Limits Read online

  “Don’t,” she pleads, her flirty face gone and replaced by a serious pout. “Just don’t. I have parents to tell me what a loser I am nonstop.”

  “Hey.” She looks up from the cupcake she’s stabbing. “Are you kidding me? You’re not a loser.”

  “Please don’t.” She shakes her head and takes angry swipes at her eyes. “Trust me. I know damn well I don’t live up to anyone’s expectations.”

  Tears. Damn it.

  I’m not well equipped for tears in general, and especially not when they’re pouring out of the Genevieve’s eyes. I wish she’d say something flippant or roll her eyes. Her sadness is tearing my calm to shreds.

  “Hey.” I come over to her and, carefully—robotically—put one arm around her shoulder. “C’mon. That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

  She holds her body stiff for a few seconds, but then she leans into my chest, burying her head in my shirt and mumbling something I can’t make out. She pulls her face up and sits straight, out of my arms. I’m shocked at how empty they feel without her.

  “You have no idea, Adam. You’re, like, this genius. You run the whole lab and all the professors are always talking about how smart you are and how you’re going on to bigger and better.” Something that might be admiration shines in her eyes when she looks at me, and I feel a ridiculous burst of pride. “I bet your parents, like, have a shrine in your old bedroom with all your awards and ribbons and stuff.”

  I force myself to smile through the bitter taste in my mouth. I guess Genevieve would be shocked to know that my childhood bedroom is now an exercise room for my father. I sleep on a cot when I go home to Israel.

  “I think you’re just getting starry eyed over how brilliant I am.” I hold my breath and let it out slow and relieved when she cracks a tiny smile. “In all seriousness, you drive me nuts. You know that. But I feel a little guilty getting paid to tutor you. You’re by far the smartest student I’ve ever worked with. I feel like I barely do anything, and you get it. And I know for a fact you’re going to ace this test today. And the next one. And the next one. So get to work.”

  That tiny smile gets bigger, and, when she looks down at her notebook, it stretches even wider. So wide it moves her ears back a little.

  She’s gorgeous.

  I scoop up another bite of smashed cupcake and enjoy that smile, the one I helped bring to her face. So my life is over. So I fucked up and will be brought down a whole bunch of pegs when I have to grovel back in Israel. Life isn’t all bad.

  Genevieve flips her pencil and chews on the little pink eraser on top, and I remember her tiny, sugarcoated finger in my mouth.

  Not all bad. Not by a longshot.

  2 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, I want to curl up in my bed and forget this day. Stupid cupcakes. I thought it would be a way to get Adam’s attention, 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 a jerk. But that mouth…god, that mouth of his. I drop my purse and keys onto the table near the entryway and glare at the back of his head. “Where is everyone, anyway?”

  Enzo stands 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?”

  Enzo 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.

  Enzo 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 off of 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, who, as far as I know, life’s aspiration is to be a receptionist at a crappy tattoo parlor.

  And I guess my brother, Cohen thought Deo and his new wife, Whit, had a good thing going, because the newly married Beckett’s had barely made it back from their honeymoon before Cohen got down on one knee and begged Maren to marry him over Chistmakuh dinner.

  “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. Even as a kid trying to race home before the streetlights came on. Or when I became a teenager and everything felt exciting

  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 blaring guitar and rough, guttural screaming. I switch it off. “I don’t need a date. It’s a ridiculous celebration. They’ve been together, what? Six months? It’s absurd.”

  My brother raises his eyebrows at me. “No more absurd than you actually thinking you had a shot with Deo. We all saw how you stomped around at his wedding, you know, trying so damn hard not to be happy for him. And after—”

  “Excuse me. I did not stomp. And what do you mean, I’m the only one tonight without a date? I don’t see anyone on your arm either.” I cross my arms over my chest, feeling satisfied that I’ve won this round.

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

  Fantastic. Meanwhile, I’m the one flunking out of school and going nowhere fast, and I don’t even have a hot love life to blame for it.

  “I’m sure she’s charming,” I bite out.

  Enzo pulls into the parking lot of the dive that Cohen and Maren insist is quaint and turns to look at me. “Be nice, Gen. You don’t have to try to run off every girl that comes into contact with me or Cohen…or Deo.”

  “Enough!” I cry. I reach for the door handle, but Enzo stops me.

  “I mean it, Gen. Everyone is worried about you,” Enzo says, pulling the key from the ignition.

  “Whatever.” I roll my eyes at my brother before I slam the car door and stomp toward the restaurant.

  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 further and further away every day.

  “Genevieve, you look stunning!” Maren is the first person I see when I pu
sh through the wooden door. Her voice is so full of joy that it instantly makes me jealous. I simultaneously feel like utter crap for not being able to at least feign happiness for her happiness.

  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 want to be happy for them, I really do. But right now, I’m just stuck in a funk so deep and sad, I don’t know how to get out of it.

  Maren grins at me as she smooths her hand down her dress, all peach silk and gorgeous, old Hollywood lines. Her dark hair is curled softly. Her feet are fitted in gorgeous black peep-toe heels that aren’t screaming ‘notice me’! She embodies a kind of elegance I always wish I could get a handle on. I feel cheap and flashy 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 of champagne 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 and edgy. I take another sip and try again. “And congratulations. I know you and Cohen will be supremely happy together. You’re perfect for each other.”

  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 start,” 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 fine. I don’t know why everyone is on my case about everything lately.” The last words jerk 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 so damn happy for her, but that look that’s on her face? I’ve only ever felt the way she feels about 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 nudge, my voice breathy from holding tears back. “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 a 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’m happy for them, I really am. It just seems like everyone I know is off finding their soul mates and getting married and starting these beautiful lives together, and I’m just…stagnant. Even Enzo has some broad 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 caught me crying, gave me the world’s greatest pep-talk, and told me I wasn’t a loser. She said that someday, I’d be so, so happy. And, for a while, I believed it. But slowly, things have just rolled further 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 my own like they do for Enzo—and I’ve systematically dated the same version of different guys over and over for years while I waited for the one who wasn’t meant to be mine.

  “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 throughout 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 even ever hearing it.

  He’s going to start off with the retelling of how he talked to Maren on the phone for months before meeting her, and move on to explain how, once he did meet her, 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 vice-versa. 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 can’t help rolling my eyes just thinking about it, even if I know it’s mean and low). I bet him and Deo talk about how they’ll go on joint vacays and barbeque at each other’s houses and name their firstborn sons after each other…

  I go in search of more champagne.

  I don’t have to search far or long. When the next tray passes, I pull two glasses off of it, clearing a space—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 this way.

  Shit.

  I glance over my shoulder at 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 voice is low and controlled like it always is. I was secretly hoping for even a twinge of nervousness. I can work with that.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask in a whisper, not sure why I’m whispering.

  Adam looks at the tray, then at me again. “I was really hungry,” he says dryly, and 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.

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

  I shake my head and sigh. “Mazel Tov. But seriously? What are the chances my tutor would 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.” He winks at me, which is strange. Adam’s eyes always seem so…focused. Steady. Unless he’s rolling them at me. But winking? It’s kind of unexpected. And adorable. In a weird way.

  I think about how shitty this night is going. How I don’t want to be that person who is bitter and unhappy because everyone else is finding their happiness. And I think about how much better it would feel to be in control of something—anything.

  “Thanks, I’ll pass,” I say, waving away the little dough squares stuffed with potato. I lick my lips, square my shoulders, and take a deep breath. “What time do you get out of here?” I ask, looking up at him through my lashes.

  Adam twitches uncomfortably, and I feel a sense of victory spread through me. Like maybe he’s remembering how it felt to lick that icing off my finger. He isn’t so stone cold: I saw it in his eyes. Everything in my life feels very out of control right now. Like I’m in this bizarre state of limbo with work and school, and no social life to speak of. But when I watch his eyes rake over me in a way that makes my skin prickle with want, I know I can control one thing.

  I can make a man want me.


  Even this one.

  3 ADAM

  Genevieve Rodriguez is asking me on a date.

  And I have to answer her. So I attempt to speak.

  “What time? I…what I—I’m sorry. What?”

  Cool. So, at least I handled that well. Real nice, Adam.

  Genevieve curls her fingers around the champagne flute in her hand so tightly, I’m pretty sure it’s about to explode. I take hold of the stem and try to tug it out of her grasp, but she yanks it back and swallows the last couple of sips in one quick gulp.

  “Forget it. Sorry I asked,” she says, shoving the glass my way. She starts to go left, but must see someone or something that makes her change her mind. She darts right, backs up again, closes her eyes, and rushes straight past me, clipping my shoulder as she goes.

  I’m about to call after her, but some nice old couple wobbles over and descends on the plate of knishes, and I’m momentarily trapped. Until it occurs to me to just hand them the entire plate.

  Sometimes it’s amazing how my brain can handle the most complicated scientific problems for hours on end without a hitch, but when it comes to basic human interaction, I have zero skills.

  I follow the path she took outside, and come to a standstill when I see her holding hands with some schmuck who looks like he’s probably a professional surfer. He’s gazing deep into her eyes and her cheeks are pink. I realize that I’m an official, certifiable tool.

  Genevieve obviously wanted to use me to get back at her boyfriend, who pretty much fits my every expectation of her type, right down to the slacker suit-and-Chucks combo and scruffy, beach bum look. From the way she’s undressing him with her eyes, it looks like they’ve made up, and it makes my blood boil a little to imagine him taking her home and peeling that ridiculous get-up off of her before they climb into bed.

  Well, at least I didn’t actually fall for her half-hearted invitation and trick myself into thinking I had a dream of a chance with her. I can straighten my yarmulke, grab a tray of pastrami bites, and grit my teeth through the rest of this shift like nothing ever happened. Tomorrow, I’ll go back to being Adam, her uptight tutor, and never acknowledge what almost happened tonight.