by Lexi Scott
Once the thrill of the initial excitement wears away, I’m left with pure panic.
What the hell did I just do?
I need the comfort of the one warm, wise person who always knows how to keep me calm and grounded.
Marigold is still wearing the flowy, deep purple dress she wore to Cohen and Maren’s engagement party, but her feet are bare and her hair is down from its French twist in a loose braid coiled at her shoulder. I saw her say her good-byes to Mom and Dad, and it occurs to me suddenly that she probably had a good reason to duck out early.
Then I remember that Cohen mentioned the fact that she and Rocko were in France for some workshop on lavender pressing. She must have just flown back, and I notice that her bright eyes have bluish shadows underneath them, and I feel terrible for just showing up at her doorstep like some sad little orphan with nowhere to go, when she’s clearly looking for peace and quiet.
“Look at you,” she says, her voice rasping with sympathy. “What happened, beautiful? Why are you so upset?”
I have this plan to talk to her like a normal person, not a blubbering mass of emotional craziness. But something about Marigold is so sweet and open. She looks at me like she can see the real me, and she isn’t judging. So I open my mouth and sob, feeling extra terrible because I suspect how much she just needs to rest and not deal with my drama.
But, typical Marigold, she doesn’t even mention how tired she is or that it’s so late. Her strong hand rubs my back, right between my shoulder blades. She doesn’t shush me or panic at my tears. She just makes comforting noises in the back of her throat while I cry until my eyes burn, my makeup runs, and, finally, I’m completely loose and empty. I sink onto her couch like my bones are rubber while she goes to the kitchen and comes back with mugs of spicy, fragrant tea.
I just agreed to marry my best friend so he can get a green card, and I can show my family I’m not pining away from unrequited love. What the hell was I thinking?
“I’m so sorry to dump on you like this,” I gasp, trying to pull myself together. “I know you just got back from France, and this is the last thing you need to be dealing with—”
“Now you hush that pretty mouth,” she scolds, shaking her head. “You know good and well I never have a damn thing to do that’s more important than seeing you, sweetheart.”
“Thank you, Marigold.” I rub my fingers under my eyes and try to explain. “It’s just…I did something crazy. Kind of out-of-the-blue insane. And now it’s like I’m stuck under a waterfall, and it’s gorgeous and strong, but it’s just pouring on me, and I’m afraid I might drown under it.”
“I understand, sweetheart.” She holds my face in her hands and uses her thumbs to wipe the last stray tears away. “You’re at this beautiful, exciting age, but your brain is rewiring and your heart is tender. Life is flying by around you, and you feel like there’s too much to grab onto, but if you don’t, you’ll be left behind.”
“Yes!” I gasp, holding a hand to my thudding heart. It’s always shocking how Marigold has been able to do this since I was young, like she’s just cracking my head and heart open and peering inside, knowing everything better than I even know it myself. “How did you—?”
“Genevieve, I was you!” She lets her wavy hair loose from its braid and tosses it over her shoulder, looking into the fire that’s crackling in her hearth. “I was just floating along, floating through this time in my life when things were so wild and wonderful. I was a little obsessed with Deo’s father. We’d met when we were…what, thirteen?” Her laugh is soft when she talks about him. I’m happy for that. There used to be so much bitterness when Marigold talked about her feelings for Deo’s dad. “I would have followed him anywhere, never making an investment in myself, tagging along on his adventures. Then I found out I was pregnant, and he showed that he wasn’t man enough for the job of being Deo’s dad.”
“That must have been awful,” I whisper, cupping my hands around the mug of pale green tea, still so hot it burns the tip of my tongue every time I take a sip.
“No.” She looks up at me, her eyes bright, and points at my heart. “I’ll tell you why. I got the gift of myself back. I got to live life the way I wanted, not by his rules or anyone else’s. I got the gift of my sweet, lovable boy, Deo. And, down the road, though I didn’t know it then, I’d get the gift of loving Rocko, who opened my heart in ways I couldn’t imagine were possible.”
“So…” I stall my words, but her quiet patience makes my tongue flap.
I think of Deo—his smiling eyes, his gentle words, his voice when he held my hand and told me that I’m his family, that he wants my happiness. It was like a fresh knife wound to my heart, and it’s what started the whole charade with Adam.
It was stupid of me to ever imagine anything happening. Whether I like it or not, Deo is a married man. A happily married man. But I can’t help feeling sad for the “us” that was never meant to be, and it’s a crushing kind of emptiness. I was so busy nurturing an old, empty dream that I wound up alone and kind of lost. “It’s probably a dumb idea to think you need to find the right person for it all to make sense.”
“Not at all.” She curls an arm around my shoulders and lets me rest my weary head on her body. I breathe in the cinnamon smell of her, listen to the steady thud of her heartbeat, and feel surrounded by love. “If I’d met Rocko when I was young, I would have scooped him up. Because he cares about investing in me. If you find that one person who believes in you, helps you combat your doubts, lifts you up when you’re ready to lie down and say ‘screw it’? If you find that person, grab tight. So tight. And never let go.”
I sit up and look at her, my mouth opening and closing without words coming out, because they’re all scrambling through my brain too chaotically.
At one time I thought Deo was that person for me. Because Deo is so damn sweet and hilarious. So handsome. So smart and adventurous. He loves his mom and his adorable grandfather. A long time ago, I thought I wanted to be part of his life. I thought I wanted him to really look at me so I could feel the sunshine of his perfect, strong love. And I was so hard on myself when that didn’t happen. But I shouldn’t have been.
The thing is, Deo is still the guy I grew up admiring and loving.
But he doesn’t look at me like I’m the center of his world. That look is for Whit, his wife. His soul mate.
And for the first time, I realize I’m honestly okay with that. And maybe I’ve been okay with it for a while now, but I’ve never been able to admit it before.
Because there actually is someone in my life who looks at me like I’m kind of amazing. Someone who pushes me to do better. Someone who sneaks glances at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention, whose eyes burn up and down my body like he wants to devour every inch of me.
The one person who believes in me even when I put on my best “I don’t care” act?
The one person who sees through my every attempt to slack off and fail?
The one person who insists I’m more than I tell him I am?
Someone my aunts and girlfriends have been drooling over for very good reason—and they only know he’s tall, dark, and Jewish. They have no idea he’s also really funny—Schrodinger’s cat aside. And warm. And dependable. And brilliant. And kind of unexpectedly sexy, now that I think about it…
Adam. Adam. Adam.
He’s been right in front of my face this whole entire time. I’ve been baking him cupcakes and joking with him and poring over every note set he sends me so I can impress him at the next tutoring session.
He’s always been Adam. Cute Adam. Serious Adam. Adam who sees who I am, the real me I try to hide. He sees that all and roots for me anyway.
The “crazy” idea I had to marry him? Maybe it’s not so crazy after all. Maybe it’s one of the first really smart things I’ve done in a while.
“You look like you just realized something,” Marigold says, cupping my shoulder with her hand. “Your face looks so happy.”
> I feel happy. Finally, I feel truly happy.
“I think…I really think I know. For the first time in so long, I feel sure.” I laugh, a stupid loose laugh, and wonder for a second if Marigold doped my tea, because there’s such an assured power emanating through me.
She hops up, her eyes dancing with excitement, and asks, “Do you want me to do a reading, Genevieve? The energy right now is incredible. I can feel it rolling off of you.” She holds still, eyes closed, hands out.
“I’d love a reading.” I watch as she bounds over to the small wooden box that holds her packs, picking one tied in a deep green square of silk. Marigold has read my Tarot cards for years. I always secretly hoped at least one of the readings would include the knight of cups, the card Deo always chose as his own for Celtic cross readings.
But I never got that one, not even once.
Tonight I’m afraid I’ll finally get my wish, too late. Not that a Tarot reading will sway my decision. I just… I want all the stars to align for me tonight. I want this reading to matter, to solidify everything that’s been percolating in the back of my mind for so long. Everything that feels so clear right now.
“You’re giving me a very distinct vibe tonight.” Marigold squints at me as she clutches the pack to her chest. “I’m going to do a simple three card read. Past, present, future. Okay? I want to channel your energy, but I don’t want to muddy what you already know to be true.”
I swear Marigold is like a freaking mind reader.
She hands me the pack, but I don’t need her to tell me to think about what my heart wants most. I cut the pack with my left hand, like I’ve done a thousand times before, and Marigold flips my cards.
My stomach knots at the first card.
Death, reversed.
“Your past,” she intones.
I feel pukey after the next.
The Devil, reversed.
“Your present,” she murmurs.
And I hold my breath for my future.
The page of swords.
“Your future.” Marigold looks at these cards, the ones that make me want to vomit, and her smile is pure sunshine.
“Marigold, maybe we need to reshuffle,” I beg. “Maybe I didn’t concentrate the way I should have. This looks really bad. Like, super bad.”
“This is wonderful,” she says, laughing softly. “I’ve been reading your cards for years, Genevieve, and I don’t think I’ve ever had such a hopeful reading.” She draws a finger over the Death card. “Don’t feel nervous. This is, first of all, in your past. Secondly, Death is so misinterpreted. Death is the sign of rebirth. New life. In your reading, this means that there was something in your life that is gone. A hope, a dream, a path you were going to pursue. But you can’t be sad it’s gone, because it’s all about renewal. A door closed for you, Genevieve. It closed very firmly. And a new one is opening wide.”
Marigold’s face is shining with happiness in the flickering firelight.
“That’s great, Marigold,” I say, tracing a finger over the angry, bloated face of the devil on the middle card. “But what is this all about? The devil? How can that possibly be good?”
“Don’t let the ugliness of this card fool you.” She puts her finger on the card and slides it until it meets mine. “You are bound by something, held back by something, and that’s all about to change. Everything that has had you shackled and has kept you down is all about to be washed clean. You’re about to embark on a powerful journey, and it’s going to lead you in directions you never even imagined. Your entire world is about to break wide open in the best way, Genevieve.”
My heart is pounding. The blood hisses and pumps through me, filling me with an intense adrenaline. “This one?” I ask. “It’s a dark haired man, right? Younger? Maybe college aged?”
Marigold picks the card up and studies it for a few long beats. When she finally speaks, her voice is strong and sure. “The page of swords is a dark-haired young person. A person who’s about to face some challenges and conflicts that will take a great deal of strength and endurance to overcome. A person who’s about to realize his—or her—true worth.”
“Oh.” I put my hand to my lips and start to pace. Suddenly I need air.
Luckily, Marigold is a total night owl, just like me, and seems happy to leap up and lead me to the patio out back where she says, “Go ahead, pace it out. And when you’re done, spill.”
“I want something. I want someone. I did something a little crazy tonight, but now I know I was right. I mean, I think I know I was right.” I hurry back and forth on the plant-choked bricks in her little backyard oasis, catching scents of jasmine and lavender and mint, depending on what flower or herb I brush by as I walk. I see her eyes, so sweet and heartbroken, and I shake my head. “This is not about Deo.”
She drops her head into her hands and half sighs, half laughs. “Thank the goddess! Oh, honey, you know I love that boy with my whole heart, but if you came here tonight to tell me again how right you two were for each other, I’m telling you—I’m a pacifist, but I might have knocked you upside the head.”
I break off a sprig of mint and chew the leaves, smiling at Marigold. “You couldn’t hurt a fly.”
She tilts her head back and laughs. “Try me, why don’t you. If it would have helped straighten your head out, I could have made you see stars.”
“I think I am seeing them.” I plop down next to her. “I love this guy. And he loves me. But we’re friends. And he has this vibe where he wants to protect me.”
She pinches her lips together before she talks to me. “Genevieve. I love you from the bottom of my heart. But this pattern isn’t any good. You need to be with a man who sees you as an equal.”
“Or a better?” I chew on another mint leaf, and Marigold tilts her head.
“I’m intrigued. Go on.” She leans back and waits.
“The guy, my friend, I really respect him.” She nods, and I take a deep breath. “He always, without fail, pushes me to do more and be better. It’s like he knows when I’m about to give up and he always reaches out, pulls me back up, and convinces me to go another round.”
Marigold’s smile stretches wide across her face. “I like this. I like this entire description. But, sweetie, I’m a red-blooded woman. This boy can be sweet as pie and Ghandi deep. Just tell me he has hands to die for and eyes you can sink into?”
I hold my hands out wide. “Shoulders like this.” She closes her eyes and moan-sighs. “I can’t look at his hair without wanting to run my fingers through it. I can barely hold his hands, they’re so big. Like puppy-dog paw big. And sandpaper rough.”
“It’s like I can feel them,” she says, pressing her own hands to her cheeks.
“And? He has green eyes. Like sea glass.”
“You’re killing me.” She leans back on her hands and gazes at the stars, soaking in all these gorgeous details before she asks the big question. “But he’s not…?”
“Oh, I think he’d be into me. If we weren’t friends. The thing is…I asked him to marry me tonight.”
“You asked him to marry you?”
I quirk a smile her way. “I know how it sounds. But his visa is almost up, and he needs a green card. When I thought about him moving to Israel, it was like I had a heart attack. I keep mulling it over, and the answer is always clear to me: marry him. Take a chance with him. We can always end the marriage when we need to. If we don’t do this now, we both stand to lose so much.”
I mean his research. I mean my freedom. But I would also be lonely as hell without Adam.
She narrows her eyes at me. “I like this new Genevieve. I think you should be persistent. Go for Mr. Broad-as-Hell-Shoulders. Don’t let him go. Take this wild, crazy risk you feel so sure about. And live up to his expectations of you because, honey, I think this boy sees the real you.”
“You think?” I feel that fire, the one that went soggy just a little while ago in Adam’s car, start to reignite.
“Sweetie, your life is no
w. Now. I think you’ve spent a lot of time waiting and watching and promising to get started as soon as…what? As soon as nothing! I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen you this on fire. Harness that. Grab on and ride it right out of this funk.”
“Yeah.” I’m caught up in the cyclone of Marigold’s words. “I will.”
“From what you just described to me, you found the partner who’s going to crack your life wide open and give you a jump-start to get moving.” She sits up, and when I stand, she slaps a hand on my ass.
Hard.
“Ouch!” I rub my bottom. “Poor Deo! Your spankings must have been brutal.”
“I only look sweet.” Marigold wiggles her eyebrows. “That was meant to spur you on, sweetie! Go get what you want. Don’t you dare make the mistake of waiting around for what’s left over. Every good thing is worth the fight. And a really good man? He’s worth a whole damn smack down.”
I lean over and drop a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you.”
“Thank you.” She holds me close for a few heartbeats. “If I couldn’t have you as a daughter-in-law, I’m forever grateful to call you a friend.”
I tamp down the lump in my throat and squeeze her hand hard, ready to go to Adam and let him know I’m sure.
…
At one fifteen in the afternoon a few days later, I’m sitting in the In-N-Out, suddenly nervous as hell about everything. I tap the toe of my adorable high heel, tug on my tiny shirt, and check my makeup on my phone. I look good. Really good. Adam said I should be more confident, and here I am, being all confident.
Right?
This is the first opening in our schedules since our big talk after Cohen and Maren’s engagement party, and my crazy marriage proposal. We’ve sent a few stilted texts back and forth, but nothing face-to-face until today.
I watch as his car pulls up and he gets out, wearing his usual TA uniform of khakis, random sci-fi T-shirt with a button-down over it, and hiking boots. I guess they’re hiking boots. I don’t wear shoes unless they make me six inches taller and three times sexier, preferably while glittering.
