“Can we find a different nickname? Even Kit Cat was better. I feel like you’re calling me one of your bros or something. ‘Yo, what up Cat Dawg!’”
He laughed, kissed me hello, then made an exaggerated sad face. “You don’t like it? I worked really hard on that nickname.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Okay, I didn’t. I came up with it reflexively in two seconds. You got me.”
We headed to the immigration office for our afternoon appointment with Mr. Winterborne.
“That can’t be his name. That sounds made up or taken straight out ofGame of Thrones,” Dustin was saying as a car cut in front of me and slammed on the brakes. “Geez! Watch the road, for goodness sakes.”
“Iamwatching the road,” I replied as we waited at the red light. “I also have a lot on my mind right now. I feel like we’re going into this interview a little cold.”
“Even after our chat last night?”
I felt my stomach flutter as the light turned green.
“Do you have anyideawhat happens if we get caught in a fraudulent marriage?” I asked.
He shrugged. “We’ll get a divorce. You have to go back to Spain. There’s a little blowback.”
I shook my head as I turned into the parking garage, taking a ticket. “Alittle blowback?Dustin, we could go to prison for Fraud. Seriously! I was getting all nervous today so I did some Googling around.”
“We’ll be fine. We improvised the other day in front of that crowd. We’ll do it again.”
I looked at Dustin. One of the things I was beginning to realize I both liked—and hated—about him was that he never seemed to lose self-confidence, even for a moment. It was a talent I lacked, so I was probably more envious than anything.
“I hope you’re right.”
An hour later and a half hour past our appointment time, a raven-haired man in his forties exited Mr. Winterborne’s office, face in hands, crying. For the first time since I met him, I saw the look of invincibility leave Dustin’s face.
“What do you think happened to him?” I asked.
Before Dustin could answer, we were called inside the office.
Mr. Winterborne was a peppery haired, balding man who sat behind his desk, looking at his computer and ignoring us as we came inside.
We entered and looked around for a few moments. His office was messy, with papers strewn about and shelves of disorganized books.
He sighed, finally bringing his gaze up from his computer. “Another day, another deportation.”
We froze.
“Um, what’s that?” Dustin asked, tentatively.
“Oh, I mean, not you, the poor fellow before you. Well, I’m not saying you’restaying.Ah, that came out wrong. Sorry for getting you in late. Long day. These government cutbacks have been brutal. I’m doing the job of ten people. And some people just don’t understand that once they’ve got to go, they’ve got to go!”
He meant it as a joke but we certainly didn’t find it funny. Nervousness crept up my throat, and I felt my face warm. Luckily, Dustin led the charge.
“Mr. Winterborne, no worries about the wait and thanks for seeing us. It’s a pleasure to be meeting with you today.” Dustin shook hands with the man. I followed suit.
“I wish I could say the same,” Mr. Winterborne said, and we both froze.
“Uh, pardon me?” Dustin asked.
An awkward silence hung in the air for a moment, and my heart skipped a beat. My first instinct was that he knew. Mr. Winterborne already knew that we were a sham of a couple. But how?
“Because I’m a Washington, D.C. hockey fan! Go Cougars!” he finally grinned. “I’m not just going to grant an easy visa to Landon Demarco’s arch-rival’s wife, now, am ?!” he went on. The man began to laugh, albeit awkwardly, as he pointed to a Washington D.C. Cougars hockey pennant in the corner of the office behind us.
