I answer without hesitation, intending to continue in sports, perhaps helping athletes train, when I retire from the proleague. I even comment that ballet is a great cross-conditioning workout.
Cateline tells Mr. Marais about the letter she found written to herself from years ago. “It reminded me to pursue my dreams of independence, and not give in to pressure and expectations as I’d always done.”
“Is Mr. Wolfe pressuring you into marriage?” he asks pointedly and jots something down on a page in his notebook as if to report us.
“What? No, not at all. I wasn’t done. My love of dancing had turned into torture. I left ballet to find my way back to having my own life, but I was missing something. All that focus on work and advancement left me with an emptiness, a loneliness. The letter reminded me to follow my heart, only this time, it led me to love.”
She turns to me with warmth in her eyes and a smile as bright as the now fully risen sun.
“And what will you do while Mr. Wolfe plays football?” Mr. Marais asks as if he doesn’t quite buy our story. I can only imagine what Cateline’s parents told him.
“I will cheer him on.”
“But is that enough for your heart and your independence, as you so proudly claimed?” His tone is almost mocking.
I stiffen and my muscles tense.
Cateline lengthens her spine and I recall she’s more than capable of shutting someone down with words alone. “Actually, Mr. Marais, I intend to continue teaching.”
“Which is why you need this green card, so you can return to Concordia.” He scratches something in his notebook.
“I love Blancbourg Academy d’Etiquette in Concordia and the opportunities it has afforded me. Getting a job there saved me when I graduated from college, didn’t have many prospects,and didn’t know where to go or what to do. But no, I don’t intend to teach there.”
“Another school in Intherness, perhaps?” the immigration official asks.
“No, I plan to teach ballet and have a school of my own.” She beams a proud smile.
I can’t help it, mine is wider. I wasn’t expecting Cat to say that, but I can’t think of anything more perfect.
Undaunted, Mr. Marais asks, “How will that work with the football schedule?”
I lean forward, “Mr. Marais, if I may. The Boston Bruisers have a team saying, ‘It ain’t over till we’ve won.’ We’ll figure it out.”
“And what will you win?”
My lips buckle together before I answer because the dude is persistent. In the Bruiser spirit, I guess I appreciate that. “The idea is we don’t give up. Even when the score is stacked against us. Even when we face obstacles. Cat and I came through a life-and-death challenge. We work well together, communicate, and we’ll win no matter the opposition.”
“So you see this as a working relationship?”
“No, sir. It’s a relationship that works.”
He closes his notebook, apparently done with the interview, and then asks one more question, “Why do you want to win?”
“Funny you should ask...”
Cat captures my gaze. Of course, she wants to hear the answer as much as I want to give it.
“Not long ago, I wanted to win because I was afraid to lose. Because I wanted to be the best. To hear people say that I was better than everyone else. In reality, the only person I’m competing against is myself.”
“Are you saying you and Cateline are in a competition? That you are the only one that matters?”
“No, sir. I wasn’t done. Why do I want to win? My answer is simple. Because I want to be a better man than I was yesterday. On the field, I want to win for myself, my satisfaction, and the joy the game gives me, but I also want to win for the team.” Taking Cateline’s hand in mine, I add, “But in a relationship, it isn’t a matter ofmewinning or losing. It isn’t ameanything. It’s anus. I want us to win because that would mean Cateline has what she wants and needs to make her life full and happy. It’s an honor that she wants me to be a part of that and I will do anything and everything to see to it that we grow together.”
He tips his head from side to side as if content with the answer. “Miss Berghier, if you’d please excuse us, I have a few more questions for Mr. Wolfe.”
When she leaves and we’re alone, I blurt, “Purple.”
The immigration official’s brow furrows. “I was going to ask if you expect to win the playoffs this year. I need to seed my fantasy football team.”
