“Why not,” Mark said with a shrug.
I glanced between them.
“Don’t worry,” Lisette said. “That’s Mark’s version of wild enthusiasm.”
Buoyedby the elation of being invited into the Newfingers on a temporary basis, I found myself setting up a meeting with an immigration lawyer the next day. It wasn’t so much that I wanted to do improv; it was that Lisette had signaled that I actually belonged in their strange little group. I had people here, now.
The immigration attorney, Dave Bui, had a shabby little office in a converted storage building near the main port, but he was friendly and efficient when he waved me inside. He was in his fifties and wore a dark, tweedy suit, and he offered me a lollypop like I was a kid at the bank before sitting me down to give me a frank take on my situation. Unsurprisingly, he informed me that there was a lot to arrange if I actually wanted to move to Canada and work from home, even if I was still working for an American company. I might have to set up my U.S. address with my sister, for example, assuming she didn’t hate me. Or I might have to find a job with a company here.
I asked him whether I had any chance of moving here permanently, getting a job, and becoming a permanent resident.
Dave considered this as he leaned back in his squeaky office degree. “You have a degree and some useful skills, but they’re not in high demand. So you would need to apply for a work visa,” he said. “And if they decide you have skills they need, you maybe able to stay up here. But in the meantime, if I can put this as bluntly as possible, don’t quit your day job in the U.S., know what I mean?”
This made sense, of course. A final answer from the Canadian government could take months. It also meant that I had absolutely no way of planning my future. I was going to have to wing it.
“So how can I start the application?”
When I walked out of the building, I felt brave. Free. Excited. What if I was the kind of person who moved to another country? What if I was the kind of person who followed their dreams, skipping with joy through the endless bureaucracy of a visa process, to end up a sexy ex-patriate in another country, offering respite to my friends and family when they needed a place to escape? It seemed pretty unlikely, but then again, being in this entire city seemed pretty unlikely. That’s what I loved about it.
I texted Lucas and Jasmine and told them that my negativity cleanse might be extended indefinitely. Lucas replied that if I had decided to become an organic farmer, there were certain crops that were in high demand in his social circle.
Lisette insistedthat I hang out again the next Sunday, when she had the day off from the café. I was happy to do it, since I had started feeling pretty lonely. Laura and I weren’t ready to stop fighting yet. It felt strange not to have seen my sister in person in a month, and to know that things weren’t settled between us.
At the last minute, Paul announced that he could join us, this time for a hike into the woods. It was a sticky day, away from the breezy coastline, and the air felt thick and unusually still. We were soon batting away tiny flies and peeling off sweatshirts. It was during this hike that Lisette filled me in about Charlotteand her fisherman boyfriend, and the whole story of my rental apartment.
“If it all works out for Charlie,” Lisette said, “maybe you can move into her place permanently, I mean if you want to stay here. But I don’t know if they’re headed for a big church wedding. Brett, the boyfriend, is one of those guys who talks in grunts. You say, ‘Hello,’ and he says, ‘Mmph. Hmm.’”
“Hey, can I ask a question?” I asked Lisette. “Is her boyfriend dark-haired, kind of scruffy?”
“Yeah, why?”
I did a happy little dance in the middle of the trail, while Paul watched with raised eyebrows. “No, no, no, I’m proud of myself! I’m a great detective!” I cried. I explained how I’d worked that out from the Ben Affleck DVDs. “She definitely has a type.”
“Ooo,” Lisette considered. “I think my type is those nature documentary fellows who are always trying to get you to warm up to deadly snakes.” Lisette adopted a Steve-Irwin-style Australian accent. “And this little fella has a lot of teeth but ’e’s actually ’armless. See how ’e’s giving my arm a little cuddle.” Lisette spun toward Paul. “Do you have a celebrity crush, Paul?”
“Me? Geena Davis. One hundred percent.Cutthroat Island.I always wanted to date a pirate.”
Lisette snorted a little laugh. “Trish looked literally nothing like Geena Davis.”
“That must be why it didn’t work out.” He glanced at me and smiled. “And you, Abby?”
“I had a horrible crush on Mike Myers inAustin Powers. I always liked the witty, clever ones. Then I realized in college that guys who were sarcastic and funny and into comedy did not like girls who were sarcastic and funny and into comedy.”
“That is absolutely not true,” said Paul. “As someone who was into all those things.”
“Trish wasn’t funny, either,” Lisette said.
“Oh,” Paul replied, “she managed some dark humor right at the end.”
“I honestly think you were only with her because she—” Lisette’s eyes widened, and she staggered backwards and screamed. Paul and I glanced at each other for a second before he rushed forward to help her.
“What is it?”
“A porcupine. In a tree.”
Paul glanced up. “Didn’t you grow up in Quebec? They can climb trees.”
“That’s how I know it’s after us!” Lisette hissed, half-joking, half-gripped with a sincere terror.
