A few silent seconds pass before I speak. “So, do you have a passport?”
“Yeah. What do you think…I’m gonna sneak in? With this belly?” She lets out a small laugh, drawing my attention down to her protruding stomach.
“No, but just because you can cross the border doesn’t mean you can stay.”
“Why not?” She squints.
“Because you live here. You’re a US citizen. You can visit Canada, but if you want to stay longer than they allow—or have the baby there and try to live there—you’d need a visa or residency status. Otherwise, you’re technically an illegal immigrant.”
Her face blanks like I just obliterated her entire plan.
“Well, can I get that while I’m there?”
“I mean…” I rub a hand over the back of my head. “It’s not impossible. But it’s a long process. Expensive. Complicated. Especially if you’re doing it alone…and pregnant. I don’t even wanna know what you’d end up paying just to have the baby there.”
She drops her spoon with a clink and sighs. “Well, I only have, like, a thousand dollars.”
“Yeah…absolutely not. You’re screwed.” I laugh before I can stop myself. “Sorry, that was mean.”
“You can leave now,” she mutters, biting into her sandwich as fresh tears pool in her eyes.
“I’m sorry, that was rude. Sometimes I don’t have a filter.”
“Gathered that.” She huffs and takes another bite.
I know what the right thing to do here is. I know I have to help her. I’ll never stop wondering where she ended up or if she got captured by the frickin’ border police.
“Tell you what,” I say finally. “You come home with me, where you can shower, sleep, charge your phone, and get your bearings straight.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I have to keep going. I won’t be able to sleep until I’m across the border.”
“Did you not hear me?” I snap. “They will throw your ass in jail.”
“No they won’t…” Her tone tells me she knows it’s not true but wishes it was.
“Your ex—the piece of shit—is not going to find you here. I live in the middle of nowhere.” My voice is low and confident.
“And what if he does?” she counters.
I lean back, letting out a quiet, amused laugh, and cross my arms.
“Trust me, sweetheart,” I say with a grin, locking my eyes on hers. “That guy wouldn’t have a prayer stepping foot on our property.”
She thinks for a second. “But you don’t even know me.”
I shrug. “I don’t have to know you.”
She looks back down to her plate, eyeing the grilled cheese, then adjusting herself in her seat before reaching for the sandwich again.
“When are you due?” I ask, hoping the question is acceptable and there’s no fight or tears to follow.
“June.”
“Okay, so you’re not gonna, like…give birth on my couch or anything, then?”
She laughs as she shakes her head. Seeing her do something other than cry or argue with me is relieving.
“Perfect. I’ll be around; take your time.” I scoot out of the booth and step outside to call Mason.
