Chapter Twenty-Two
Adrián
Aweekend to spend in my thoughts while supporting Genevieve. Her work demanded all her attention, and knowing how mind-and body-consuming working long hours could be, I made sure to be her cheerleader during the quiet times.
“So, you’re just gonna spoil me the whole day?” Gen asked on Sunday as I brought her a plate loaded with mini sandwiches, chips, and grapes. I set the obligatory cup of black coffee next to her and planted a kiss on her forehead.
“Yes, I know how working through the weekend without breaks feels. But you must promise me you’ll stop before it gets dark tonight. You need to reset before the week starts. What are you wearing tomorrow? Do you need me to press it?” I strolled away to the kitchen to grab my own plate but turned back when her keyboard clacking stopped.
“Are you real?” she asked in awe.
“Stop it. I’m home until we get my work permit. Did you think I would sit on the sofa and surf channels?” I brushed her off and kept approaching the kitchen.
“I just wish I could take time off to spend it with you.”
“You still can,” I said, trying to keep my tone relaxed. Genevieve sighed but didn’t respond, and I didn’t push. She’d shared Anita’s words of wisdom on Friday night, and they weighed heavy on her.
Same as the A.D. Nicholson situation.
Not knowing what the right step forward was, I understood my mental block with the entire situation wasn’t healthy either. I’d been turning the idea in my mind over and over, wondering what was the right step to take. Something that honored me and my additional needs.
So, in an attempt to keep all my options open, I agreed to meet with Gen and her boss later this week. The money I could canvas for us and for everyone in Panamá was a strong motivator.
“We will find the time,” I said, attempting to cheer her up.
“Sure, yeah. I know,” she responded, but there was no conviction in her voice.
The alarm woke me up before Gen, just as I had planned. After putting my plan in place I slid back into bed and Gen curled up, her warm back and booty pressed against me, and I skated my hands down her hips, today’s onesie blue with palm trees all over. She’d confessed she’d bought it after returning to Florida after our two-week idyllic time. I loved how passionate she’d been about our time together, and to find she had filled her journal with detailed accounts of those memories, including the time in Casco, made me wonder how I could support her to have time to lean into something that gave her so much delight.
Gen stirred, and her breathing changed until her eyes fluttered open.
“What happened? Did my alarm go off?” she asked, confused.
“No, not yet. I woke you up a little earlier than usual, but I want you to disregard the clock for now. I know when you like to leave the house. Can you trust me? I’ll make sure you’re on time.”
“Oh...okay,” she agreed, filling me with determination.
“Okay, come. I have the tub ready for you.” I stood up, gently tugging her until she stood next to me.
“A bath? At this time?”
“Trust me...remember?”
“Time of my life?” She grinned as she trailed behind me. The scent of lemongrass and green tea infused the bathroom; the internet was a great resource for finding the perfect mix for a wake-up bath. Gen’s giddy but confused energy was amusing as she stripped and got into the bath.
This time was for her, for her relaxation, for energizing before her day. Still, I couldn’t front, witnessing Genevieve’s stunning body sinking under the clear water, her ebony skin sleek in the places not submerged, the tip of her dark chocolate nipples goading me to taste; her closed eyes as she allowed herself to relax... It was a transcendent experience. I would be privileged to do this with her for the rest of my days.
“Are you gonna stare? Not that I mind,” she said, then smirked.
“Nah, I need to make sure to keep you on track,” I said and stood up. “I’ll be back. No need to look at the time.” I cautioned from the door, and she nodded, eyes closed.
I finished the porridge I’d made for both of us, one of my grandpa’s old recipes from the islands, which would make sure Gen had something more substantial than her usual coffee.
I played some mellow reggae as I guided Gen to them, leaving her there to finish getting ready.
Whispers and soft words, that was all we used as she finished her makeup, then sat with me to eat breakfast. When she was done, I held her hands and asked her to close her eyes again.
“What? Are you sure I’m going to be...”
“Shhh...this is my routine, without the bath, during my regular mornings after my parents passed away. I needed connection with myself... I felt lost for a while. Meditation in the morning and evening helped a lot. I had stopped doing it for a minute, but being here...”
“Do you feel lost?” she murmured, pain coloring her question.
My eyes shot open to find her wounded gaze.
“No! I mean, being here has inspired me to want to build new routines together. I don’t feel lost, but I don’t want to lose myself when my well-being could affect you. I gotta be well to be good for you. And the same the other way around. Maybe if we do this together...think of it as preventive maintenance,” I finished hoping she understood.
“You’re right. I...adjusting to living together has been exhilarating but, not going to lie, overwhelming. I realize now I’m responsible for more than just my goals and my work and... I fear I might be falling short already.” She sighed, voicing her fears.
“Nah, I know how determined you are, and I’ve always respected that. This is us marrying what we know of each other to create something new.” The deep certainty of my words resonated in the apartment as we did our five-minute meditation together.
The soft kiss and hug Gen gave me lingered in my mind as she left unknowingly ten minutes before her usual time, both of us in an uplifted state of mind.
The rest of the week we continued our new morning routine. Always ending with a soft kiss and hug that Gen gave me. The rest of the days I spent attempting to remove the small fish in a big pond sensation I’d had since moving to Florida. Everything felt enlarged, and overwhelming. Thankful for the small town feel of the area we lived in, I took it upon myself to walk every street and corner, visit every store until the owner of the convenience store knew me by name, and the cashier for the groceries called me a regular.
With the impending meeting at the Tropics looming over me, I needed a pep talk. I craved the connections with my friends.
Sitting in our living room in the afternoon while I awaited Gen’s arrival, I video called Shakira.
“Manito!! Miss you! How’s Los United States?” she greeted with a wide smile. My chest tightened at the sight of her excitement. I could barely contain mine. I could hear the squeal of happy children playing in the background. She probably was doing her after-school duties.
“Miss you too. How are the kids?”
“Oh, you know them, they swear they know more than I do, their teacher.” She smiled then turned around to call some kid’s attention who was climbing one of the picnic tables for lunch.
“I hear that, and you, how’s everything?”
“Mmm. Good, but I’m glad you called because I was working up to send you a nasty text asking why you forgot about your friends now that you are about to be American.” Her eyebrow rose so high it left the camera frame.
“Here you go.”
“What, am I lying? You have a new girl and a new life and you forget about us peasants.”
“You know I miss you. It’s just been...” I sat back, uncomfortable now that I had her on camera, about sharing how things had been.
“It’s a lot isn’t it?” Her face relaxed into a sympathetic expression. The pang in my chest widened at the sight.
“It is, but I’m making it work. Listen... I need advice. I have this opportunity to take a job here, that would...it would take me back to architecture.”
The silence elongated after my news. Even the noise of the children dimmed as Shakira turned the information over in her brain.
“So, what do you want to do?”
So simple... What did I want to do? I wanted a healthy life, worth living. I wanted to be passionate about my work; I wanted to be an equal partner to Genevieve. I wanted my family to live comfortably.
“I want to do the right thing,” I answered instead.
“Come on, manito, you know what the right thing is, and before you answer back, what I mean is, you know what the right thing is...for you. You just want to do the right thing for everyone else but not serve your needs. It’s okay to look out for yourself in order to be able to do the same for others.”
“Why are you so wise?”
“Because I am a teacher, and teachers are the real superheroes of the universe,” she boasted, then hollered so loud that my ear rang.
“Hey, Pablo, no, I told you not to climb there! No...listen I gotta go these childr—”
Shakira hung up, leaving me with true silence, only the sounds of my thoughts making my ears ring.
“Mr. Nicholas! Such an elusive man,” Ms. Ricard said as we shook hands. All of Gen’s descriptions had prepared me for the short, determined woman, the aura of power emanating from her. Gen strode to the chair next to mine and we sat across from Ricard, her poised and collected energy helped my overall nerves, but outwardly I had my calm mask on.
“It’s interesting that I’m considered elusive when I’ve been employed by Tropics all this time.” I sat back into the armchair crossing my leg over my thigh.
“True, true. What a wonderful coincidence. To think you have been part of the project all this time. From day one. We want that type of collaboration in an extended manner. To work with you in all of our expansion projects to create new hotels all over Central America and the Caribbean.”
“What is your plan to avoid gentrification and ensure the townspeople maintain control of the areas?” I asked, and in my periphery, I saw Gen’s grin before she began speaking.
“Adrián, as you know, the project I have presented for Tropics Colón has a full environmental, community-based study request to be presented alongside the architectural plans. No project should be larger than the ecosystem around it can sustain. For the most part, from our preliminary studies, the projects need to be less than fifty rooms. My overall expansion presentation to Tropics is to create hotels that not only speak to the area’s history, but that meld organically with the region without promising the hotel owners that the real estate of the zone will change in any number of years. The idea is that the towns don’t change unless the people want them to. Also, I have proposed that the purchase of land is injected directly to the economy of the people as some of these land grants are coming from the governments. I’ve insisted that Tropics add this to every contract with clear contingencies to avoid gentrification. Every decision should include a referendum approved by the townspeople.”
This woman.
She’d listened to everything we’d discussed and every fear I’d shared with her. I still had my concerns, and she understood them well, but that she had found ways in this expansion to take so much into consideration was warming. Every day I fell irrevocably more in love with her. The shy, goofy woman that was an effective silent sniper in her work. The determined daughter, the kind friend, the inspiring partner. I loved all of her sides.
“Thanks, Genevieve, that does ease some of my concerns. As you know, I don’t fully believe that outside developments can remain that altruistic. I also understand the financial decline in our areas, and the need of the many can’t be dictated by one, so I’ll be open.
“The other concern I have, Ms. Ricard, is having a good balance between life and work. My time with my partner and my family is essential for my well-being. Having the autonomy to dictate my work schedule and overall project load while ensuring results is nonnegotiable.”
Genevieve’s impressed gaze washed over me, giving me hope.
Ricard promised to present me with a comprehensive package that I could review before making my final decision, and with that, Gen and I left the room hand in hand, the hope of the future secured.