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She didn’t know where that called from, besides her old girlfriends. Even then, only a few of them ever called me Genny. Nyla was one of them, of course. So was her mother, although Genevieve had conveniently forgotten when lovers called her that affectionate nickname. It doesn’t belong to any person, though. It belonged to the person who currently held a piece of Genevieve’s heart.
So what if that honor went to many women over the years?
“Genny. Like Jenny?”
“Yes. Exactly the same.”
“I like it. We’ll see where it goes. Oyasumi.”
“Oyasumi, Ms. Aya.”
Genevieve flopped back onto her bed again, her eyes full of stars and her chest full of blossoming love. This wasn’t her first time feeling like this – but she always hoped it would be the last. She was ready. For love. For life. For everything.
