Limits. Part 14

There's this way he looks when he gets back from a long day of work at the labs; his dark hair sticks up in odd directions because he runs his hands through it when he's worried, and his clothes are a little sloppy from rolling his sleeves up and untucking his s.h.i.+rt so he can get his hands dirty with his experiments.

The best days are when there's a light in his eyes, like things are working according to his master plan and the yeasts are all doing whatever it is he wants them to do.

I haven't seen that s.h.i.+ne in over two weeks, and I'm worried about how drawn and tired he's looked lately.

"Hey yourself." His voice is weighted. Tired. I know I can help make that go away. It's something I love doing for him. "Is everything okay?" He sets his bag down and tosses his keys into the catch-all on the counter.

"Everything's great with me, but how was your day?" I double check the saucepans and fiddle with the heat. I'm happy in our little place, but I wish we had a better stove. This stove is electric with cheap coil burners, and the heat elements are temperamental. Nothing can p.i.s.s me off faster than burning a sauce I worked for hours to get perfect.

"Good," he says slowly. But his eyes are narrowed and his mouth is flat. It's a far less s.e.xy, much more serious look than the one he had for me last night. "And you're sure you're okay?"

I toss the pot-holder onto the counter and turn to face him, my hand positioned firmly on my hip.

"Of course, I'm okay. Obviously something's bothering you. What's going on?"

Adam exhales sharply.

"You weren't at school today, Genevieve. You missed a pop quiz."

s.h.i.+t. "Well, I'll see if I can make it up." I give him the s.e.xy smile that's been a quick cure-all for any time we're gearing to argue, but it doesn't even faze him.

He shakes his head and squeezes his thumb and forefinger on the bridge of his nose.

"You can't make up quizzes, Gen."

I shrug, feeling the muscles in my shoulder constrict. "Okay, well, I'll see if I can get some extra credit or something. It's not a big deal. It was one day, Adam."

"You're right, but it reflects badly if you aren't showing up for cla.s.s-"

"Oh, you mean it reflects badly on you?"

"No, it looks bad for the both of us, Genevieve. I don't want my colleagues feeling like they need to give you special treatment because of our....relations.h.i.+p."

"Our marriage?"

Adam sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. "Yes, our marriage."

"Well, they don't need to do me any favors. And you need to settle down. Did you even notice I got all of this done today?" I motion around the spotless apartment.

Every surface has been dusted and wiped down with some pine cleaner. That, combined with the amazing smells coming from the kitchen and the light cotton dress I put on with Adam in mind-since he claims he likes when I'm dressed down so much better-should have been a clear recipe for total marital harmony, no doubt. I thought for sure Adam's arrival home this afternoon would be the beginning of a satisfying night, just the two of us totally focused on how amazing it feels when we're together.

My imagination dreamt up something that was clearly world's different from our reality- our perfect night is quickly avalanching into our first real argument.

"The place looks great, Gen. But I don't want you skipping school to do all of this."

I look around our home, frustrated that he doesn't register the amount of work that goes into caring for this all. Maybe he thinks because it's so tiny, it's easy to take care of? Its size makes it more of a challenge to keep things neat and tidy. He doesn't have to worry about that because I don't ask him to. I know he needs to focus on his research right now, and I'm happy to pick up the slack around in other areas.

"But we have a home to upkeep, and a life together, Adam. I wanted to make things nice for you. Easier for you. Trust me, you'd be upset if you came home to a mess and no food. You're taking it for granted because this is always the way it is when you come in."

I yank at my ap.r.o.n ties, suddenly feeling like an idiot because I thought I was such a bada.s.s domestic G.o.ddess.

"But what about school? You're just not going to go so that you can stay home and clean house?" His voice is weighted with disappointment, and I'm instantly deflated. I thought I was finally figuring out how not to screw everything up. Apparently I'm just figuring out new ways to do it.

The next words snap out with a barbed edge. "Maybe. I don't know. I thought you'd like it."

He holds his hand out like he's asking me to listen, to understand, but his words sound pretty d.a.m.n arrogant to my ears.

"This is not what I signed up for Genevieve. I wanted to give a life with you a shot because I thought we could make it work and that we had common goals. I don't want a housewife with no ambition of her own. I want you to want more for yourself than just cleaning baseboards and baking challah. I'd be much happier grabbing a burger on the way home and knowing that you were home studying than...this..."

My temper flares.

This?

So it's not science, so it's not schoolwork. It's f.u.c.king life! More specifically, it's our life, and I don't appreciate the way he's brus.h.i.+ng it off like it isn't important.

"You sure didn't mind me acting like a wife in other ways," I accuse. My throat tightens and burns with the tears that I refuse to let fall. I will not cry my way through this argument.

He reaches his hands out to hold me, but I brush them off. He follows me across the kitchen, standing behind me at the stove as I snap every burner off and slam the oven door open, pulling the chicken out.

"Gen, it's not like that. Don't-"

I whirl around, almost in his arms, but the closeness feels infuriating instead of calming. I push him back and grip the counter with both hands, trying to stabilize myself.

"I don't understand you, Adam. You said the other day that you wanted this to be a real marriage. So why are you trying to ruin things? I cooked all of this because I wanted to make you happy. I want to spend time with you and talk and eat. You can't grow marriage in a d.a.m.n petri dish in your lab! You need to invest time and energy into it. You need to come home, and the home has to be...it has to be a place worth coming back to!"

"Okay." He blinks a few times, like he's trying to process what I just said, but he doesn't look convinced. In fact he looks mostly confused.

"I just wanted you to be happy." The words come out wispy and so tragic, I'm embarra.s.sed for myself.

"I am happy. I really am, Genevieve. I never thought I'd be this lucky, to be with someone like you. I just want you to put school first." Adam moves toward me again, and this time his hand catches my waist and pulls me so close, my nose is buried in his chest. I inhale the smell of him and can't help but soften a little. "We're doing good, I just don't want to lose that. I don't want us to have nothing to talk about because you just gave up on everything you had going for yourself. For me."

I hook my finger under his collar, flipping the edge out and flattening the crease with my hand. "Okay. I just don't know if school is what I want. I don't think I'm cut out for it. I barely enjoy it. This, cooking and feeling useful...I dig that."

Adam sucks in a breath through his teeth that sounds like a hiss, and I pull away from him.

"What?" I demand, and he acts like he can hide what he feels. Like I can't read the way he crushes his teeth together and grinds them back and forth. He's aggravated, no matter what he says.

"I just...never mind."

Aggravated as I might be at him for feeling angry or disappointed, I cannot-cannot-deal with his giving up. Not caring. I'd rather fight than walk away any day, and I need to know that, no matter how differently we feel about things, Adam thinks that's essential to our relations.h.i.+p too.

I grab him by the arm and try to force him to look at me, but he avoids my eyes. I contort my neck, attempting to twist at an angle that will make him face me, and when I succeed, his eyes are burning. Good. "No. Not never mind. What?"

"I...d.a.m.nit, Genevieve! One of the things I love most about this country is that you can do absolutely anything you want. And I want you to do what makes you happy, but being a housewife? Come on, is that really what you want? You want to throw away your cla.s.ses and all you've learned to cook me dinner?"

I dig my fingers into his arm, then loosen my hand completely. "Oh, I see."

He stares out the window at the scrubby yard we haven't put any effort into yet. "I just want you to grow as a person, I want you to-"

I fold the dishtowel on the edge of the sink in an attempt to control my shaking hands. "You want me to f.u.c.k you, and also make sure I'm smart enough for you to take out in public," I say, my voice stretched thin.

He stares at me, his face a mask of confusion. "No, that's not it at all. I didn't say that."

I've lost the ability to control my shaking hands and my wild voice, and I don't give d.a.m.n. I unleash it all on him, let him know that I see through this entire 'I want you to do better for yourself' thing. I know exactly what Adam is saying and why.

"You didn't have to. It's written all over your face. Five years from now, when you're a famous scientist, you'd be embarra.s.sed to take me to your colleagues' houses and have them ask what I do. You don't want to tell them that I make the best carnitas and give the best head. No, no, no. That's not impressive enough. You need to make sure you can brag that I understand quantum physics, and string theory and whatever other bulls.h.i.+t-"

The knock on the door interrupts my yelling, and stops my index finger-which is about to slam into Adam's chest-mid-poke.

"I'll get it." He levels me with another look of sheer disappointment, straightens his posture, and walks toward the door.

I grip onto the counter to steady myself, the rage-filled blood pounding in my ears.

"Hey, come on in," Adam says, his voice flat but polite.

He steps aside and Whit walks through the door looking like she just stepped out of a 1960s Mod ad. Her hair is parted deeply across her face and then pulled back into a neat nub of a pony tail. Her eye makeup is smoky and her lips-pursed in their signature pout-are highlighted with a tiny bit of gloss. Whit is like a chameleon. Every time I see her, she looks different. Except for that mouth, which naturally droops into a frown-except when Deo walks into the room. I guess they are perfect for each other.

"Am I interrupting something? I should have called, it's just on the way home from work so I took a chance...Sorry?" Whit's words are low, almost embarra.s.sed.

"You're fine, Whit," I say. I wave her over to the kitchen table.

"You're sure?" She takes a few cautious steps toward me. "Wow, it smells amazing. Genevieve. Did you make all of this? Greek is my favorite, but you know-"

"Deo hates Greek," I finish for her, unable to catch the words before they tumble awkwardly out of my mouth.

Adam and I meet eyes from across the room, and his are pure bitter jealousy. I blush hot.

"Have a seat, Whit," Adam says, striding over, his eyes still locked on me. He pulls a chair out for Whit just as I set down the fritters and salad.

"This looks incredible." Whit clears her throat and twists her napkin around her fingers. "I can't seem to get Deo to move past sus.h.i.+ and pizza most nights. I had no idea you cooked like this, Gen."

"You should join her. There's plenty for two." Adam's voice is as icy as his eyes. He pulls his sweater from the closet and tugs it on.

"Um, I don't want to intrude." Whit half stands, but Adam waves her back down.

"Not an intrusion. Besides, I was just leaving, and I'm sure Gen could use a friend."

I wouldn't exactly call Whit a friend, but I'm sort of glad she interrupted the crazy that was going on.

He leans in close to me as he scoops up his keys. His face dips a half inch away from mine and he growls in a low whisper only I can hear, "You look really nice, by the way. I was looking forward to having you for dessert."

I feel the blush creep across my face and down my neck, and I dart a look at Whit, who clearly missed my husband's provocative words.

He slams the door on his way out, and I stand, shocked. Adam is usually really good at controlling his temper, especially in front of other people. I wish our fight didn't end the way it did. I wish we'd been able to resolve things before Whit showed up.

"I'm really sorry if I interrupted you guys," Whit says, and I rush back to the kitchen area, feeling fl.u.s.tered and exposed.

I pull two plates down from the cupboard and set one in front of Whit and one at my place at the table, then slide into the chair across from her, ready to cover my domestic blowout with girl talk. I feel torn apart, but I don't want to show it. And I won't. I plaster a smile on my face.

"You didn't. What's up? I don't usually get visits from you, is everything okay?"

It's surreal to be sitting here in the aftermath of my first real married fight with Whit of all people.

Whit looks at me for a long second, like she wants to ask something, but seems to change her mind. "Everything's fine. I just needed some help plotting Maren's bachelorette party."

"Already?" I ask, trying to remember when Cohen said the official date for the wedding would be. My own wedding and marriage had been consuming every single extra brain cell I had lately. I scoop a piece of chicken out of the pan and onto Whit's plate and try to click back into hostess mode. "Help yourself to the salad and stuff. And drink? What can I get you?"

"Water's fine. I know it's early, but I'd like to do something really special for her. She wouldn't dig a Vegas thing, but I wanted to know if you had any other ideas?" Her mouth falls into her signature frown, and I realize that it's not because she's angry that she makes that face. At least not all the time. Right now it's just that she's lost in thought.