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He switches lanes as he thinks. “I had a preliminary chat with an immigration lawyer, and she told me we’ll need recommendation letters from friends and family.”
“I think that can be arranged.” I’ll be mocked mercilessly, of course, but hey, this is why they say marriage is hard work.
He stops the car next to a swanky building and begins to park. “Some of the other stuff the lawyer mentioned we’re already on top of. We’ll need proof of living together and joint pictures. We will also be interviewed at some point, so we’ll need to learn about one another.”
He exits the car, and when he comes around to open my door, I ask, “Learn what?”
He shrugs. “They’ll ask you if I’ve ever been in any Communist groups or terrorist organizations. The answer is no. They’ll ask us both mundane stuff, like what kind of toothbrush the other person uses, which one of us likes to cook, or what kind of work we each do.”
Skunk. That last one means I’ll have to tell him about my blog.
“Don’t worry,” he says, clearly misunderstanding my expression. “We’ll learn all we need to learn long before the interview.”
My phone dings. I wave with it. “I bet that’s Honey.”
I check.
It’s not.
The text is from Bella, and it makes my heart sink:
Hi there. It looks like we won’t need to set anything up anymore.
