She stopped and raised her eyebrows deadpan, but couldn’t help cracking a little smile. “Well, Iama little sore. And a little slow, still. I need more coffee.”
“I don’t blame you. It’s been quite the weekend.” I waved the bartender over to refill our coffees.
“What?” she said. “You mean you don’t have a shotgun Vegas wedding every weekend?”
“Nah. Everyotherweekend.”
She laughed. “Is January always this cold and snowy here?”
“Usually colder and snowier.”
“Your comment about the lake last night has me thinking ... I really don’t know anything about you, Dustin. Or should I call you ‘Dusty?’”
I felt my insides clench up. “Nah. No Dusty. Dustin is perfect.” My phone buzzed in my pocket and I picked it out. “Sorry,” I said. “I don’t usually text and eat but I’m expecting something important.”
I checked and saw that I had a message from my lawyer, Jenny.
Jenny: Alright I pulled some strings and got everything set in motion, considering your current arrangement. You’re welcome. You’ve got a meeting with an immigration officer on Thursday. You owe me big time for this. :) Dinner soon?
I turned my phone on silent, put it back in my pocket, and told Cat about the immigration officer. She nodded and took a long sip of her coffee.
“What?” I asked.
“I’m worried, D,” she said, and now I had a nickname.
D.
“Why would you be worried? Things are being taken care of. We’re in the clear.”
She frowned and leaned in toward me. “They are going to ask us questions. Personal ones. That’s what immigration does. And if they’re smart?—”
“They’ll double down on their inquisitiveness since this is a shotgun, Vegas wedding.”
“Yes. And, honestly, why shouldn’t they? All I know about you is that you’re thirty years old, live in Chicago, and play professional hockey. What about your family? Favorite movies? They’re going to ask us stuff like that. Friends who have married U.S. citizens have been put through the wringer.”
“So, let’s start asking questions. What’s your spirit animal?”
Cat rolled her eyes. “This is serious.”
“Iamserious. I’m sure that’s on their list.”
She crossed her arms. “It’s a dog.”
“But your name’s Cat.”
She shrugged. “So?”
“Cat-dog. Love it.”
“What’s yours?”
“The Wolverine.”
“Makes sense. Do you have brothers and sisters?”
“One sister. Older. Named Wynona. You?”
“Norma. She’s younger. Works in advertising in Madrid.”
