Limits (29 page)

I pull out
my chair, one with a sun carved into it and painted bright yellow, and sit down.

“Carrot tofu quiche, Deo-baby, not pie,” Marigold corrects.

“Where’s Rocko?” I ask.

“Had an appointment run over.” Marigold shrugs.

“Lucky bastard,” Deo mutters. I watch that familiar, cocky grin spread across his face and it’s contagious. I’ve missed it. Before there was Whit, there were regular dinners at Marigold’s. I got to see that smile often.

I force a return smile and take the plate that Marigold has filled with a heaping scoop of quiche. I’m not even remotely hungry, so I spread it around on my plate, fully aware that Marigold and Deo’s eyes are on me.

“What brings you by, Gen?” Deo asks. His voice sounds normal, but when I look up to answer, his eyes are intent. He’s fishing. And I know good and well that anything I tell him is going straight back to my brother, and his best friend, Cohen. “Adam working late?”

“Not exactly,” I answer. What am I doing? I’m not about to lay all of my problems out in front of Deo. I can’t tell him how we faked a marriage for citizenship. He’d run straight to Cohen and rat me out. “He’s um, he’s working at home tonight. Research. I just wanted to give him some quiet, so thought I’d come and say hello.”

Marigold nods in a way that I know is basically calling bullshit on everything I’ve just said.

“So everything is good with you two? I don’t have to go all big-brother and kick his ass or anything?” Deo says with a throaty laugh, the same one that I used to find so damn sexy. But this time, it just sounds like a regular laugh.

“Everything is perfect.”

The words leave my mouth and a sob follows behind the lie that I can’t stop.

Marigold and Deo’s eyes turn into matching sets of saucers as they glance at each other then back to me.

“Genevieve!” Marigold cries.

“I’m sorry,” I say, waving off the attention. “I think I’m just tired, I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight. I shouldn’t have come.”

“Yes you should, Gen. Where else would you go?” Deo asks. “We’re just as much your family as that nutty Rodriguez clan.”

He reaches over and rubs my arm with his rough, calloused hand. And it’s a nice gesture, but it just feels like any warm hand on my skin. Not the way I thought it would to have Deo comfort me. It doesn’t feel the way it does to fall into Adam’s arms when he picks me up from a club I don’t want to be at or how he lightly brushes the hair from my face when he thinks I’m still asleep.

“Why don’t you take your food to-go, Deo?” Marigold shoots him a look that dares him to argue. I expect Deo to make a crack about getting kicked out of his own mother’s house, but he just gives me a tight, worried look before he gets up to kiss his mom and squeeze my shoulder, then heads to the door. “Bring some for Whit, there’s that whole extra quiche on the stove!” she calls after him.

“I’m sure she’ll enjoy every bite, Ma!” Deo calls back, his tone laced with sarcasm.

“Little asshole,” Marigold laughs. She shakes her head and clears her
throat. “Now, back to you, darling.”

She holds out her hand with a jingle of her infinite bangles, reaches for mine, and closes her palm around it.

“What’s got you so worked up tonight?”

“Adam and I—”

“Oh, don’t tell me there’s trouble there, sweets! That boy loves you more than waves love the shore.”

“I’m not really sure about that. It’s a long story, but I think maybe we got married for the wrong reasons?”

“Do you not love him, Genevieve?” Marigold asks.

I shake my head. “No, of course I do. So much more than I really expected to.”

“Expected to?” Marigold settles into her chair, her body language letting me know she’s in for one long haul of a story if that’s what I’m offering.

I have no energy to go back to the twisted beginning of things, so I paraphrase. “It’s complicated. I guess I just thought that Adam and I were on the same page, and now...now I think maybe we’re too far apart to come back together. I’m not sure he loves me the same way that I love him. Or at all.”

“Did you have a fight?” Marigold narrows her eyes at me like she’s trying to read what I’m not saying in my face. “You’re being unusually vague. This isn’t like you. You know that your secrets are always safe with me, honey. The things you tell me won’t leave these trippy walls.”

I glance around at the kitchen where I’ve always felt so comfortable spilling my deepest secrets since I was a young girl. “I know that. I just don’t want to get you in any trouble, because, the thing is—”

“You thought you were marrying for one reason, but it turns out you married for a completely different one?” Marigold asks, raising a brow and making the light reflect off of her glittered eyeshadow.

Relief bolts through me. “Exactly! How did you know?”
              Marigold shrugs her delicate shoulders. “Because you’ve never trusted yourself, Genevieve. Not as much as you should. When you decided to marry Adam, I’m sure you had your good reasons. But I bet none of them are the reason that you’re sitting here so upset right now.”

I distractedly take a small bite of the quiche and immediately regret it. The flavor is okay, but the texture... Marigold watches me chew and swallow, and I don’t have the heart to gulp down the massive glass of water in front of me the way I want to.

“Why would Adam lie to you about being in love with you?”

“Why would Adam lie about being in love with me?” I repeat, every syllable sharp. “That’s the two-million dollar question.”

“No, it’s not. It’s rhetorical. He wouldn’t,” Marigold says firmly.

I decide to lay it out and let her see just how direct her question really is. “I married him so that he could stay in the country, because his student visa was about to expire and—”

Marigold is nodding. “But that’s not really why you married him. You married Adam because you love him, but you didn’t trust that to begin with, so you used the excuse of the visa as your reasoning. You love Adam the way a wife should love her husband, am I right?”

I brace for the tears that burn at the edges of my eyes. “With every single thing in me, Marigold. It snuck up on me and now I feel like I’m losing him—it. And maybe he doesn’t feel the same way, maybe this
was
just about a green card to him, you know?”

“No, that’s ridiculous.” She says the last word with an edge of impatient temper. “Do you trust me, Genevieve?” Marigold asks.

“Of course,” I nod. And I do, so much.

“Then trust what I’m telling you right now. That man showed up with pure, true love in his eyes and in his heart when he came looking for your ring. He’d scoured every jewelry shop in town, but he wanted you to have the right ring for you, sweetie. A man who didn’t care about you wouldn’t have done that. You aren’t giving him enough credit.”

I swallow hard around the burning in my throat.

“But all he can think about is how he’s going to lose all of this work if he has to leave.” And it’s silly, but I’m more upset about the idea that he may have been faking his feelings for me than the prospect of me ending up in jail.

Marigold purses her pink-lined lips. “Did you ever think maybe he’s doing it to protect you? He’s a man, so he’s obviously going to do things the most backward, stupid way possible. But, maybe he thinks that if he pushes you away, if the worst happens, it’ll be easier to part? I think even Rocko would try to do the same in that situation if he thought it’d be easier on our hearts in the long run.”

“But my heart is hurting right now,” I say, pressing my hand where it beats dully, out of tune. “So, he’s not doing a really great job protecting it.”

“Ah, but the point is that he’s trying.” Marigold leans in, her eyes on mine. “That’s all you can ever ask from anyone. They can’t always say all the right things, do all the right things. But if they’re trying to protect you, to make you happy, to take care of you, that’s all you can ask of them. Sounds to me like Adam is scared, and that’s a new feeling for him. So maybe he’s going about showing you that the wrong way—”

“I’d be there for him, if he’d just tell me that. Instead, he’s making me feel like this is all my fault, like I ruined everything.” The tears hang wetly on my lashes and threaten to jump.

Marigold tips my chin up with her long finger. “Adam feels like things are spinning out of control just as much as you do, honey. When you’re caught up in a riptide, the natural reaction is to put all your energy in the opposite direction, as far away from the undertow as you can, and that’s true for both of you. You’re my doll, but you are a spit-fire, Genevieve. I imagine Adam has his work cut out for him when you get upset. Anger, lust, and curiosity, all of those things are going to send you running toward someone. But it gets tricky with fear. Fear drives us away. Fear will send you running from what might just save you. Don’t let it, Genevieve.”

She presses my hair back off my face and meets my eyes. “You and Adam are up against something that we can’t predict the outcome of, but you stand a far better chance of making it through this if you stop wasting your energy trying to swim against this thing that’s bigger and stronger than you are. Just like when you’re in a riptide, sweetie, you might have to hang on and move in the direction that feels counterproductive, but will save you in the end. And it will be a hell of a lot easier to keep your strength and courage up if you do it together.”

I let the tears fall, and my voice shudders around a sob that’s half relief, half trepidation. “I feel like I’ll never know all of these things like you do. Like I’ll never be a real grown-up, capable of solving my own problems.”

“Genevieve, you’re comparing yourself to an old woman. I’ve had life experience—I’ve had so many loves, so many lovers, so much loss. Why do you think you need to have it all figured out right now?” Marigold throws her hands in the air, making her bracelets jangle.

I wrap my arms around myself. “I’m just ready to be done with feeling so lost all the time. And I sort of thought I was for a while, but now...”

“We all have things that make us question our paths, Genevieve. We all have setbacks.”

“Even you?” I ask, an eyebrow raised.

Marigold laughs and claps her hands together. “Of course!”

              “Marigold, would it be okay if I maybe stayed in the guest room? I’m not up to driving to my parents’ place tonight.” I feel so drained, I could lay my head on this sky blue table and fall asleep in a few sweet seconds.

             
Marigold strokes my hair back. “You’re always welcome to stay, love, but don’t you think you should go home? Kiss and make up?”

             
I shake my head. “I think maybe I should give it a few days. I’ll just stay tonight, though. I can crash at Mom and Dad’s tomorrow.”

I love Adam, I’m certain of that. And after talking to Marigold, I’m pretty sure he might love me, too. But I don’t want to push it. I don’t want to run back and have us fight again right now. I don’t want the stress of the immigration situation to crumble everything we’ve built. We just need a little time.

              “Stay as long as you need, love.”

“Fuck my life.” I have so many petri dishes in front of me, scattered across the table, it’s just stupid. Beyond it being generally stupid, since there’s just too much going on to properly analyze any of it, there’s also stupidity in the fact that they’re out on the counter, exposed to temperatures dips and peaks I’m not in control of.

“Hey, man,” Cody says, his voice cautious, like he’s sneaking up on a rabid animal. “You cool?”

“Hey, Cody,” I sigh. I let my head bang onto the stainless steel countertop. “I’m fucked. How are you?”

“Can I help?” He takes a long sip of coffee and squints just enough to let me know he’s a little hung over.

I never had the days of easy college life Cody has, even before I was a married man facing deportation and possible legal action by the US government. Right now, I realize being hungover should be enticing. I should wish my biggest problem was making it through my day with a headache and a sour gut.

But I don’t feel that way.

Genevieve called to let me know she was safe and sound at Marigold’s house and was going to spend some time with her parents. She told them I’d be in the lab nonstop, and she didn’t like being home alone so much. Maybe it was my demented attempt to make things better between us, but I decided to make her cover story into our reality. I went ahead and parked my ass in the lab, going home only when I’d fallen asleep over my keyboard so many times, my forehead was doing more typing than my fingers.

I’d always hold my breath for a few seconds when I turned the doorknob, hoping she’d be standing in front of the stove, cooking something that made the entire apartment smell like heaven. When that dream got shattered, I didn’t call her. Didn’t drive to her parents’ house and beg her to come home. I made myself a sandwich, took a shower, slept fitfully in our big bed, and went back to the lab.

Because when my thesis was done, I could spend less hours at the lab.

And then she would come home.

Never mind that that was just the story she invented to keep suspicions down. Some deluded part of my brain was convinced that if I made the story true, the end product would be Genevieve, back in my life. My wife, back by my side.