Limits

by Steph Campbell

  He smacks his palm to his forehead dramatically, groaning. “Genevieve! What about the dolls!?”

  “Dolls?” What the hell is he talking about.

  He paces back and forth, the space too ridiculously small or his long strides. “Yes, those god forsaken stupid dolls that you put the toilet paper in!”

  “Oh, yeah, but, that’s just a few rolls. We keep the big Costco pack in the hall closet. So, the majority of our spare toilet paper is in the closet. Meaning I was right.” I say it smugly, but it’s only to cover up the panic building in me.

  What if we answered every question this way? Truthfully, but also different? How many wrong answers about toilet paper, how many strikes against us would send Adam back to Israel—away from me?

  “What else did they ask you?” Adam asks, running his hands through his hair so it sticks up all over his head.

  His panic is catchy. I start to nibble on my thumbnail, falling back on a habit I kicked when I was eight years old. “I don’t know, Adam. Lots of things. If we sleep with the light on. They asked me that.”

  “And?” He stops and stares, eyes bugged out, waiting like this one answer might be our saving grace.

  My voice wobbles, because I know I’ll be wrong before I answer. I know I screwed this up like I screw everything up. “And, I told them yes.”

  “Genevieve, you always want to turn all of the lights off before you come to bed,” he says, gripping the back of the sofa and staring at the floor, his face slack with shock.

  “Right, but you always convince me to leave one on. At least…at least for a little while.” I feel the heat spread across my face, thinking of how Adam insists on having a light on so he can watch me as he makes me moan with the pleasure only he can cause, as makes me yell for him not to stop.

  “This is bad,” he says through gritted teeth. “Really bad.”

  I can’t disagree at this point. “Well,” I begin. “We can’t—”

  “Don’t, Genevieve. Don’t say that we can’t worry about it right now because we can. We need to. There’s a strong possibility that I’ll be going back to Israel. That all of my work here was for nothing. All of that research down the drain, all of this—” Adam sweeps his arm around in a grand gesture and shakes his head. “All of this was pointless.”

  I tip my chin up defiantly. “I don’t believe that.”

  “You, Genevieve!” His eyes zero in on me, hot and accusing. “You could go to jail! Did you even read those pamphlets in the waiting room? Did you see the penalties spelled out in black and white for doing what we’ve done?”

  I shake my head. I feel like a damn child.

  He smacks his palm hard on the back of the sofa and lets loose a long line of curses before he says, “Five years. We could be locked up for five years. Or fines, Gen, fines that would bankrupt your parents. Fines that I would never be able to pay. This was such a stupid idea, I can’t believe—”

  I interrupt him, my voice snapping low with fury. “I’m so sorry that I came up with this stupid plan, Adam. I’m sorry I forced you to marry me.”

  I’m sorry that you forced me to fall in love with you. You gave me no freaking choice.

  I want him to say it isn’t true. That this wasn’t a ridiculous plan. That it’s real to him now. Maybe that it always was, because I’m really starting to feel like it’s always been real for me. The seconds tick by on that stupid clock that’s shaped like the fertility god, Kokopelli, a wedding gift from my ridiculous brother, Enzo.

  And the longer Adam is quiet, the more I feel like it’s confirmation that he wants out.

  He finally answers, his shoulders sagging, his head hanging like he’s defeated. “You didn’t force me, Genevieve. But I never should have agreed to it. Look at us. We’re on the verge of spending many years in jail. For what? I won’t finish my research…”

  I close my eyes and try to block out his words. The pieces are slowly clicking together, like a nightmarish jigsaw puzzle. Adam is only disappointed that his academic dreams aren’t going to be coming true. That this marriage didn’t help him get what he wanted…which clearly wasn’t me. All he’s cared about all along was that stupid green card. How could none of this have been real to him?

  “I think…I think I should go,” I say, fumbling around the room in a daze, looking for my purse.

  “Go where, Genevieve? Running away isn’t going to help anything. We need to sit down and talk.” He heads toward me, but the last thing I need is his hands on me, tricking me into thinking what we have is legitimate.

  I rush to the counter, where the contents of my purse are spilled out from when I chucked it there after our disastrous interview. I scoop lip gloss and my wallet and keys back in, glad to have even this simple task to focus on. My phone? Where is it? I look around, but it’s not there, so I have no choice. I answer Adam. “About what? About how I ruined everything? About how I answered the questions all wrong—”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  I glance over at him, and his brow is furrowed. He makes his way to me again, and I dart around the dining room table to avoid him.

  “You sort of did.” I hold his gaze across the room, and I can’t read his expression through the blur of my tears. “I did my best Adam. And I did my best for you. It’s always been for you. The only reason I showed up for my tutoring sessions and didn’t just drop out was because of you. Because seeing you in that lab coat and the way you looked at me…that was the best part of my day. I asked you to marry me not so you could get a stupid piece of paper saying you’re allowed to stay here. I did it so you’d stay here with me.”

  My hands dig into the back of the chair in front of me. I hold on for dear life, because I sure as hell can’t trust my own legs to support me as everything I thought I knew about my life comes crashing down around my ears.

  “I am here,” he insists, stalking my way.

  “Right. Unless, the absolute worst happens and you have to leave your yeast behind!” I take a few wobbly steps backwards, toward the door.

  “I didn’t mean it like that, Gen.” He catches up with me and stands close, so close that I should be able to see whatever truth is in his eyes. But I can’t read him for once.

  I hold my hands in front of my body so he can’t come any closer. “I guess it makes it easier for you that you can blame the fallout on me, right? That I messed up all of the questions. Maybe if I was smarter in the first place you wouldn’t have gotten stuck tutoring me, and you would have solved your precious yeast conundrum and been able to concentrate more on getting your paperwork in and we wouldn’t have ever had a reason to meet.”

  I want to stop the anger from spewing, but with every word, I just dig us further into a quarry of hurt that I’m not sure we can climb out of. At least not together.

  “Don’t say that,” he begs. He laces his fingers behind his head and looks frustrated. “Please don’t say things like that. I’m confused, I’m nervous, I’m full of fucking guilt. It’s just not a great day, Gen.”

  All he needs to do is say that this is real, and he doesn’t. He can’t. Because, I guess, for him, it really never was. And that’s all I need to know. “It didn’t mean anything to you, did it? None of it.”

  “Of course it did. It does. I’m worried. Am I not allowed to be worried? I don’t understand how you’re not.” Adam reaches for me, but I pull away, and he lets his arm fall to his side.

  “Worried about yourself,” I accuse.

  “No. About you. I go back to Israel and it sucks, it sucks really fucking bad. But I screw things up with you, and that’s just not acceptable.” His eyes are wild with regret. A mixed-up, swirling regret that I’m part of in a way I never wanted to be or expected.

  “Hmm…” I bite my lip to hold the tears in check. I finally find my phone, under one of the sofa pillows I just flipped off the couch. “Well, too late.”

  Por favor, no intentes detenerme.

  Please don’t try to stop me.

  **
*

  “I had a feeling you’d be by,” Marigold says, as she opens the rainbow painted back door to the home she shares with Rocko.

  “Oh, yeah?” I ask. I shouldn’t sound skeptical. Marigold has always been the most insightful person I’ve ever known, but the last time I saw her I was completely enamored with Adam and the world, do her predicting I’d show up on her doorstep, alone, and with my face stained with tears seems odd.

  “Of course. Come in, we were just sitting down to dinner.” She wraps her thin arm around me. I breathe in the familiar smell of lavender and patchouli and try to let it calm me like it normally does.

  “I don’t want to intrude on dinner, Marigold,” I say. I start to back up. Rocko and Marigold deserve their time together without my neediness.

  Marigold shakes her head and her long, unruly curls bounce around with the movement.

  “I don’t want you to finish your thought, darling. You know our doors and our arms are always open.”

  She continues down the hall with her long, floral dress making a swish-swish sound with each step. I’m so in my own head, I don’t notice the other voice until I’m standing at the end of Marigold’s blue dining room table.

  “Hey, Gennie,” Deo says, grinning like he always does. “Long time no see. How you doing?”

  “Good.” I nod.

  Why did I come here? I should have gone to Mom’s. I was worried Lydia would be there, and I couldn’t deal with her tonight and thought this would be the better option. Plus, I selfishly wanted to come to Marigold’s and have her solve all of my problems like she normally does. It’s tempting to come to her because she has a way of managing them all—even the ones that seem too big, the ones that seem to swallow you completely whole, like this one. But, instead, I’m going to sit across from Deo and eat spelt bread and whatever the undercooked pie-looking thing is in the center of the table is.

  “Hope you’re hungry, Gen, Ma says there’s a second pie in the kitchen,” Deo says with a wink that only I see.

  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—”

  Ma
rigold 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—”