7. Willow Delmont
Chapter seven
Willow Delmont
I can barely keep my eyes open as I walk through the front door of my apartment. I almost forget to take my shoes off at the door. After haphazardly kicking them off–during which one shoe ends up in my kitchen–I stumble to the nearest cozy surface: my couch. I sink into the plush cushions, curling my feet beneath me and draping a blanket over my legs.
Peace. I close my eyes and breathe, and then the children upstairs choose this very moment to practice their tumbling skills. I blink open my eyes, trying not to give in to the temptation to cry again. Granny Mae is perfectly fine, as she told me herself over a dozen times. But I still feel rattled.
After losing Granddaddy, I’ve been fearful of Granny following close behind. She’s so healthy and full of life, but so was he. The heart attack came swift and fierce, like a tornado straight through my life. Working through the grief felt similar to cleaning up after a natural disaster. My parents, Granny, and I had to sort through the wreckage together. I don’t want to do that again, especially since my parents are so far away.
“I hurt my hip; quit treating me like a walking corpse,” Granny had scolded me as I tucked her into bed at her home. I’d wanted to stay with her longer, but I mentioned Jamal’s birthday party while trying to cheer her up. She’d insisted I go and get myself a husband. Said if I was so worried about her dying then I should probably marry before it happens. I was not a fan of that little joke, but I know humor is one of the ways she copes.
So, now I’m hoping to get in a nap before dragging myself to a party with rich athletes and their supermodel wives and girlfriends. I’d much rather put on an old Disney Channel Original movie, order pizza, and eat until I am, as Granny would put it, full as a tick. But I told Jamal and Aaliyah I’d be there. I curl up beneath my fluffy plaid blanket and pull out my phone. I should probably let Bianca know that Granny is home and doing well. She was concerned when I sent her a frantic text at the hospital.
My brow furrows when I see I have a voicemail from an unknown number. It’s rare that I get calls from anyone but family. Worried that it might be something from Granny’s doctor, I play the voicemail.
“Good evening, Ms. Delmont,” a monotone male voice greets. “My name is Clarence Bowlfield with U.S. Immigration Services. I am calling to inform you that your work visa has expired.”
My phone drops out of my hand, and my stomach with it. I scramble to pick it up again, my heart racing.
“-sent multiple verification emails, and mailed letters to your home. Since you missed the application cut-off, you will need to report back to Canada within the next sixty days.”
I cut off the voicemail and lunge for my laptop. My hands tremble as I log onto my email. I check every inbox, including my spam folder, and find nothing. There must be a mistake. I don’t delete any of my emails, so they would be in here.
The blood drains from my face as it dawns on me. “No, no, no, no .” I log out of my email and log into my old college account. The one I haven’t looked at in at least a year. It takes four tries to get in, but I finally do. Sure enough, several emails from Immigration are waiting for me, unread . I click on the most recent one, which tells me in bold red letters that I’ve missed the cut-off date.
I call the number back, trying to take deep breaths but failing. Hopefully, Clarence can understand me while I’m hyperventilating.
“U.S. Immigration Services, Clarence speaking. How may I help you?”
“This is Willow Delmont. I received a call about my work visa expiring.”
The sound of typing breaks the silence. He asks a few questions to prove my identity, then pulls up my file.
“Ah, yes, I have your file right here. What can I do for you?”
“I think there’s been some sort of mistake. I didn’t receive any letters in the mail.”
“My notes say we sent several letters to the address 151 Magnolia Drive. This is the address you listed on your contact form.”
Granny’s address. I lived with her for a short time before finding my apartment. When I moved, she started calling often to ask about random junk mail with my name on it. I told her not to bother saving the envelopes and to just throw away anything that didn’t have her name on it. I squeeze my eyes shut. This is so, so bad.
“I moved from that location,” I say, my voice tight.
“I see. But you did receive our emails?”
I look down at my laptop, the words blurred from my tears. “Yes,” I rasp.
“Then I’m afraid there was no mistake, Ms. Delmont. We did what we could to reach you.”
“Why wasn’t I called before now?” I ask, grasping desperately at the one thing they didn’t do. Logically I know this is my fault, but maybe if that’s some mistake on their part I can get time to reapply.
“It’s our policy to reach out first via email, then send letters if no response, then call once you’ve been deported.”
“Policy,” I echo.
“Yes. I’m sorry, but I cannot do anything further for you. You must return to Canada within the next sixty days, or you will face the risk of being banned from reentry into the United States.”
I wipe my face with the sleeve of my Lions sweatshirt. The team I can no longer work for because my visa has expired.
“Okay,” I manage to choke out. “Thank you for your time.”
I hang up before he can give me some platitude about having a nice day. Numb, I stare at my living room wall. I’m being deported. My grandmother is hurt, and I’m going to be forced to abandon her. And the dream job I worked so hard to get is gone. My phone starts to buzz in my hand, Aaliyah’s name and face lighting the screen. I draw in a breath, then answer.
“Girl, where are you? There are way too many guys here,” Aaliyah says with a laugh.
I didn’t tell anyone other than Bianca that my grandmother was hurt. There wasn’t much time to, what with talking to all the doctors and making sure she was set up at home.
“Sorry, some things came up. I’ll try to be there soon,” I say, doing my best not to sniffle.
“Is everything okay?”
I stifle a hysterical laugh. “Yeah, everything is fine! I just had to help out my granny.”
“Okay, tell Granny Mae I said hi! And that she’s welcome to come party with us.”
My lips turn up in a watery smile. “I’ll be sure to let her know. See you soon.”
We hang up and I wipe my face again. I should have told her I couldn’t make it. The last thing I want to do is go. But there’s a part of me that realizes this might be one of the last team parties I get to attend. I won’t get to watch the guys be reckless idiots racing around Jamal’s property anymore or beat Calvin at pinball while he insists I cheat.
So while I feel more like sobbing than dancing, I head to the bathroom to pull myself together. If I only get sixty days here, I’m going to make the most of them.
“Willow, you made it!” Aaliyah squeals and wraps me in her arms as soon as I walk in the door. Her signature tropical scent envelops me, making me think of warm summer days even though it’s October. I return her hug, careful not to tug on her long braids. “I’d never miss one of your parties, especially not Jamal’s birthday.”
We pull apart and her wide smile dims, concern furrowing her brows.
“What’s wrong?”
I put on my best everything’s fine face, aware of the crowd of people around us. “Nothing! Granny Mae fell and hurt her hip, that’s all.”
“Oh no, that’s awful! You should have said something. I would have visited her and helped you.”
A genuine smile stretches my lips, and fresh tears sting the backs of my eyes. It’s going to be so difficult to leave friends like Aaliyah. We’ve only known each other a short time, and she’s already become like a sister to me.
“You know she wouldn’t want anyone fussing over her. She’s actually the one who forced me to come. Said I need to find a husband before she dies.” I roll my eyes, and Aaliyah laughs.
“Well there are plenty of eligible bachelors here tonight,” she says with a smirk. “We can get you a drink and find you a man.”
I shake my head. “I’m not interested. I’ve had enough of the dating scene recently. I will take that drink though.”
I’m not big on excessive drinking. I enjoy a glass of wine after a long day at work, but not more than that. So that’s what I’ll treat this as. A little something to take the edge off.
“A drink it is. Follow me.” She grabs my hand, her gold jewelry sparkling against the deep ebony shade of her skin.
We wind through the crowd. I smile and say hi to a few players and friends I spot, but I’m happy to keep the interactions brief for now. Maybe once I settle in I’ll be able to hold a conversation.
Aaliyah leads me into her huge kitchen, the white cabinets blindingly bright and the marble countertops gleaming as though they’ve never seen a speck of dirt in their life. On the kitchen island is an array of drinks in dispensers, as well as a few bottles of wine and some buckets with champagne. I’m about to look at the wine selection when Aaliyah presses a cup into my hand.
“What’s this?” I ask, looking down at the maroon liquid.
“Jamal’s birthday cocktail,” she answers with a grin. “I created it myself. It’s so good.”
I gingerly take a sip. I’m not one for mixed drinks, but this is good. I can’t taste the alcohol at all–which might be a bad thing–but since I hate the taste of liquor, it works for me.
“Wow, this is great!” I tell her sincerely, which makes her smile widen.
“I told you. Now–”
A guy I don’t recognize walks into the kitchen, cutting her off. “Jamal is doing dirt bike tricks again.”
Aaliyah huffs. “I swear that man is going to get himself killed. I’ll be right back. I need to go make sure my husband doesn’t ruin his career over what I’m sure is a stupid dare.”
I laugh. “Good luck.”
She sighs and follows after the guy. I take a few more sips of my drink, then decide to brave the party. As soon as I step out, I regret it.
Across the room, Jason leans against a wall, smiling down at a pretty blonde. I roll my eyes. Go ahead, honey, flirt away. He won’t remember your name tomorrow if his track record is any indication.
I tip my drink back. It’s going to be a long night.