Own Me Page 3

  She hops off the stool, walks over to me, hesitates, and then kisses my cheek. She steps back so quickly she almost topples over.

  I catch her by the arm. “Seriously, Gen, you need to invest in sneakers.”

  “And you need to stop biting your nails. Text me so we can meet up, okay?” She grabs her backpack and stuffs her study sheets into it. “Don’t worry!” she calls as she hurries out the door.

  “Okay,” I mutter to myself.

  Weird and illogical as it is, Gen’s optimism actually makes me feel less worried. Even though I’m fairly sure there’s no answer to my fucked up situation, I entertain a stupid shred of hope.

  Gen is pretty much the only person who can force my logic to take a backseat. I have no idea whether or not that’s a good thing.

  Chapter Two

  Genevieve

  “Nice of you to show up,” my brother Enzo says as soon as the door slams shut behind me.

  “Shut up,” I groan.

  I’m tired, and I want to curl up in my bed and forget this day. Stupid cupcakes. I thought it would be a way to thank Adam, to do something nice to show that I appreciate all of the extra hours he puts in to try and help me get a handle on my school work, but all I did was make myself look like an airhead. But that mouth…God, that mouth of his.

  I can’t let him get shipped off to Israel. Not because of his mouth, of course—he’s my friend, nothing else. He’s pretty much the main reason I didn’t drop out of college. If I hadn’t had his sturdy, logical advice to guide me, I would have given up a dozen times by now. I owe it to him to figure things out.

  But right now, I have to deal with my obnoxious family. I drop my purse and keys onto the table near the entryway and glare at the back of Enzo’s head. “Where is everyone, anyway?”

  Enzo stands up from the sofa, and once I catch sight of his pressed pants and white, collared shirt, it all clicks into place.

  “Shit,” I moan. I press my fingers to my temples to try to release the pressure behind my eyes before it explodes into a migraine. “The engagement party?”

  My brother nods and gives me this condescending smile I kind of want to punch off his face. “I figured I’d wait around here for you, otherwise I bet you wouldn’t have bothered to show up.”

  That’s actually a fair wager.

  “Do I have time to change?” I beg, looking down at my sparkly heels and the corset top that’s so tight I can hardly manage a decent breath in it.

  He glances at the time on his phone. “Nope. Shoulda been here on time if you wanted to get all prettied up for Deo. Let’s go.”

  “Fine,” I mumble under my breath. “And Deo’s married now, I get it. Ease off on the jokes.”

  I pull a sweater down from the coat rack by the door, grab my purse, and follow Enzo out to his car—a sleek, black Mustang, way nicer than what I drive. Though that’s not surprising.

  Enzo hasn’t slaved away at our family’s furniture store or done anything else that remotely resembles work, but somehow he always has whatever he wants all the time. Both of my brothers ended up the golden children, and good things just seem to fall into their laps.

  Cohen, my oldest brother, got a cushy promotion he barely deserved, all so he could be closer to his girlfriend—or fiancée, I guess—Maren. And Enzo has a nice apartment off campus, paid for by my parents, who think that because he’s a guy, he needs his own space.

  Me? I’m stuck living at home with Mom and Dad (where a nice Mexijew girl belongs, safe and out of trouble, of course), working full-time peddling curio cabinets and basically flunking out of school.

  As if the reality of my life isn’t bad enough, I know my family will be full of jokes about how Deo, the guy I’d fantasized about being with since I was a kid, just got married. And, for the record, Whit is just some girl he barely knows, whose life’s aspiration is, as far as I know, to be a receptionist at a crappy tattoo parlor.

  That sounds bitter. It is bitter, I guess. Maybe it would have been easier to swallow if Deo wound up marrying someone so much more together than me. But Whit seems so…human. So normal. So easy for me to relate to.

  And I guess my brother, Cohen, thought Deo and his new wife, Whit, had a good thing going, because the newly married Becketts had barely made it back from their honeymoon before Cohen got down on one knee and begged Maren to marry him. Christmakuh dinner this year was full of familial ribbing about who would be next, with all eyes on Lydia. Enzo’s out of the running because he’s still living the life of a wild wanderer, figuring things out in some epic quest to “find himself.” Cece is hell bent on getting her PhD, so everyone jokes that she was married to her schoolwork. But me?

  When it came to me, the family did that thing where they look away nervously, because the “joke” hits too close to home to be funny. Because I’m Genevieve, perennial screw-up, with no direction, no marriage prospects, no promise.

  I’m beyond tired of being the Rodriguez loser sibling.

  “Is this party open bar?” I ask bleakly, watching the street lights flicker on in the darkening sky.

  Dusk has always felt magical to me. As a kid I’d imagine we were racing home before the streetlights came on. When I became a teenager, everything felt exciting at dusk, that dreamy time before the promise of night and after the reality of day. It’s a time for figuring things out.

  Enzo chuckles. “Aw, is Gennie upset because she’s the only one without a date?”

  I lean forward and switch on his car stereo. It’s set to some station composed of blaring guitars and rough, guttural screaming. I switch it off.

  “I don’t need a date. It’s a ridiculous celebration. They’ve been together all of, what, six months? It’s kind of absurd to be celebrating an engagement already, don’t you think? I mean, I love Maren. I really do. But what’s the rush?”

  My brother raises his eyebrows at me. “It’s no more absurd than the fact that you thought you actually had a chance with Deo after all these years. C’mon, Gen, we all saw how you stomped around at his wedding, you know. I get that you were upset, but did you have to try so damn hard not to be happy for him? And after—”

  “Excuse me. I did not stomp. Why does everyone think I’m holding some candle for Deo? It was a stupid crush when I was just a kid, okay? He’s married now. I’m not an idiot. Or a home-wrecker. And who are you to talk about me being the only one tonight without a date? I don’t see anyone on your arm either,” I observe, feeling satisfied that I’ve won this round with my irritating brother.

  He clears his throat. “Actually, I do. Have a date that is. She’s meeting me there.”

  Fantastic. If I have to be pitied as the one Rodriguez sibling flunking out of school and going nowhere fast, it would be nice to at least have a hot love life to blame for it.

  “I’m sure she’s charming,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

  He pulls into the parking lot of a little hole-in-the-wall that Cohen and Maren insist is “quaint,” and turns to look at me. “Be nice, Gen.”

  “I am nice,” I argue, but I know I’ve been far from it lately. I’ve felt edgy, sharper than I mean to be.

  Enzo clears his throat and looks straight ahead. “I know shit’s been rough for you lately, but everyone has your back. You know that, right? If you need help, if you’re stressed, you need to tell us. I know we rag on each other, but we hate to see you down. If you’re in over your head, you need to tell someone.”

  “Enzo, I know you mean well, but I’m seriously not in the mood for a lecture from you right now. I feel like everyone is trying to give me advice lately, and it’s kind of insulting. I’m doing just fine, thank you very much.” I reach for the door handle, but Enzo stops me.

  “Really? Because you’ve seemed pretty damn on edge. Not like yourself at all. Everyone is worried about you,” Enzo says, pulling the key from the ignition. “If it’s something you need to talk about…?”

  “I’m fine, I swear.” I sigh. Enzo raises his eyebrows
incredulously. “I’m. Fine,” I insist, and then I slam the car door without meaning to.

  Worried about me? They make it seem like I’ve got a drug problem, or a heart so broken I can’t function. I’m fine! I’m just…a little lost, I guess.

  Cohen has Maren, Lydia is dating the recently divorced partner in her firm, Cece is shacking up on the sly with some undergrad who’ll graduate this spring, and even Enzo always has a warm body whenever he wants one. Meanwhile, I’m stuck at home, trying to build a future that only seems to be drifting farther and farther away every day.

  “Genevieve, you look stunning!” Maren is the first person I see when I push through the wooden door of the restaurant.

  Her face is so full of happiness it instantly ignites this spark of jealousy I hate myself for. I feel like utter crap for not being able to at least feign happiness in the face of her boundless joy.

  Maybe something is wrong with me. I used to be an upbeat person. I used to be excited about other people’s happiness. What happened?

  “Me?” I say, tugging self-consciously at my too risqué outfit. I had been feeling kind of blah this morning and wanted to pep myself up with a sexy look. As usual, I went a little over the top. “You look amazing. Very old Hollywood. And this place is…beautiful.”

  I look around and realize that the outside of this place is deceptively ramshackle, but inside it’s cozy and richly furnished, shadowed in a romantic way, with fantastic ambiance.

  “You think so?” She giggles. “I know it’s not the fanciest, but it’s where your brother took me on our one month anniversary, and we’re kind of sentimental saps.” She blushes a little bit.

  Adorable.

  I’ll give Cohen credit. He may not have known Maren all that long before he jumped the gun on proposing, but she’s, no question, one of the sweetest, most down-to-earth people I’ve ever met.

  I should be happy for them. I really should be. The problem is this funk I’m in is so deep and sad, I’m not sure I know how to get out of it.

  Maren grins at me as she smooths her hand down her dress, all peach silk and stunning, classic lines. Her dark hair is curled softly. Her feet are fitted in sexy black peep-toe heels that draw your eye without screaming “notice me!” She embodies a kind of elegance I’ve always wished I could get a handle on. It’s embarrassing to realize how cheap and flashy I look next to her.

  A waiter walks by with a tray of drinks. Maren grabs two.

  “Here, have some champagne with me. I don’t know why I feel so nervous tonight.” Maren shoves a flute at me, and I take a big, unladylike gulp, letting the bubbles tingle in my throat.

  “Thanks. And don’t feel nervous. You look amazing, my entire family is totally in love with you, and my brother might be a huge ass most of the time, but I know for a fact he thinks the sun rises and sets over your head.” I’m trying to tell her how much my family will love and embrace her, but I feel like it’s coming out bitter.

  Take another sip and try again, Genevieve. You can do better.

  I smile—a real smile that comes from recognizing I’m in the presence of a truly great couple who are completely in love—and say, “Congratulations. I know you and Cohen will be supremely happy together.”

  Maren dips her head and smiles softly. “I hope so. I mean, I think we will. And I appreciate you saying that, Genevieve. I know things haven’t been all that easy for you lately.”

  “Please don’t,” I plead, keeping my voice low because otherwise I’m afraid I’ll burst into tears right here. “Not you, too. I’m fine, I promise.” She gives me this sweetly sympathetic look that just makes the tears burn hotter under my eyelids. “Seriously, I’m absolutely okay. I don’t know why everyone is on my case about everything lately.” The last words come out harsher than I mean them to.

  “Okay,” Maren says calmly, but her eyebrows are pressed together like she’s not convinced.

  I hear my brother’s dorky laugh from across the room, and Maren’s entire face lights up. Like it’s an instinct, she looks over in Cohen’s direction and a small smile creeps across her lips.

  It feels like my heart is filling with cement. I am excited for her, for both of them, but that look that’s on her face? I’ve only ever felt the way she feels about one guy.

  A guy who never noticed me as anything more than his best friend’s little sister. And now he’s married, and I’m afraid I’ll never feel that way about anyone again.

  “Go on,” I urge her, my voice breathy from holding back tears. “I’m fine. Promise.”

  “You’re sure?” Maren touches my arm, and I take her hand and squeeze it.

  “Of course. Go!”

  Her coy smile breaks into this full-on cheesy grin, and she practically skips into my brother’s arms.

  I see the way Cohen looks at her, like he’s never seen anything so beautiful, and I feel a tug of panic. Maybe it’s just my perception, but it seems like everyone I know is finding their soul mate and getting married and starting these beautiful lives together, and I’m just…stagnant.

  Even Enzo has some new chick on his arm—though from the looks of it, he’s definitely not hanging around this girl with marriage on the brain.

  At Deo’s wedding, Maren actually caught me crying, gave me the world’s greatest pep talk, and assured me I wasn’t a loser. She said that someday I’d find my happiness. She even suggested it might be with Adam. But that was just because we were texting and he offered to save me from the wedding party. Maren’s a romantic at heart. She saw his friendliness as a “knight in shining armor” romantic thing. But that’s not Adam and me. We’re there for each other, sure. But not in a romantic way.

  No matter how amazing that boy’s tongue felt on my finger today…

  I did take him up on his offer to rescue me, and over In-N-Out burgers I confessed every hopeless feeling I’d kept bottled up for so long. Adam totally echoed Maren’s sentiment, and assured me things would be just fine.

  And, for a while, I believed it. But slowly, things have just rolled farther downhill. My friends are all moving away or moving on, I can’t afford to live on my own—I didn’t have a massive treasure chest fall into my lap like Cohen, and my parents don’t hand me money to live on like they do Enzo—and I’ve systematically dated the different versions of the same guy over and over while I waited for the one who, it turned out, wasn’t meant to be mine after all.

  “Where have you been?” My mother’s voice is in my ear and her hand cups my elbow.

  “I…I had a project at school,” I say. I leave out the part about being tutored. If my parents knew I was a single bad grade away from failing, they’d never let me live it down.

  Mom opens her mouth like she’s about to lecture me about time management, but Cohen’s voice suddenly booms through the room.

  “I’d like to make a toast,” he says, holding his glass above his head. “To my future bride, Maren…”

  I tune out Cohen’s voice, because I’m sure I could recite the speech without having to hear it.

  He’s going to start off by telling how he talked to Maren on the phone for months before meeting her, and move on to explain how, once he did meet her face to face, he knew from the first second that he would have done anything to have her.

  He’ll leave out some parts—like the fact that, even though things worked out, Maren was Cohen’s rebound. And of course he won’t mention that Maren was, at the time, helping her father battle the debilitating alcohol addiction she tried so hard to cover up.

  He’ll gush about how Maren is the best thing that’s ever happened to him, how he can’t believe he and Deo both found their soul mates (and I’m not going to go too hard on myself for mentally rolling my eyes at their bromance). I bet he and Deo talk about how they’ll go on joint vacays and barbecue at each other’s houses and name their firstborn sons after each other…

  As soon as Cohen calls out, “Mazel tov!” I drain my drink and go in search of more champagne.

&nbs
p; I don’t have to search far or long. When the next tray passes, I pull two glasses off of it, clearing a space just big enough to see to the other side of the restaurant. Near the bar. Where someone who looks remarkably like Adam is serving finger food. And coming my way.

  It can’t be him, right? Though Adam does pick up side work catering… The last thing I need is him seeing me at my most miserably pathetic, surrounded by my disapproving family. There’s only so much pity I can deal with in one day. Maybe it’s not him.

  Shit.

  I glance over my shoulder toward the door and see my mom and dad mingling with some friends from the temple. I’ll never make it past them.

  Shit.

  “Knish?” Adam’s familiar voice is low and controlled, like it always is, but his smile is pure mischief.

  “Adam? I thought that was you. What are you doing here?” I ask in a whisper, not sure why I’m keeping my voice so low.

  Adam looks at the tray, then at me again. “I was really hungry,” he says drily, at normal volume. I narrow my eyes at him and catch the beginnings of a shit-eating grin. “Genevieve, what does it look like? I’m working.”

  “Of all the caterers in all the world…” I mumble under my breath. “I didn’t realize you worked for this catering company.”

  The truth is, Adam doesn’t share nearly as many details about his life as I share about mine. Our friendship is a little skewed in that respect.

  He points to the kippah he’s wearing and raises one dark eyebrow. “How many fully kosher caterers do you know of in this area, ma’am?”

  I shake my head and raise my glass. “Mazel tov. But seriously? What are the chances you’d be catering my brother’s engagement party? It’s total mishegas.”

  He clears his throat and moves the tray from one hand to the other. “It’s actually dumb luck I’m here at all. I picked up the shift for my buddy. He had a hot date. I, obviously, did not. And you should really try a knish. They’re almost as good as my bubbe’s.”