Chapter 12 Olivier
Olivier
Two months before the honeymoon
It took me two weeks to accept that Cassie was not going back to New York City, not even for a few days.
First there was her birthday party, at which I’d expected her to announce to her friends that we were engaged.
Surprise! Wedding incoming! Instead, she’d barely spoken to me all night, at least not until her ex, Darren, arrived.
Then she was all over me, bragging loudly about how successful I was, turning me into a work acquaintance of her father rather than a lowly tenant living in his basement.
Her group of friends listened eagerly at how much fun we’d had in the city.
Cassie gushed about how “generous” I was, how I’d wined and dined her all over town.
Then she moved on to how I’d wanted to come here to spend more time with her, because it was all about Cassie, Cassie, Cassie.
At some point, her “best friend,” Brianna—who even has best friends at our age?
—started making eyes at me, and far from being ticked off, Cassie low-key gloated.
So this was how it was going to go. With a twist of Cassie’s imagination I’d become this rich guy who had fallen so deeply for her that I was more than happy to leave my fancy job and glitzy city life behind.
And still, she made no mention of our situation, the wedding, the engagement, whatever she wanted to call it.
And then there was the appointment I’d set up with the immigration lawyer, Erica Min, back in the city.
I reminded Cassie half a dozen times, and even then, I felt like I practically had to drag her there.
She complained about taking the train but wouldn’t drive, either.
In the end, she handed me her car keys, begrudgingly.
Inside, Cassie plugged in her phone and played a pop playlist on extra-loud as she stared out the window, barely saying two words to me. She looked like a lovelorn teenage girl, and me like a dad who was taking her to school against her will.
Still, crossing the George Washington Bridge, I felt a jolt of joy.
My body thrummed with want as the skyscrapers came into view.
As I drove down the West Side Highway, I thought about the first time I went to Times Square, almost a year ago now.
I’d stared at the neon lights with total awe, the wind knocked out of me by the greatness of it all.
After all the setbacks I’d gone through, my darkest times, I found myself living in the most exciting place on earth.
Today was different. I had to scrape the bottom of my bank account for the lawyer’s fees, and I was only able to afford a woman who worked out of a mildewy basement office in Midtown East. There were dubious stains on the orange carpet, and the coffee Erica Min offered us was spit-out disgusting.
“So, let me get this straight. You two barely know each other, and you got married just as your visa was about to expire,” she said, after consulting the folder I’d carefully put together.
Online, her full smile and short white hair made her look approachable, but in the flesh she seemed weary, her eyelids were droopy, and her maroon skirt suit was clearly too big for her frame.
“It was love at first sight,” I explained. “Cassie’s my landlord’s daughter. We met in front of my apartment. Isn’t that funny?” I left the heart attack and the funeral out to give the story a sweeter quality.
Cassie smiled blandly, like what we were discussing didn’t concern her in any way.
“Sure,” Erica Min said with a bite.
This was not going well. “Look, we’re in love, we’re married, and you already agreed to take our case.” She’d also said we could do this over video call, but I’d lied and told her I had to be in the city anyway. It felt like truth enough. Any excuse to get out of that sad house.
“That’s why I must insist you have a proper wedding.
It doesn’t have to be fancy; it just has to be.
” She flicked the folder closed and crossed her hands over it, her gold pinkie ring on full display.
Then, she turned to Cassie. “I understand your parents are deceased, but you’ve told your sister you’re married, right?
Because, honestly, it doesn’t look too good that she wasn’t there for the ceremony. ”
“We’re not close,” Cassie said. “I don’t see why I need to tell her.”
I’d barely seen her sister since we’d been upstate.
To be honest, I hadn’t seen much of Cassie, either.
She got up late, spent hours on her phone, and then would leave to hang out with her friends, who I tried hard to keep track of.
One—Julie?—was a department manager at Walmart and could, quote unquote, mix a mean cocktail.
Harper, a barista, mentioned her numerous tattoos—their meaning, their location on her body, their birthday—any chance she got.
Brianna, the more approachable of the lot, was an admin at a dentist’s office.
I got the sense that the others only somewhat tolerated Cassie, and Brianna was the connection that kept them friends.
As to what Cassie did with her life: well, not a whole lot.
She didn’t “currently” work. Talking to people at her party, I’d pieced together a clearer picture of my wife: that candle-making business hadn’t gone very far.
Cassie had talked about setting up a stand at the local markets but had never followed through.
The event planning she’d mentioned had been to help organize Brianna’s bachelorette and another friend’s birthday party.
And the inn… Well, they had stopped operating it when their mother got sick and it became too hard to manage it all.
Cassie had lied about everything. Everything.
The lawyer nodded slowly, her expression bland. “Well, tell your sister. Ask her to be your maid of honor or whatnot. We need something to work with.”
Cassie shrugged and looked back at her phone. I’d checked her Instagram after parking the car: she’d posted a video of us going over the bridge, captioning it, In town for business! I’d rolled my eyes so hard. Cassie wouldn’t know the meaning of business if it hit her in the face.
“I’d love to have a wedding!” I said, so chipper I jumped in my seat. “We talked about that, didn’t we?” I placed a hand on Cassie’s thigh. She didn’t react.
Erica Min raised a thin eyebrow. “I’m going to be straight with you,” she said, wagging her bony index finger from Cassie to me.
“The Department of Homeland Security sees people attempting to commit marriage fraud every day. I don’t know what kind of deal you two have, but since you’re already married, you better work on making it squeaky clean, and fast. Or else, I’d give up now. ”
Cassie’s eyes darted to me. It was not the time to point out that I hadn’t given her money—hadn’t offered anything other than a reason to make her ex jealous—and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could fake it.
But of course it was obvious now that I was going to pay for this in other ways.
Nothing was ever free, a lesson I apparently still needed to learn.
“We’re in love,” I said. “That’s why we got married. Right, Cassie?”
She looked startled, like I’d awoken her. “Uh-huh. What do you mean, give up?”
“Nothing,” I said, jumping in. “No one’s giving up anything.” The last thing I needed was for Cassie to find out she could divorce me at any moment and just move on with her life.
An awkward silence followed.
Ms. Min cleared her throat. “Okay, well, if we’re going to do this, you need more pictures of you two with your families and friends, whatever you got.
Vacation photos would be good, too.” She paused but neither of us had anything to say about that.
“What’s your husband’s date of birth?” she said to Cassie, who had moved on to staring at her chipped nail polish.
She pouted. “Umm, January…something?”
I swallowed hard. Not even close.
The next question was for me. “How does your wife take her coffee?”
“Black,” I answered quickly, hoping it would make me sound confident.
Cassie shook her head. “That’s only because there was no milk at your place. And sugar, two teaspoons.” She glanced at the lawyer like, Can you believe this guy?
But Erica Min didn’t indulge her. Instead, she rubbed at her temples. “This is not good at all. Plan a wedding. Get to know one another. Have a honeymoon, maybe.”
Cassie perked up suddenly. “We could go to Paris!”
“Yes!” the lawyer said, sounding way too enthusiastic now. “Take her to your home country, show her your culture. She could meet your parents.”
“No,” I said without thinking. “That won’t work.”
I was pretty sure my parents knew I’d moved overseas, but they hadn’t tried to contact me.
I’d disconnected my French number and hadn’t given my U.S.
one to anyone back home. Mom still sent me perfunctory emails for my birthday—March third—and Christmas, to which I always planned to respond before the shame and guilt held me back.
The lawyer shot me a shady look. “Well, you gotta do something. And be faithful to each other, okay? The last thing you need is for someone to come blabbering about how y’all are having sex with other people.”
I did my best to look offended, but Cassie simply blushed. Could this day get any worse?
It could. Because after we left the lawyer’s office—armed with instructions for our upcoming meeting with the immigration officer and more paperwork to fill out—Cassie said she wanted to drive home right away.
“I’m tired,” she said with a shrug as we bumped against the masses of workers on their way to lunch.
From doing what? I wanted to ask, but of course I bit my tongue.
“What about my apartment?” I said instead. “What do you want to do about it?”
Erica Min had been clear: we had to live together and be able to prove it.
But it didn’t matter where, so I’d casually brought up the idea of splitting our time between the city and upstate.
I’d been scared of asking Cassie and it felt easier doing it in front of a third party.
In response, Cassie had scrunched up her nose.
Now she shrugged. “You should keep it. It’s your place, your stuff. Don’t you want to have your own space?”
Did I want to? Fuck yes. Could I afford to rent an empty apartment in Brooklyn if Cassie didn’t want to live there? We all knew the answer to that.
“I should move out,” I said, my voice a whisper. “I should go there now and pack my things.”
“I don’t want to see her,” Cassie said, meaning her stepmother, Ms. Crowes.
I wondered, again, what exactly Cassie had said or done to get that two million dollars. It frightened me to think that she and I weren’t that different after all: we always found a way to get by, no matter what it took.
Before I could protest, she added, “Can’t you sublet it or something?” Huh, that actually wasn’t a bad idea. At least until she finished her thought, “This way you’ll have it for…whenever.”
That “whenever” sounded horribly bad. We were going to live together for two years. Had to, had to, had to. And yes, it would have been nice to have a place to crash in the city, to get away for a few days here and there, but I’m pretty sure that wasn’t what Cassie meant.
But fine, I’d sublet it for now. I’d started this whole thing, and I needed to do what it took to make it work. Cassie waited at a nearby coffee shop while I packed the rest of my clothes and toiletries.
Then we drove back. Drove home. To the only home I had now.
What an utterly depressing thought.