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When the silence grows, I realize now is the time to break the ice and start learning about each other by way of rapid fire.
“Tomorrow, we have a meeting with the immigration officer. I thought maybe we could play a game to learn as much as we can in a short amount of time,” I suggest.
“Like truth or dare?” she asks, her nose scrunching up like she doesn’t like the idea.
At least occasionally she makes her thoughts easy to read.
“No. I was thinking more like twenty-one questions but instead of the original rules, we take turns asking a question that we both have to answer.”
She thinks about it for a second and then agrees.
“Ok, you go first,” she says.
“Tell me what concerns you the most about our arrangement.”
I want to do everything I can to mediate her concerns so things can go as smoothly between us as possible. I don’t want her getting cold feet at the immigration meeting or at the courthouse when we get married.
“The fact that if the U.S. government finds out that this marriage is a fake, I’m looking at criminal charges,” she says, pulling out her phone and opening up a screenshot of something she took online. “Criminal charges, fine, and up to five years incarceration.”
Ok… maybe that wasn’t the best first question to ask. That turned pretty dim, and I’ll admit, in comparison to the penalties, hers are more severe than mine.
But they would have to prove it’s fake, and if she and I go into this a little differently, maybe this doesn’t have to be a fraudulent marriage.
“Who said this marriage has to be fake? It’s only fraudulent if we believe it is, right?”
“Isn’t it though? We’re not in love.”
I look out at the illuminated skyline for a second to think through her question.
“Does love have to exist for a marriage to be real? My mom once told me that a successful marriage is when you’re equally matched with your partner. When you both want more for the other person than you want for yourself. When you lift one up to reach their dreams and they do the same for you. Isn’t that what we’re doing?” I say.
I glance over to find her watching me.
She sets her phone down on the ledge and pulls her glass up to her perfectly painted lips and takes a sip of the amber liquid.
“Is that what a successful marriage looks like? I wouldn’t know. I have no point of reference for a marriage that lasts,” she says, a little sadness in her eyes.
From the look on her face, edging into discussing her parent’s marriage might not bode well for me. I want to know everything I can about her but this might not be the best timing.
“My parents were happy for thirty-plus years. I think they did something right,” I tell her.
Thinking about my parents and how we lost my dad a few years ago, I can only imagine how hard it has been on my mom.
My contract with the Hawkeyes will be over in four years and then I’ll be a free agent. Maybe it will be time to head home.
“Ok, your turn to answer. What is your biggest concern about this arrangement?” she asks.
“That tomorrow they’ll deny us and my visa will expire. Then somehow I’ll have to tell my team that I fucked them over and that they're on their own to find a replacement for me before the championship. Or if we do make it through this, and immigration finds out about us later, I’m looking at deportation and ineligibility for getting a visa in the future.”
“Do you think something will go wrong?”
“No. I think as long as we agree that this marriage is real, there’s nothing they can prove.”
It completely changes the dynamic of this agreement, but it’s the only way to remove the fraud from the equation and give her reassurance.
“Alright, you’re up. Ask away,” I say.
“You’re from Canada? I think I should know your background in case they ask.”
