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“Reece, what about the City Council?” she asks, reaching to cup my face. She holds my eyes as if she needs to look into them to see the truth. I let her see. The truth of my heart. The truth of my life.
“Three years of us living apart is not an option. City Council isn’t going anywhere. We’re going to keep fighting, but we’ll do it as private citizens.”
She kisses me, but frowns as she says, “I’m not a citizen, Reece. And what if they don’t let me come back? Or what if I decide I want to live here?
This surprises me, but my answer is the same. My motivation unequivocal. “We can stay. We can live here. My visa is one that gives me permanent residency because I bought a business here.”
“So you would stay here? For me?”
“We’ll be together wherever we need to be. And if you decide you want to go back in three years, we’ll apply for you to enter, but as the spouse of a US Citizen.”
Her grin explodes, she shrieks and jumps up, throwing her arms around my neck and climbing up my body, before I’m even done with my sentence.
I put my hands on her hips and haul her up.
“Reece, yes! Yes. You asked again and I’m saying yes.”
“Well, I was going to get down on one knee and ask you properly. I have a ring in my pocket,” I say into her hair as she tightens her grip around my neck.
She stills and then scrambles down. “Oh, I want that. I SO want that. I’ve been waiting for this,” she says, beaming.
She runs her fingers through her hair. And smooths the fabric of the dress she’s wearing.
“Okay, I’m ready.” She smiles happily up at me.
I drop to my knee and pull out a ring that my grandmother left me. It holds value that’s more sentimental than monetary, but when I saw it, I knew it was right for her. It’s a filigree of a bird in flight, set with tiny diamonds.
I slip it on her finger and tell her, “You’re my freedom. You’re my family. I want to be with you until I take my last breath. You’ve shown me what real courage looks like and I want to live with you where you can really live free. So here I am; at your feet, and I always will be.” I kiss her hands, the hands that wrote the story that brought us together. “I love you in a way that I’ll never be able to understand or contain. Will you be my wife?”
She smiles a new smile. I’ll come to recognize that smile. It’s the one she wears when she’s so happy her heart’s song can’t be contained. It’s so bright that it casts everything around into the shade.
I’ll see it again next year when she says, “I do.” In a few years, I
’ll see it when she holds our daughter, Julianna, for the first time. But today, it’s new. And it’s the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. I slip my ring on her finger and she joins me, dropping to her knees in front of me and says, “Fuck, yeah.”
* * *
The End
Epilogue
FIVE YEARS LATER
* * *
“Mommy! Wave at me,” Juliana screams across the room at Lucía. Lucía glances at us, and waves at our daughter and then looks at me and crosses her fingers. I lift my hand, showing my own crossed fingers too.
We’re in the South Hall of the Los Angeles Convention Center, watching Lucía and nearly five thousand other newly naturalized citizens get ready to take their oath of citizenship. We’ve been here for a couple of hours and we had to separate while she went through most of the process herself. My parents are here with Juliana and I and my dad’s recording everything on his phone.
“Daddy, I’m hungry,” Juliana whines as she wiggles on my lap. She’s three and growing like a weed and always hungry. My mother reaches into her purse and pulls out a bag of grapes. “Come sit with your Mimi, baby and I’ll feed you.”
Juliana’s big brown eyes widen as she scrambles off my lap and walks over to her grandmother. My mother retired a year ago and she and Juliana spend a lot of time together when we’re in LA.
We spend six months a year here and the other six months in Loreto. When we got married four years ago we decided to split our time. It’s been great for Juliana because she gets to spend plenty of time with both sets of her grandparents. The studio we built in Loreto has thrived. Our little community of returners has been a success and we still live there. Some of our employees have stayed, others have used the jobs we gave them as a stepping stone to rebuild their lives in Mexico.
A few months after Lucía left, the new president ended DACA, the program that had given DREAMERs the right to work and to remain the country without fear of deportation. We lobbied congress, raised money, ran campaigns and were relentless in our pursuit of our goal. When the bill was introduced to give DREAMERs permanent residency and a path to citizenship, Lucia and I both cried as we watched the legislative proceedings.
A year later, Throw Away the Key hit box offices. The film exceeded all my expectations and when the screenplay won Artemis Films it’s very first Oscar, Lucía accepted the award in person. The film, it’s success and Lucia’s own journey gave the DREAMER’s movement real momentum.
