Own Me Read online

  “It’s cool, man. Me neither. Cohen’s always trying to drag me to a baseball game, but I’d rather be out on my board. You surf?” Deo asks, and I catch Genevieve’s eyes fluttering in his direction. I clutch the handle of my knife until it bites into my palm.

  Fuck. This conversation just keeps making me seem like a bigger idiot.

  I look Deo right in the eye, and he seems surprised. Probably because every ounce of animosity and uncomfortable anger I feel is focused at him and his innocent questions about waves.

  “No, not really. Looks fun, but I’ve never tried. I love the ocean, though.” I force myself to let go of the knife and steady my voice. Chill the hell out.

  “Never surfed?” Cohen asks. His voice comes out a little choked as he shakes his head, this time rolling his eyes at Deo before he and Enzo share a look that clearly communicates, Where the hell did Genevieve pick this loser up?

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. My plan was to win them all over. We should have just eloped like I suggested.

  “Ignore them,” Genevieve says, shooting her brothers and Deo disapproving looks. “Cohen acts like everyone in the world should surf. He forgets some people didn’t grow up with the Pacific in their backyard. And, while Deo and Enzo were busy becoming pro beach bums, you were on your way to becoming an amazing scientist. But if you want to learn, I’d love to teach you someday, baby,” Genevieve purrs next to me. “Trust me, if you go out with me for one day, I’ll teach you everything you need to know. Promise.”

  I do a double take when I hear her voice, tinged with tease. She rubs her hand up and down my arm, and I can’t help but wish it was more than an act for her family—that it was a reflection of how she feels about me, instead of a ruse to make them believe we’re insanely in love and committed to each other.

  When I look up from her eyes, it’s obvious her tone caught more than my attention. There are several sets of eyebrows raised, and every single Rodriguez has zeroed in on Genevieve and me.

  “So, how long has all of this been going on?” Lydia asks, motioning between Genevieve and me with her unused butter knife.

  “Adam and I have been seeing each other for a while now. We just kept it quiet until it got…serious,” Genevieve says. She tips her chin up with a bit of defiance.

  “How serious?” Cohen meets my eyes with a steely, predatory glare that must be punched into your genetic coding when you’re an older brother. He’s looking right at me, directly challenging my place by Genevieve’s side. I have to be the one to answer.

  “Serious enough that we’ve decided to take things a step further,” I announce. Genevieve’s hand flounders under the table, finding mine and squeezing so hard she cracks my knuckles.

  I realize then, with a sudden sick drop of my stomach, that her fingers are bare.

  She has no engagement ring.

  I’m an idiot. A complete and total idiot. I should have stopped at the pawnshop. I have a microscope that I could have traded for a couple hundred dollars, at least. Damn it!

  “Holy balls!” Genevieve’s quieter sister finally joins the conversation. Her grin is disarmingly similar to Lydia’s, but Cece seems to smile because she’s genuinely happy. Funny how much prettier a real smile is. “Are you guys moving in together?”

  “Cece!” Genevieve’s mom cries, clearly horrified. The smile droops slightly, then morphs into more of a shit-eating grin. I definitely like Cece.

  “Not exactly,” Gen says, smoothing her napkin on her lap. “So, Adam and I are…we’re crazy about each other. I mean, we spend every second together—”

  “You do?” Cohen asks, drawing the words out and leaning back like he’s running an interrogation. “When?”

  Genevieve cuts her eyes to her brother and scowls.

  “At the university, where I spend most of my time when I’m not working or sleeping,” she bites back. “We have so much fun, and we’re just…we’re really good for each other.” She looks over at me, begging me to back up her weak case.

  I want to. I do, but I have no idea what I can say that won’t make at least one Rodriguez look at me with dark hatred.

  “What are you trying to say, Genevieve?” her father asks, his tone making it clear he wants us to get to the point.

  This was a really fucking bad idea.

  Genevieve reaches under the table and squeezes my hand again, harder, and I feel the urgency.

  Man up, Abramowitz.

  “I’ve asked Genevieve to marry me,” I blurt out.

  Her hand goes slack on my leg. Her face is tight with pure shock. She knew today was the day, that it was going to be said at some point, but I don’t think this was how she envisioned it.

  Deo gives us a knowing half-smile.

  Cece does a half-choke thing on her mouthful of food.

  Cohen glares at me, his nostrils flaring like a gored bull’s.

  Maren smacks his arm and whispers frantically in his ear.

  Enzo shakes his head with disgust and looks like he wants to spit in my face.

  Lydia crosses her arms and glances at her sister’s hands twisting on the table. Her smile is pure triumph.

  Gen’s parents are stone cold silent, staring from Genevieve to me and back again.

  “Do you even have a ring?” Lydia finally asks, pointing to Genevieve’s hands.

  I can’t believe I didn’t buy her a ring.

  Why didn’t that detail occur to either one of us before now?

  Oh, probably because this entire thing is a farce we threw together half on a dare. This is a mockery of marriage. Especially of marriages like the Rodriguezes’, which have stood the test of time and produced this huge, intricate family.

  What the hell do we think we’re doing?

  I can’t let Genevieve do this. This family? Genevieve deserves her own just like it, based on love and founded on mutual desire to do all this, have all this. She doesn’t deserve some sham of a life. Not when there’s someone out there who will earn a place in her heart and love her. I know she thinks that now that Deo’s married she’s lost her shot, but she has no clue who else might be out there. She deserves someone who she loves passionately. Someone she’ll look at like Maren has been looking at Cohen since we got here…or how her mom looks at her dad.

  “Maybe I should—” I start to push my chair back from the table, but Genevieve stops me.

  “Of course he bought me a ring. I left it back at his place. It needs to be sized anyway, and I thought it would be disrespectful to show up here with it on before telling you all the good news.” She gives one of her signature, radiant smiles.

  There’s a beat, maybe two, of total silence before everyone is talking at once.

  “Congratulations! That’s fantastic news, Gen,” Maren says, her elbow digging discreetly into Cohen’s ribs. He’s not even attempting to fake a smile.

  “Wow, this is… Wow…” Enzo mutters, rolling his neck and rubbing a hand over his face. He leans over the table, shoots a cautious look at his mother to make sure she’s not listening, and asks in a low voice, “You knocked up, sis?”

  “What is this?” Lydia asks. “Because Deo got married, and now Cohen and Maren are getting married, you’re throwing a jealous tantrum?” Lydia rolls her eyes then sighs. “Marriage isn’t some game, Genevieve.”

  “I don’t think that’s what this is—” Maren tries to interject, her reasonable voice drowned out by a horde of angry naysayers.

  I don’t look away from her parents. I’m waiting for her dad to go get a gun and come back to shoot me. Or scream at me in Spanish, and I won’t understand a word he’s saying. I wonder if someone will translate when he gets to the part about me needing to run before he shoots me.

  “This is very fast,” her mom finally says, her fingers dancing over the pearls at her throat.

  “Stupid fast,” Lydia pipes in again. I’ve decided my future sister-in-law is a miserable human being.

  “Lydia, enough,” their dad says, his eyes blazing. I’m glad he rei
ned her in, until he turns those eyes on me. “Adam.” He says my name slowly, like it’s a foreign word. “What does your family think about all this?”

  I push my sleeves up past my elbows. I’m suddenly sweating my ass off.

  “We haven’t told them yet, sir.”

  The pressure of coming up with lies is making me feel woozy. Why didn’t Genevieve and I hash this all out before we came here? These are the normal questions people ask when you announce you’re getting married. But we’re idiots, and we didn’t plan, so now I have to come up with something, and fast.

  “We felt like it was important to tell you first, since your family is so close. And anyway, my family doesn’t live in the country, so we’ll call them and let them know the good news as soon as we receive your blessing.”

  Genevieve scoots in close to me, and I’m so fucking glad she does. I need her right now. And as soon as that thought flashes through my mind, it confuses and scares the shit out of me.

  “Where are they?” her mom asks.

  “Well, I was born and raised in Israel. They’re all still there,” I explain. “Mostly Tel Aviv. And I’d love to take Genevieve there. Show her where I grew up.”

  Weird how I thought I was going to be flustered from lying to these people. It winds up what’s actually making me sweat is how damn true every word I’m uttering is. What’s freaking me out even more is that I never realized any of this until it came pouring out of my mouth, but now it hits me that I’ve felt it for a while.

  I watch the smile creep across her mother’s face. She puts her hands to her lips and closes her eyes like she’s praying. I think this is good. I think.

  “Mazel tov, you two!” Cece laughs. “Score one for Gennie, bringing home the nice Jewish scientist. Shit, how am I going to top that?”

  “Cece! Language!” her mother scolds, but she’s still smiling and shaking her head like she can’t believe her luck. “Well, I think this is very fast, Genevieve. I think it would have been nice if you’d brought Adam to dinner once or twice before you two announced your engagement. But you seem very happy. And, Adam, you seem very responsible. So, if this is what you kids want, your father and I will support you, too. You have our blessing, motek.”

  I feel like I can breathe again, but Genevieve’s father doesn’t let it go that easily.

  “Where will you live?” her father demands, ticking the questions off on his fingers. “When are you planning this wedding for? Have you spoken to the rabbi?”

  He wants logistics. I respect that.

  “Well, sir, I have a dorm on campus, but because of my position working in the lab, they’ve offered to move Genevieve and me into the married dorms, which would be a much nicer space than I currently have.”

  I’m actually not sure what the married dorms are like, but nothing can possibly be worse than my spare, antiseptic dorm room. And I’m only guessing they’ll let me move right away. More frantically hoping than guessing, actually.

  “So, this is all happening soon?” Cohen asks, his voice on edge. “What’s the rush?”

  “We just want to be together, same as you and Maren,” Genevieve shoots back.

  “My family is all in Israel, Mr. and Mrs. Rodriguez. And I would love nothing more than to be able to fly them all here to celebrate with me and Genevieve. But that’s just not in the cards right now. I do have a break coming up, and Genevieve and I would love to make the trip home to visit them all together…as husband and wife. Then, we’ll be able to celebrate with my family as well…after it’s official.”

  I leave out the part about how we have to get married before my student visa officially expires, because that would make this whole charade look even worse and give us that much more red tape to cut through and more lies to tell.

  Her parents are nodding, and I feel like we’re getting somewhere. I also feel like a scumbag for lying to them in their home, at their dinner table. But Genevieve is right. I don’t have a lot of other options. And even though I thought the entire plan was nuts at first, I’m starting to see that it may be kind of nice to have Genevieve in my life, by my side…as more than just a friend.

  Bonded. I like that.

  We talk details for a while longer. Genevieve and I want something very, very small. I’ve told her parents not to worry about the cost, that I’ll use my savings to cover it all. It’s the least I can do, and it makes me feel less like a schmuck and more like a man who’s about to marry an incredible woman and at least attempt to take proper care of her.

  Dinner is cleared slowly, and everyone moves to the backyard. The air has that evening crispness that’s pure Southern California. It’s probably one of the things I love most about this place: how it can be hot as Hades during the day, but once the sun goes down, the air turns so cool it hardly feels like it could be the same weather system.

  Maren and Cece pull Genevieve aside to talk flowers or something, and I’m left standing alone in the Rodriguezes’ backyard, which is overgrown with gorgeous plants and backlit by the roaring fire Mr. Rodriguez lit in the chimnea. I’d be fine just soaking in the calm night, except I feel like I’m on some nature show and maybe about to be hunted and eaten.

  “Beer?” Cohen creeps out of nowhere and hands me a cold bottle.

  “Thanks, man.” I take it and a bitter sip runs down my throat. I take a second, extra-long swallow, just to numb what I know is coming.

  “So, marriage?” He lets the words hang in the chilly night air like an accusation.

  Here we go.

  I take another substantial pull from the bottle, wishing it was bottomless and I could drown myself in it.

  “Yep.” Short and simple is probably the best way to go with Genevieve’s brothers.

  “No one means to be a dick, Adam.” Cohen’s eyes glint in the night. Like a wolf’s. “You seem like an all right guy I guess. It’s just, you sort of came out of nowhere—”

  “Genevieve and I have known each other for a few years now. Maybe even longer than you and Maren.” I can’t remember, but I’m pretty sure Genevieve mentioned their relationship progressed really quickly. My words come out rougher than I intend.

  “Fair enough,” Cohen says with a nod and a facial spasm I think is intended to be a smile. “The thing is, Genevieve hasn’t been in a very good place for a while now. And if being with you is going to make her happy, great. But I’d really hate to see her get hurt and end up worse off than she was.”

  “I think—and forgive me for saying so—but I think you should give your sister a little more credit. She’s stronger and way more capable than you think,” I say. He stares at me, all traces of that attempted smile gone. “It was good talking to you, Cohen. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around a lot more. I think it’s time Genevieve and I took off, though.”

  We shake hands, and he definitely tries to bring the pain. When we’re done attempting to crush each other’s fingers, I go to find Genevieve.

  We drive out later to get ice cream after dinner, and she’s smiling and talking about how well it went. And it did. Better than we could have expected, even. But something was off, something unexpected.

  It wasn’t just the word fiancée being said out loud.

  When Cohen approached me, it all clicked into place, and I realized that Genevieve was right. Her family barely knows her. They have no idea what this girl is capable of doing with her life, how incredible she is.

  They don’t have a clue about even a fraction of the remarkable things that make Genevieve so damn amazing—all the things that make me so proud to call her my fiancée.

  And as much as I accuse them of having no clue, I’m in the exact same boat.

  “So dinner was a little awkward,” she says with a soft laugh.

  “World’s biggest understatement,” I answer, gripping the steering wheel hard. “I’ve been through Israeli boot camp with some scary sergeants, and I’d send the worst of them to your dad for intimidation training. The way his mustache quivers…” I shiver<
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  She clucks her tongue. “My dad’s bark is a thousand times worse than his bite.”

  “Speaking of your dad, where was he born?” I ask.

  “That was a random segue,” Gen answers with a frown. “Are you compiling data?”

  “In a sense…” I pause, and her frown deepens. “Tonight’s dinner made me realize we need to know things about each other. Things we can’t learn from friendly conversations and polite dinners.”

  Gen sputters around a laugh. “You think that dinner with my parents was polite?”

  “No, I guess not,” I concede.

  “So you think it’s more important to know that my father was born in Los Algodones than that he loves my mother’s enchiladas?” she demands.

  “I think your father’s likes and dislikes make him the man he is, and I’d love to know that man better,” I say carefully. Very carefully. “But if we get stuck in an immigration interview room, they’re going to want to know concrete facts. Dates. Places of birth. Information only a family member would know.”

  “So you want lists of all my family’s vital information?” Gen demands.

  “I don’t just want them. I need them,” I tell her. “I need to make sure I know all about them, so I can rattle off the facts in a believable way. And we need to make sure learning everything we can about each other takes precedence over anything else right now. It was great to have dinner at your parents’ house, but it would have been so much more informative to have gone over the facts.”

  Gen blinks at me in a way that sends a clear message. I’m in trouble. A lot of trouble.

  “So, let me get this straight. You don’t want to actually know my family as people. You want to know about them? Like they’re just a compilation of facts?” she asks, turning sideways in her seat and shaking her head at me.

  “I want both,” I stumble. Now that I’ve screwed up, there’s no decent way to backtrack but I try. “Of course I want to get to know them, but we could be called before the board at any time. I really enjoyed this dinner with them. But I’d be able to rest easier if I spent more time studying the facts about them and less time…actually with them. For right now.”