Dream Things True (29 page)

Ms. Chen flashed a faint smile and continued, “We'd need to hope he wants to settle in Mexico because his new bride will have to return there for a while.”

“How long?” Reginald asked.

“If she's been in the US for more than a year without permission, it's likely to be ten years before Reginald can apply for her to come back and live with him here.

“Good Lord,” Reginald said. “That's gotta be tough on a marriage.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Ms. Chen said. “Although, Reginald, if you had some sort of ‘extraordinary circumstance'—for example, you were being treated for cancer, or you already had a child with this woman and the child was severely disabled…”

“Well, this just keeps getting better, doesn't it?” Reginald said, shrugging.

“In that sort of case, you could get a waiver—so she
would
be able to stay with you in the US. But these waivers are
very
difficult to get. You have to show what's called ‘extraordinary pain or suffering' for the citizen if the alien spouse is returned to the country of origin.”

Was she calling Alma and her family aliens? What was it with this woman?

“All right, Sue.” Reginald said. “We get it. But now, it's time to move away from hypotheticals. Let's talk about Miss Garcia, here. What are Alma's options?”

 

 

“Excuse me, Ms. Chen?”

Alma tried to speak, as if she had control over the haywire synapses in her brain. She had to hold it together, if not for herself then for Evan. She knew that the last thing she should worry about right now was how
Evan
felt about all of this, but she
was
worried. She couldn't bear watching him taking in these new realities, seeing the way they challenged everything he thought he knew about the world. She wanted to go back to the beginning. She wished she had kept her resolve not to pull him into all of this.

“I know you are very busy, and I'm so grateful for your time, but I, uh, I think I need to stretch my legs.”

“Of course, Alma,” Ms. Chen replied, with just the slightest hint of softness entering her voice. “I need to check in with my paralegal on a matter.”

Ms. Chen walked to the door. Alma swerved her chair toward Evan, whose face was buried in his hands. She gently touched his arm, feeling his biceps tense through the fabric of his shirt. He dropped his arm and turned to face her, running his fingers roughly through his thick hair. Even now, her stomach fluttered. As his sad eyes met hers, she remembered, for the thousandth time, why she hadn't been able walk away all those months ago.

She leaned in toward him.

“You should go, Evan. This has gone on for too long, and you're going to miss practice.”

He didn't respond.

“If you leave now, you can get there in time, as long as there's no traffic.”

His face changed then, breaking into a broad, beautiful grin. He reached out and tousled her hair.

“This is Atlanta, Alma. There's always traffic.”

The familiar lightness had returned to his voice, but the sadness stayed in his eyes.

“Please, Evan,” she pleaded weakly. “How are you going to explain this to your coach?”

He pushed her hair back from her face and rested his hand lightly on her shoulder, pulling her in softly for a kiss—in front of everyone. Then he whispered, “It's just a game, Alma. It doesn't matter.
This
is what matters.”

He sprang to his feet.

“I'm getting you a coffee,” he announced cheerily. “Who else needs one? Mrs. King? I think there's sweet tea over here, too.”

As Alma's eyes followed his sudden motion, she realized that the others were watching, too. They probably had been all along. Even Ms. Chen hadn't yet left the room. She stood leaning against the doorway, looking at Evan with a sort of starry-eyed grin. Alma realized that they probably all thought it was sweet, the way that she and Evan loved each other, the way they looked out for each other. But Alma knew better. It wasn't sweet. It was painful and hard. And it was only going to get worse.

She had to
do
something. She had to find a way to release Evan from all of this.

He handed her a black coffee, and she silently savored the bitterness until the conversation resumed. Alma didn't want to hear what was coming next.

“When's your eighteenth birthday, Alma?” Ms. Chen asked.

“August thirty-first.”

“That's soon.” Ms. Chen paused and grasped her chin. She looked like she was thinking hard. “If Alma were to stay, her father's parental rights would likely be terminated. There is a chance that the Division of Family and Children Services would put her into protective custody—foster care—since she'll have no legal guardian when her father leaves the country.”

“What if someone else took guardianship?” Reginald asked. “A relative or friend?”

Alma didn't have the heart to tell him how few people in her life would be able to do that.

“Guardianship is not the primary problem, Reginald.” Ms. Chen said. “On August thirty-first, she will begin to accrue unlawful presence. If she were to finish high school before turning eighteen and a half, she might be eligible for a student visa, but unfortunately that's not an option. Unless her father is granted relief, and that's unlikely, Alma's best course of action will be to return to Mexico before she turns eighteen and a half. At eighteen and a half, everything will change for Alma.”

Halfway through her senior year.

Mrs. King and her son launched in, firing questions and hypotheticals. Alma heard but barely registered their words. Then Evan spoke quietly.

“What if she graduates early?” Evan asked. “She already has a lot of college credits.” He reached under the table and took Alma's hand. “Right, Alma?”

Alma recalled the most recent meeting with her so-called adviser.

“I still have to take health if I want to graduate, and a couple of other electives. That's what my so-called adviser said.”

“We can look into that,” Alma heard Mrs. King say. “But it will be tough to graduate early if she's missing those, and if she goes for a GED she'll lose eligibility for some scholarships.”

Alma couldn't really hear them anymore. All of the “What if—” and “If only—” formulas coming from the lips of these people, all of these people who cared deeply about Alma and her future. They spoke of scholarships and student visas; they spoke of the difference a few months might make.

“What if—”

“If only—”

And none of it mattered. None of it mattered because she was, as she had always known, one of the kids stuck in between.

 

 

Evan wasn't sure why he did it. When the meeting was over, he made up some lame excuse to return, leaving Mrs. King and Alma waiting in the snack bar across the street. Alma probably thought it was because he needed to get away from her. And there was some truth to that. The way she held her shoulders, the weariness around her eyes, her stubborn silence. All of these suggested resignation, a defeat that Evan would not, could not, accept. So here he was, arriving again on the forty-eighth floor.

When the brass doors slid open, Sue Chen was standing with a small group of men, waiting for the elevator. Surprise registered on her face.

“Have you left something?” She reached into her purse for her cell phone. “I can have my assistant help you.”

Evan inhaled deeply.

“No. I was hoping to speak with you, Ms. Chen.”

She glanced at her phone and motioned for him to follow her. They stood around the corner from the elevators, alone in the small alcove that opened onto an emergency exit.

“What can I do for you, Evan?”

“I'm not sure,” he replied. What was he doing here?

“I know that meeting was difficult for you,” she said.

Her voice sounded hard. It had been a mistake to return.

She pushed open the exit door and motioned for Evan to enter the emergency stairwell with her.

Figuring he didn't have a choice, Evan followed. He sat down next to her on a cold concrete step.

Ms. Chen turned to face him.

“As a lifelong feminist and an immigration lawyer with fifteen years of experience, I can't believe I'm about to say this. But there's something about you and Alma that is simply breaking my heart.”

Evan stayed quiet.

“There may be a way out of this, and it involves you—to put it mildly. But first, I need to know—do you love her?”

Was this the same Ms. Chen he had been sitting across the table for two hours? The woman who shot poison darts from her eyes? Who delivered terrible news as if she was reciting the daily specials at a restaurant?

“More than you can imagine.”

“And if she weren't in this mess, would you still feel the same way about her?”

It was an odd question, and it took a while for him to formulate an answer.

“I don't really know what our relationship would be like, but I can't imagine not loving her.”

“And you're eighteen?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Don't call me ma'am.” Her voice was cold again. But then she smiled and continued, “It makes me feel old.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he replied, instinctively. He quickly corrected himself, “Uh, OK.”

“Do you have any money of your own, in a bank account or a trust?”

What did this have to do with anything?

“Um, I know that there's a trust. I mean, my mom has told me that, but I don't think I have access until I'm older. And I have a bank account, but there's not a lot of money there. Maybe ten thousand dollars.”

“Evan, sweetheart, to most people ten thousand dollars
is
a lot of money.” She chuckled and shook her head. It made Evan feel stupid and childish.

She was completely transformed, calling him sweetheart, smiling and laughing. She looked intently into his eyes, making him feel extraordinarily uncomfortable.

“If you were to marry her—”

“Marry her?”

Evan was in total shock. This all-business lawyer, perched on the edge of the steps in her dark suit and black pumps, was telling him to marry a seventeen-year-old girl?

“Yes. If you were to do it now, it's possible—but not certain—that she would become an LPR before she turns eighteen and a half.”

She was starting to talk legalese again.

“An LPR?”

“Yes, Lawful Permanent Resident, with a green card.”

“And a Social Security number?” He conjured an image of Alma's face, just as it had looked when she'd told him the news of her scholarship, and of the nine little boxes she would have to leave blank.

“Yes.”

“And all I have to do is marry her?”

“No, you have to prove that you have money to support her, and you have to prove that it's not fraudulent. But you have the money, and I can't imagine anyone sitting in a room with you two for more than sixty seconds and not seeing that you love each other. You would have to live together, of course, at least for a while.”

How would they live together? He was on his way to Berkeley, and she was trying to get a Georgia scholarship. His mother would have a heart attack if he moved in with Alma. And,
oh, Christ
, his uncle Sexton. Evan pushed them out of his mind. He needed to focus.

“What about the penalty?”

“You'd need to get married immediately, Evan, and then hope for rapid processing. Normally, they are able to schedule an appointment within nine months.”

“What appointment?”

“With the Immigration officer. They basically just interview you to make sure that you are legitimately married. They ask you to show photographs of where you live together, of trips you've taken. They ask sort of silly questions, too, like what kind of toothpaste Alma uses. They'd just want for you to talk about your life together.”

Their life together—Evan wanted that so much.

“You would need to do it at the consulate in Ciudad Ju
á
rez.”

“Where?”

“In Ciudad Ju
á
rez—it's a city on the border.”

“We can't do it here?”

“It would be best, in your case, to go there. It's more expedient. She would need to be there for a few days, at least, before the interview. It would all need to happen before Alma turns eighteen and a half.”

“What if it took longer?”

“Then the bar would apply. She'd stay in Mexico for at least three years.”

Evan tugged at his bangs. “Three years? So, we'd be married and she'd be in Mexico for three years?”

“Yes, that's right, unless she stays here for more than a year without permission. Then the bar increases to ten years.”

“This is a little overwhelming.”

“I know. And you need to keep in mind that, if she goes home now, she may still be able to come back here for college, legally, as an international student.”

Home. That was such a strange way to describe it.

“But how would she pay for it? I mean, would she be able to get financial aid or scholarships as an international student?”

“I doubt it, Evan. Of course, she wouldn't qualify for federal financial aid, and most scholarships are for citizens or lawful residents, but not all of them.”

“If I married her, she would qualify?”

“Yes.”

“And could she apply for her dad and brother?”

“Yes, after she's twenty-one, but the penalty is almost certain to hold for them both.”

“So they'd have to wait ten years?”

“Yes.”

“When do we need to figure this all out?”

“If the two of you decide to marry, you should do it immediately. Her birthday is coming fast.”

“OK. Well, thanks, uh, for the information.”