Limits

by Steph Campbell

  “Yes. The catering. I asked the place that catered Cohen and Maren’s engagement shower if they could offer a discount, and they’re happy to give a ten percent employee discount since you’re technically on their payroll, plus the ten percent family discount. That’s twenty percent off!” Her lips curl up in this self-satisfied smile, and she makes a check on her list with a flick of her wrist.

  “Great. Is there anything else you need me to do? I did all the paperwork you asked, and I have the housing application completed and submitted.” She’s still smiling that same gorgeous smile, but it doesn’t trick me the way it did even a couple days ago.

  Not since she came into the lab and told me—wearing that same wide smile—that peonies were not possible for her bouquet. She was still smiling when the tears started falling, and the smile only fell from her face when I rushed her into my office. She sobbed so long and hard, I was ready to sell my soul to the botany department to get those damn flowers for her, but then she brightened back up and told me it would all be okay.

  “No.” She unfolds her legs, slides the notebook into her backpack and stands. “That was everything on the list. As long as you’re okay with my having a few Mexican traditions in our ceremony?”

  “Of course.”

  She explained about the lazo that will bind our wrists and the thirteen gold coins of ‘earnest money’ I’ll pass to her. Which, frankly, were as foreign as the traditional Jewish vows and the whole walking around me three times thing she’d be doing.

  I go to temple and all that, but I’d only been to a handful of weddings as an adult, most of them pretty secular. Anyway, I hardly ever paid attention: the vows were just the part I had to sit through before I could hit the bar and flirt with some bridesmaids.

  “So…great.” She toys with the straps of her backpack and edges toward the door. “I’ve got class until four. Do you want to, um, get dinner? Or something?”

  I stand up close to her and fix one of the twisted straps that’s cutting in at her shoulder. “Dinner would be great. Would you like me to pick you up?”

  “Sure. Yeah. That works.” She’s so close, I can smell the strawberry gum she popped in her mouth the minute she got to my room. The wrapper is still on my desk, and I love that there’s a tiny trace of her left in my room, even if it is just a stupid wrapper.

  “I’ll make reservations.” I want to take her somewhere nice for dinner, somewhere fancy. I’m going to drain my savings anyway, so what’s one more excellent dinner? Luckily, Genevieve always dresses up, and today is no exception, so I can take her somewhere a little more upscale than our usual In-N-Out dates, and she won’t feel underdressed. “You look great.”

  “Oh.” She glances down at the dress she’s wearing, kind of purple. It’s a really pretty color on her. I should tell her that, but I feel stupid enough for my last blurted compliment. “Thank you. Thanks.”

  She leans in, and I do, too, but I wind up kissing her cheek and she gives me an awkward hug.

  It’s so painful, I think we’re both relieved when she walks away from my room.

  “Damn it, damn it, damn it,” I mutter, banging my head against the doorway of my room. What the hell am I doing? This is the girl who’s going to be my wife in a few short days, and things are getting more awkward by the second. At least when we were hanging out before there was some nice sexual tension that led to flirting. Now it’s like every word in our conversations trips and tangles, and we can’t even figure out how to say goodbye.

  This isn’t my idea of a good beginning for a marriage, and it sure as hell isn’t what Genevieve deserves.

  I half wish I had a big list of things to worry about for this wedding, like Genevieve does. I think it’s probably the one reason she hasn’t come to her senses and cut me loose. She doesn’t have a second to form that thought. Luckily, even though all I have to worry about officially is making sure my suit is clean, I have a full afternoon of worries ahead of me. I start by pulling two of my older microscopes off the shelf and heading to the pawn shop.

  They aren’t worth a ton, but the pawn guy I deal with when things get slim knows the market for geeks is a good one in this area. I walk out with enough to get a respectable ring for Genevieve.

  The scientist in me wants to get her a moissanite ring. What’s the point of a diamond ring, aesthetically? It’s supposed to shine, sparkle, and wow people with its brilliance. The problem is that diamonds aren’t really the most stunning gems. The flaws in natural diamonds are numerous, and the harvesting methods aren’t ethical. The fact that moissanite is made in a lab actually appeals to me. More control, more quality, a great product made by science.

  But scientist aside, I know that Genevieve will not think that way. I look through the cases at three different jewelers’ stores, but I don’t see a damn thing that will work. The thing is, I don’t know what I’m looking for. I just know it’s not what I’m seeing.

  Something brings me to a little hippie-looking shop on the outskirts of town. I recognize the name from Genevieve’s wedding list. It’s Deo’s mother’s shop, where we’re getting flowers from. I know Genevieve is close to her, though I cringe to think that it’s probably because she spent years imagining the woman as her future mother-in-law. I’m running out of time quickly, and I need help, so I swallow my pride and go in.

  The shop is filled with the smell of spices and the soft metallic ringing of bells. A woman with long, wavy hair looks up and smiles, then narrows her eyes and points at me.

  “Welcome. Why do I feel like I know you?” She wrinkles her nose, and I feel suddenly at home.

  “Maybe from Cohen and Maren’s engagement party?” I offer. “I carried—”

  “The knishes!” Her smile has the same bend as her son’s, but with more mischief and less cockiness. “They were to die for.” She hops off her stool and comes around the little counter in bare feet. “And now we’re going to be practically family.” I have no idea why my marrying the little sister of her son’s best friend makes me and her ‘family,’ but there’s something about the way she holds her arms out that makes me feel like a dickhead for even considering not going in for a hug. “I’m a hugger.” She shrugs and waves me over.

  This is strange. Very strange. But I let her wrap her thin arms around me, and I hug the mother of the guy my fiancée might still be in love with. And it feels…damn good.

  She pulls back and her grin is contagious. “Adam, is it?” I nod. “I’m Marigold.”

  “Nice to meet you.” I pull my arms back and stick my hands in my pocket, but there’s this whole tingle of general goodness coursing through me, and I’m hopeful Marigold can give me some direction about the ring. “I actually hoped you could help me. Maybe.”

  She trains her eyes on me, looking instantly concerned. “Anything I can do, I’m happy to help.”

  “It’s, um…it’s embarrassing because, I really care about Genevieve. And I want to marry her. But we did things in a little bit of an unorthodox way. I guess. What I’m trying to say is that I have no ring. And didn’t actually ask her to marry me. Not the way I wanted to. I have money for a ring, but I’ve been to a few places and nothing looked right.”

  “That’s because her ring is right here,” Marigold says calmly, going behind the counter. She pulls a small velvet pad with jewelry on it out and sets it on the glass top. I stare in confusion.

  “Wait. Genevieve picked out an engagement ring already?” I ask, totally puzzled as I step forward and look at the ring Marigold holds out.

  As soon as I look at it, there’s no doubt in my mind. It’s Genevieve’s.

  The entire ring is a contradiction. The setting is sleek and modern, but there are soft flourishes and engravings in the metal. There is a large, round purple stone that glistens and shines. It’s a subtle, watered color that makes me think of the way Genevieve’s eyes look when she’s happiest and the velvety gray of her irises seems to soften. Its sparkles are intensified by a ring of what looks like dia
monds.

  “Genevieve didn’t pick this. It picked her. Am I right?” Marigold asks, dropping it into my palm. “The girl who designs these…” She clutches her hands to her heart and shakes her head. “She’s going to be so famous someday. The eye she has for design gives me chills. I bought a few of her pieces when I was in San Francisco, and I asked if I could sell some in the store. This batch came in a week ago. It’s funny, because everyone admires this ring and asks about it, but no one’s bought it yet. Like they all knew it wasn’t meant for them.”

  “Er, sure,” I say uncertainly. I flip the tag on the ring. It’s priced at exactly what I got from the pawn shop for my microscopes. Down to the dollar. “This is the price?” I ask, just to be sure I’m not going insane and seeing things.

  “Weird, right.” Marigold’s smile makes me feel like she can see inside my head and knows exactly why I’m feeling like this is a little freaky. “The designer forgot to add the tax in. I do it upfront, so that’s the total, with tax. It helps both of us for record keeping.”

  “Ah,” I say, pulling out my wallet. “I’m so glad I stopped by.”

  “Of course,” she says, taking my money and leaning her arms on the glass. “Adam, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.” I let her take the ring and put it in a small wooden box that she drops in a paper bag.

  “What do you see when you look at Genevieve?” She rings up the purchase and writes out a receipt for me, like she’s asking what the traffic is like or how the weather is.

  Instead of stumbling over what I want to say, it comes out with surprising ease. “I see Genevieve as someone who’s incredibly strong, but who has this sweet, sensitive side to her, too. I see someone who doesn’t give herself enough credit. She has amazing potential. I hope I can help her develop that more. I see someone who’s fighting hard, with herself, and her goals, and everything around her. And I see her coming out on top, because she never gives up.”

  “I love that.” She hands me the receipt and holds my hand tight. “You deserve her. I know her well and love her like the daughter I never had. And I don’t say this lightly: you absolutely deserve her, Adam.”

  Those words rip the air from my lungs, make my knees feel like they’re about to buckle, make my heart beat like mad. I nod, thank her, walk to the door. But I stop before I leave and ask her nonsensical but amazing question right back.

  “What do you see when you see Genevieve?”

  She slides the velvet pad back into the display case, takes something out of a drawer, and tosses it my way. I catch a small glass bottle marked “Eros Balm.”

  “I see you. And that makes me very happy.” She winks. “Use that wisely. It’s supposed to be a strong aphrodisiac. Try it out and come tell me if it helped you do the feather-bed jig. I’m always looking for good customer reviews of new products!”

  “Uh, sure.” I rush out of the store, feeling a little shell-shocked. Did that sweet woman seriously just ask me to test out some sexual lubricant and report back to her with the results?

  I make it back to my dorm in time to shower and change, and I check the box a thousand times, just to make sure it’s really there. I really bought a ring. I’m really asking Genevieve to marry me. Tonight.

  By the time I pick her up from class, I feel buzzed and edgy. I had wanted to go to dinner first, but it was impossible to get a reservation until later on such short notice. Now I’m relieved. There’s no way I would have been able to eat with the ring burning a damn hole in my pocket. I drive straight to where I want to go, and she stops her monologue about the girl sitting across from her in British lit who was painting her toenails during lecture and looks around.

  “Are we at the Getty?” she asks.

  I jog to her car door and pull it open, offering her my hand so she can step out.

  “Yes.” I pull her towards the elevators, paying for parking before we get on one.

  “Adam, what are we doing here? Why are we going to the Getty? I thought we were going to grab dinner?” She tilts her head and looks at me, her brows pressed low. “You’re wearing a tie. You didn’t have class this afternoon. You’re wearing a tie for me.”

  Her eyes flutter down and she shakes her head, like she’s putting puzzle pieces together, one by one. She snaps her neck up and her mouth hangs open, about to say…something that will ruin the (admittedly lame) plans I tried to make. I shake my head, wanting to say something, anything. Maybe it’s the look on my face, but she puts on a neutral expression, and we walk to the little tram in silence.

  “It’s gorgeous here.” She squints out the window into the sunset. “The last time I was here, Cece took me. She was coming to hear some architect who was speaking, and I just wandered the grounds forever. It’s one of those afternoons I remember with all this very specific detail.”

  “Are you and Cece close?” I ask to make conversation. Sometimes this all feels so rushed, I’m afraid to ask anything because I can barely keep the bare bones of the facts straight. But I do want to know everything about her eventually.

  “She and I are really close, but I think that may be a Cece thing, you know?” She tilts her head and smiles, and I nod at her, even though siblings are something I have less than zero knowledge about. I don’t even have any close cousins or really tight friends. I’ve been a loner my entire life. “Cece is that sibling who’s so laid back, so funny and sweet and comforting. She’s one of those people that, when you spend time with them, they make you feel like you’re the most important person in their life. But, she has that knack with everyone. I think all four of us might love her best. Even Lydia!”

  “Lydia seems wound pretty tightly,” I observe.

  Genevieve’s mouth pulls into a frown. “She’s under a lot of pressure at work,” she defends. “I know she can come off as harsh, but she puts so much on herself, and it makes her keyed up. I swear, she’s got a really good heart.”

  “Of course.”

  I realize that I probably shouldn’t talk about Genevieve’s family unless I have something neutral or nice to say. As chaotic as the Rodriguez family seems, I get that they’re fiercely loyal to each other. I admire that. It’s an entirely alien concept to me, but I still recognize that it’s an incredible thing.

  The train ascends the hill, then stops smoothly. The doors open and Genevieve steps out like she has a destination in mind. Which is fine by me. I figured I’d just pick a pretty spot, get my courage up, and ask. But I’m happy to follow Genevieve’s lead. We walk down the gravel path, leaving the colossal white travertine museum behind us and entering the sprawling gardens.

  “It always makes me think of a place Lewis Carroll would have designed.” I brush the back of my palm against the back of hers, and tug her hand into mine.

  She stops on a little bridge that overlooks a koi pond. “I agree. It’s like a place that makes believing in magic seem totally logical.”

  I don’t say anything, because it’s disconcerting to have someone take the words directly from my brain and speak them out loud a few seconds before I was going to.

  We keep walking, admiring the grasses and sculpted topiaries, the flowers and trees, the fountains and the formations. We finally come to a small arbor with sweet, white blossoms all over it. “I love this place,” she says. “It seems like the perfect place to—”

  And I think I might be taking the words directly from her brain in that moment.

  Which is why I slide my hand along her cheek and kiss her, mid-sentence.

  My lips meet hers, and there’s a blip of a second where she goes stiff and doesn’t kiss me back right away. But I’m nothing if not determined. I press my mouth against hers with more pressure, moving my other hand up along her jaw. I rub my thumbs along her cheekbones and knot my fingers in her silky hair.

  She whimpers and wraps her arms around my neck, her mouth parting slowly. My tongue traces the seam of her lips, and when she opens wider, I lick against her mouth. My brain, so often compartmentalized
and controlled, short circuits at the taste of her. The way she tastes makes me think of the way the air smells before a thunderstorm. It’s exciting, and I want to keep tasting further, see if I can pick up traces of it on her skin. Every inch of her skin.

  “Adam,” she sighs when she pulls away.

  There are people milling around, but no one on this length of path. I don’t know how long that will last, and I don’t want to waste the coiled energy that’s unfurling through me after that kiss. So I drop to one knee.

  Maybe she knew. Maybe she figured it out the same second she noticed my tie in the parking garage. But she presses her fingers to her lips like she’s completely shocked. Whether or not she’s faking it, I appreciate that look. It gives me the loophole I need to push my courage through and take the box out.

  “Genevieve. I don’t deserve someone as smart and funny and beautiful as you are. I know that. I also know that I’ll devote my life to living up to the honor of being your husband if you’ll agree to have me. Will you marry me?”

  I open the box and she gasps, her eyes so wide, I can see the spike of every eyelash.

  “Is that for me?” she gasps from behind her hand.

  I shift on my knee, pretty sure a piece of gravel is dislocating my knee cap. I don’t give a damn. I just want to hear her answer. “Yes. Whether you say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to me, it’s yours. But it would make me so damn happy if you’d say ‘yes.’”

  “Yes. Yes, of course, yes!” Her voice jumps on the back of shaky laugh.

  I stand and pull her left hand to me. I feel like Marigold is leaned over some herbs in her store right now, chuckling like a white witch, because the ring slides on and fits Genevieve’s finger perfectly, like it was made for her exactly.

  I’m tempted to ask if she’s seen this ring before, but she holds her hand out in front of her and squeals. “Adam! It’s gorgeous! This ring is absolutely perfect. Where did you find it?” Before I can answer, she takes a picture of it, and then pulls me over, kisses me hard on the mouth, and positions her camera out for a shot. “It’s not official til it’s online, right?”