This is too much for me. I’m not cut out for marriage. I’m done.
Geneva Samson almost dropped the phone. She tightened her grip and read the words again.
She shook her head. Who breaks off an engagement via text message? Joshua James, her boyfriend of three years and fiancé of eleven months, did. They had just attended church together the day before. Then today, Sunday, he sent her this text. Tears slid down her cheeks and down her neck.
She had been waiting for another text message to hit her phone saying he was joking or it was a mistake, but her phone had been silent—eerily so.
Geneva tossed the device on the bed and stuffed a fist in her mouth to keep from making a sound. She lived alone in her condo, but her walls were paper-thin. She didn’t want her neighbors hearing her wailing because Josh had ignored her seven responses and sent her calls to voicemail. He had also changed his social media status to single.
Like sugar ants, people were drawn to that kind of juicy news.
She bit back a scream. Josh could have at least told her to her face he no longer wanted to get married. That Josh didn’t think she was worth a decent conversation hurt.
They had met at Ohio State pursuing their master’s degrees at the College of Education and Human Ecology. Josh had found his niche as a middle school math teacher. Geneva hadn’t settled there. While she worked as a special educator, she had enrolled in the PhD program to major in Educational Leadership.
Geneva heard the doorbell ring. She snapped up. Josh. Josh had come. She tripped over her comforter and bumped her knee on the edge of the bed. “Ow!” She grabbed her knee and hobbled to answer the door.
Isabella Ortiz stood there with her coat in hand. Geneva had forwarded the text message to her best friend, so she wasn’t surprised by Isabella’s visit.
“Have you heard from him?” Isabella asked.
Geneva shook her head and stepped out of the way. “No. He’s not answering my calls.”
“Don’t look so happy to see me,” Isabella said, stomping the snow off her feet onto the doormat.
Geneva took her coat and placed it on the coatrack. “I thought it was…”
Isabella waved a hand. “That punk isn’t going to show up here,” she said, trailing behind Geneva. “What Josh did to you was real grimy. I’d better not see his face at church next week.”
Geneva retuned to her bedroom and sat cross-legged on her bed. “I don’t think he’ll be coming to Rock of Hope any time soon. When my father finds out…” She covered her face. “I don’t want to hear my dad say ‘I told you so’ and how I should’ve listened.”
Isabella settled beside her. “Do you think it had anything to do with the sermon? Pastor hit the book of James hard yesterday. His message on double-mindedness had me squirming in my seat.”
Geneva hunched her shoulders. “I don’t know.” Her father had been wary of Josh. He would purse his lips and say something about how Joshua didn’t gel with him. Geneva’s heart ached at how right her father had been.
Isabella tapped Geneva on the nose. “Be prepared. You know this is research for his next sermon.”
Despite her relationship troubles, Geneva chuckled. After her mother passed, Ernest Samson had never remarried. Geneva had been a strong-willed child. Some of her antics had made it into his sermons, causing much laughter in the congregation. Her father could use any situation and turn it into a message.
“I can hear him now,” she groaned, running her hands through her hair. Geneva avoided looking in the mirror. She knew her hair had to be a horrible mess. She kept her hair natural, opting to get it straightened biweekly at the salon.
“Oh, please. His little Genny can do no wrong. It’s Josh who should be worried. He must have forgotten your father has boxing gloves for hands.”
Geneva laughed. “Only you can make me crack up when I’m supposed to be crying.” She whispered her next words. “I’m in so much pain. I can’t believe Josh would do this to me.”
“Girl, be for real. You planned this entire wedding on your own without much input from him. And he’s been real shady these past weeks.” She counted off on her fingers. “Avoiding your phone calls, staying late at work—or so he says—not showing up for the cake tasting. You said yourself he’s been glued to his phone.”
“He was texting his best man…”
Isabella rolled her eyes. “I don’t believe that for one minute and neither do you. In my honest opinion, he did you a favor.”
Geneva scratched her head. “I asked him if he was getting cold feet, and he waved off my concerns. But he waits until weeks before our wedding, and the honeymoon is paid-in-full to pull this stunt.” Her chest heaved. “I can’t get my money back. In fact, I just paid up the balances on the wedding cake and banquet hall this morning, and they have a strict, no-refund policy.” She clenched her fists. “And he knew it because I told him last night.”
Isabella gave her a look. “Hmph. You know there are some names I could call him, but I’m saved.”
“I can think of some myself, but I’m not apologizing to God because of Josh.”
“That slime isn’t worth it.” Isabella tilted her head. “Are you sure you can’t get your money back?”
Geneva bit her lower lip and massaged her temples. “No. I feel bad knowing my father spent twenty-thousand dollars to give me my dream wedding.” She shook her head. “It will remain a dream.” More tears fell. She used her pajama sleeve to wipe them away.
Isabella rubbed her back. “You should sue that jerk. Make him pay half. Your father put that insurance money away for your college and your wedding.” She jabbed her finger into the comforter. “I know some good attorneys.”
Geneva’s heart constricted, and she clutched her stomach. “I feel like I squandered what Mommy had to die to give me.”
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry,” Isabella said, enfolding her in a hug. “Don’t feel that way. You didn’t squander that money. You didn’t know this would happen, and you deserved this wedding.”
Geneva sobbed. “I’d give back every dime and be buried under student loans to have her here with me.
Margaret Samson had been a deli worker. She had had Geneva right after she graduated high school. For as long as Geneva could remember, her mother insisted Geneva would go to college and graduate debt free.
Isabella lifted Geneva’s chin with a finger. “I know she would be proud of the woman you’ve become.”
Geneva sniffled and wiped her face. “Would she? Because I don’t think my mother would have been played like this.”
Isabella’s jaw clenched. “We need to go find Josh. I have a black belt.”
Geneva gave a little laugh. “I don’t need you ending up in jail over me.”
“Just say the word,” Isabella said. “And you know I wouldn’t end up in jail.”
Geneva shook her head. “I don’t think any of those cops at the precinct would put a judge in jail.”
Isabella raised an eyebrow. Geneva knew Isabella was a woman of action. Isabella was the youngest Latina judge in their county. She had told Geneva she would get there and she had, despite her father and uncles being gang members.
Geneva squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh goodness! I forgot I defend my thesis tomorrow. How am I supposed to get up in front of a room full of people and talk about the effects of autism and career choice when my heart is breaking?”
She had intended to practice her oral presentation tomorrow and have Josh run her through possible questions. But here she was, with a broken engagement and broken promises, like a woman in a sad, love song video.
Her shoulders sagged. “My eyes are swollen and red. They might think I was puffing on something. I have to cancel.”
She bit her lip. Geneva had coordinated it so she would complete her doctorate before getting married. She would then go on her honeymoon and take off the rest of the school year to move into the role of wife. She had skimped and saved to be able to stay home during her first eight months of marriage. Maybe have a baby...
Her plan was that over the summer, if she wasn’t pregnant, she would pursue educational leadership positions or teach at the college level. Geneva had everything timed just right.
Everything except for Josh’s cowardice.
Isabella stood. “You can and you will do it. I don’t want to hear any talk of postponing your dissertation defense.” Her tone was firm. “I’m giving you five minutes,” she said, holding up a palm. “Five minutes is more than you should devote to crying over that loser. You’ve worked too hard and spent too many nights revising that two hundred-page document to quit now. Pull yourself together.”
Geneva bunched her fists. “I can’t.” She dissolved into tears and curled into a fetal position.
“Geneva Margaret Samson, get up. Put some cucumber on your eyes or some Visine drops, but I had better not see puffy, red eyes. I’m going to order us some Chinese, and we’re going to get you ready, Doctor.”
Geneva swung one leg off her bed to appease her friend.
“Good. I’ll order our faves.” Isabella left the room.
Geneva lowered her head. She couldn’t do this. Her nose ran and the tears wouldn’t end.
Geneva knew it wasn’t wise, but she went on social media and clicked on Josh’s page. She felt her eyes go wide. Josh had changed his picture. He was all hugged up with two young girls at a party. Her private message box overflowed. Geneva closed her eyes and put the phone on the bed, stifling a sob. She was crying and he was partying.
She lifted a chin. No way. She had to ride her pride through this humiliation. She had enough pride to last a lifetime.
Then she straightened. “Lord, help me stand,” she whispered, making a fist.
Slowly, she stood. Geneva wiped her face and took one step forward. She took another step and more until she was at her desk. Geneva picked up one of her mother’s favorite records and put it on the turntable.
Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” filled the room.
Geneva focused on the lyrics. Soon she began to sing along. She sang until she believed. She would survive. One step at a time.