll be in in a minute? Just…have a headache.”
Whit looks back into the house, then comes down onto the steps next to where I’m sitting. “I can get you some medicine? I even have some stuff Marigold mixed up in my bag if you w—”
“Why are you being so nice to me, Whit? We’ve never been close, why are you the one out here?” I ask, kicking at the dirt.
“So, you know when I came here, I was…” Whit bobbles her head back and forth like she’s trying to choose her words carefully. “I was sort of running, you know? Luckily, I ran smack into Deo, because I was so, so lost back then that I don’t know where I would’ve ended up without him. And I know that I had a particular thing that was driving me away, and that maybe you aren’t going through something super traumatic or anything, but you do have that same lost look, Gen, and I’d like to try to help, if I can. If we can. Me and Deo. He loves you like a sister, and I know he’d do anything to make sure you’re happy.” She twists her hands together like this entire confession embarrasses her.
It makes me appreciate the fact that she chose to say it even more.
And the mention of Deo and Whit as a ‘we’ doesn’t leave me with the dull ache it used to.
I look up at her, tugging on her sexy pin-striped dress self-consciously, and feel a sweet thankfulness that I have her in my life to care about me.
“Thanks, Whit, but I think I’m okay.”
She rocks back on her heels. “Are you sure? Because you’re usually pretty damn hard to read, Gen. But when it comes to the topic of Adam, you’re completely transparent.”
“We’re not fighting, if that’s what you think. We’re just…” I consider how much to tell Whit. I don’t want her to think that Adam has done something terrible to drive me away, home to my parents’ house, but I can’t exactly lay the truth out to Whit like I did with Marigold. “We got married so quickly, and we didn’t really take a whole lot of time to get to know each other, so that was a risk—”
“There’s always risk,” Whit interrupts, her voice breathy and passionate. “With everything. Me coming out here, where I didn’t know a soul? Risk. Letting Deo into my heart when I just wanted to close it up? Total risk. Risk is a good thing! I don’t know what’s going on with you and Adam, and yeah, you guys got married super-fast, but I think you have a marriage worth saving. Adam loves you, Gen. It’s so damn obvious, even to people that don’t want to admit it—like Cohen, who told Deo if he ever sensed Adam had done you wrong he’d bash his face in. But Adam hasn’t given him a reason to even do a double take, Gen. Fight for your marriage, fight for him.”
She has her hand pressed tight over her heart, and I bet if the light was better, I’d see her face flushed bright red.
I swallow hard. “I don’t know how much fight Adam and I have in us right now.”
Whit laughs and the throaty sound echoes in the deep lavender twilight. “Gen, I’ve known you for a while now. I’ve never known you to run away from a good rumble.”
In that moment, I wish I hadn’t spent so much time hating Whit. I wish I would have spent more time getting to know her, so I could have her in my life as a constant. No wonder Deo is so crazy about her: she’s so intuitive, so real. I pull her into a hug that she isn’t expecting and she stumbles toward me on her gorgeous canary yellow peep-toes, slowly returning the gesture.
She presses her forehead to mine, and her seductive, throaty laugh fills my ears for a second time. “Go get your keys, I’ll make up an excuse. Get your ass home to your man.”
Whit and I saunter back into the house, with our arms wrapped around each other’s waists like we’ve been the best of friends since the day we were born, and I’m already trying to work out what I’m going to say to Adam as soon as I open the front door to our apartment—when his deep, steady voice stops me dead in my tracks.
“I don’t mean to barge in on your dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Rodriguez, I just needed to see—” Adam turns toward me as Whit bolts and leaves me in the dust, making her way back to Deo’s side at the table.
Traitor.
“Hey.” My voice is soft, because I don’t want our first words—no matter how impersonal they may
be—to be witnessed by everyone at the dining room table. Adam looks exhausted. There are deep purple rings under his eyes that show through, even with his smooth, olive complexion. “What are you doing here?”
“Sit down, Adam,” Mom says, motioning to the two empty chairs at the long table.
Adam never stops staring right at me, his gaze beyond intense. It’s like he’s trying to communicate day’s worth of emotions with this one long, burning look. “Thank you, but that’s not necessary, I’m not here to eat. I’m here for Genevieve.”
“Sit,” Dad commands, his words clearly negating any type of resistance. This time, Adam doesn’t hesitate and moves to the chair. I take my seat next to him.
“What’s going on? Are you okay?” I whisper. It’s no use trying to keep quiet, though, because everyone’s attention is fully on us. Adam looks away from me, but his hand clutches mine like he’ll never let it go.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Adam says politely, looking pointedly around the table. A man with a purpose.
“Flauta?” Enzo asks with a snicker, elbowing Cohen in the ribs. He passes the tray down toward Adam.
“Thanks.” Adam’s voice is proud and flat as he piles his plate high.
“They aren’t vegetarian this time. Guess you lucked out,” Cohen says, his usually kind voice tight as a vicious jab.
I don’t get the joke, but it seems Enzo and Cohen both think it’s hilarious.
“Perfect.” Adam raises his eyebrow and eats mechanically.
“So, what’d you do to piss off Gennie?” Enzo asks, dropping the teasing and going right for the jugular.
I twist my hands, nervous, but Adam keeps a steady grip on my hand, comforting me.
“Enzo,” Cece warns, shaking her head.
Adam looks at me, his gorgeous eyes locked on mine for a single, quiet moment. I feel like he’s trying to tell me something or warn me, or—
“Genevieve married me so that I could stay in the country,” he announces, his voice firm and solid.
There’s a moment of shocked silence so palpable, it’s almost suffocating.
“Are you shitting me?” Cohen finally asks, his hands planted on the table, two threatening fists.
Mom and Dad look back and forth between each other, unsure what to make of the bomb that was just dropped, their faces drawn and shocked.
“That’s not true,” I cry, my voice frantic. “Why would you say that, Adam?” I try to meet his eyes, to plead with him not to do this, but he won’t look at me.
“Your daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Rodriguez, your daughter is amazing.” Adam plods on, focused in his resolve. He shakes his head and rubs his palm across his cheek. He hasn’t shaved in days, I’ve never seen him look this wild. Everything about him feels different right now: uncivilized, unhinged, and unfamiliar.
Mom folds her hands on top of the table, her expression a barely controlled mix of fierce and stern. Shit. “Yes, she is, Adam, what is—”
“What the hell is this about your green card?” Cohen asks, half-rising from his chair, his dark eyes bright with rage.
“Stay out of it,” Maren whispers, nudging his ribs with her elbow and dragging him back into his seat.
“Do you have any idea how stupid this is, Genevieve? Do you know what sort of trouble you’ve just thrown yourself into? And me, I’m an officer of the court and you’re off breaking federal law. God,” Lydia shakes her head and pushes her plate away, disgusted.
Adam ignores everyone at the table but Mom and Dad. He keeps his eyes trained on them.
“I was so wrapped up in this experiment that I’ve been conducting, that I didn’t keep up with my student visa paperwork. I was going to have to go back home to Israel. But your daughter stepped in, and had a solution,” he explains, telling each detail of our crazy journey with painful detail.
I wish he would…
“Stop, Adam,” I plead, my voice rough and desperate. “Just stop,” I whisper
“I’d like to hear the rest of what you came to say, Adam,” Dad says, looking at me with disappointment heavy in his eyes.
Adam thinks he’s helping, but he’s not. He’s ruining everything. My body sags under the weight of all this shame, exposed too fast. I want to crawl under the table and hide. Five minutes ago, I felt like everything was going to be okay, and now I know that it will never be. Not with Adam spilling his guts to everyone in the family and making our private situation spiral out of control.
“She offered to marry me so that I could stay in the country,” Adam reiterates, his voice attracting the attention of everyone at the table. No one can look away, no one can stop him.
“Genevieve would you do that?” Mom turns her watering eyes on me, and she seems too stunned to continue her thought after that single damning question.
“Does marriage mean so little to you both? You make a scam of it?” Dad’s words tremble on the edge of outrage. I’ve never felt lower than I do at this moment. My parents’ shame chokes out every other feeling in my body, every other emotional vibration in the entire room.
“It wasn’t like that, for me at least,” I attempt to explain, my voice stabbed with desperation. “It wasn’t just about keeping Adam here for school. I wanted to marry him. I love him. I love him so damn much.” I drag a hand down his arm, but he’s staring at my parents, intent on telling the entire sordid tale.
“I ought to take you outside and kick your ass for screwing with my sister like this.” Cohen leaps up, knocking his chair back, his chest rising and falling with his labored breaths. Maren tries to hold him back, but he’s deaf and blind to any interference.
I start to open my mouth to tell Cohen to stop, but Adam makes everyone at the table jump by standing up wildly and pushing his chair away, meeting Cohen’s stance with his own ferocious posturing.
“You want to go?” he growls at Cohen, his voice rumbling through the room. I reach over and tug on his arm, trying to get him to sit back down, but he won’t budge. “I mean no disrespect Mr. and Mrs. Rodriguez, but I’m laying it out right now. I’ll fight anyone and anything to hang onto Gen.” He looks down at me, his eyes wild.
Cohen bristles, but he doesn’t say anything else, and Adam calmly pushes up his sleeves and sits back down in his chair next to me.
“I married your daughter for selfish reasons. I needed to stay in the country to complete my research, and Gen offered a solution to make that happen. But from the second she proposed, I realized that this wasn’t a marriage of convenience. This wasn’t some bullshit—excuse me—this wasn’t a scam. I love your daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Rodriguez. I’ve loved her for a long time.”
Adam turns to me, finally, and my heart leaps at the way his eyes pry my emotions wide open. “I love you, Gen. I know I’ve said it before, but I want you to know that I mean it. I love you. I’ve loved you since the first day I met you. I want to be married to you.”
“Oh, immigration troubles? You need to stay married how long before they stop being suspicious?” Lydia asks, her lawyer side popping up and computing just how much help we’ll need.
“We’ve already been to the immigration office,” Adam says, his voice.
“Genevieve!” Mom shouts, holding a hand to her throat and looking at my father, who’s white as a ghost. The immigration office plagued his father for years, and he has a bone-deep fear of that entire arm of the government. “What kind of trouble have you put yourself in!”
“Sorry, sis, this was a really stupid idea.” Even dependable, sweet Cece shakes her head, and the last leg of my stubborn hope collapses.
“We’ve been to immigration and everything is fine. I talked with our case worker today, and our file was approved,” Adam announces, grabbing my hand and squeezing tight.
“It was?” I squeal, praying that I heard him right. It’s the first happy sound to escape my lips in days.
“It was,” he says. “I bumped into Mrs. Johnson in the parking lot, and she told me.” He reaches out and clutches at my
other hand, tugging me close to him and his triumphant smile, and I feel my entire body relax with his touch.
“That still doesn’t make this okay, Adam. What you and Genevieve did was wrong,” Dad says, his voice tight with a panic that won’t be easily quelled. “Lying to us, lying to the government.”
“But we weren’t,” Adam says, pulling me close to his side. “I am so in love with your daughter, sir. That’s what I came to say. That I needed to stay because of my yeast experiment. But that’s all taken care of, I figured out the solution—”
“You did?” I ask, my head spinning. I grip his hands harder. “Adam that’s incredible!”
“My experiment is almost finished, and I’m here. I’m here with Gen. Where I want to be. Because I don’t give a damn if I’m in journals or get a full-time position at the university. None of it does any good if I don’t have you along for the ride.”
Adam’s eyes, full of truth, bore into me. He’s a scientist, which means everything about him is practical, analytical. So seeing him here, word-vomiting his love for me all over my parents’ expensive, teak table without worry of the consequence is unnerving. Adam is all about calculating risks, about anticipating outcomes, but he’s thrown all of that caution to the wind and is here spilling the truth, knowing that Cohen and Deo and Enzo may have not let him leave without a limp, knowing that I may turn him down and he’d be left sitting here, completely alone, without a single ally.
“We got married for what seemed like the wrong reasons, but I’m here, telling every one of you now that I’m in this for all the right ones. I’m broken without you, Gen. I can’t sleep without you next to me.”
I pull my hand back from his and link my fingers together in my lap, then let my gaze follow to my empty hands. Empty without him, but desperate for answers he hasn’t given yet.
“But you never called,” I say, knowing as the words tumble out that this isn’t the kind of conversation you should have at a family dinner, but unable to stop now that Adam is here, saying all the things I’ve been wishing he’d say, but am now having a hard time believing.
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