Green Card

by Elizabeth Adams

  Liz rolled her eyes. “There are two more where I say my roommate is working late and suggest you come keep me company. God, where’s my creativity!”

  “You were studying for finals,” he said politely. “I’m hungry. Want to get a late breakfast to celebrate?”

  “Yes! Being nervous always makes me hungry.”

  Thankfully, the press had moved on to more interesting people, so eating out was now more about eating and less about putting on a show. Their newfound privacy improved both their appetites and their mealtime conversations.

  At the table, Liz sipped her mimosa and looked through half the stack of printed emails while Will read through the rest. He sniggered as he read one of the earliest emails that was meant to come toward the beginning of their relationship.

  Dear William,

  I had a really great time last night. I probably shouldn’t tell you this and should play hard to get and everything, buuut… emails don’t count, so I’ll go back to playing hard to get when I see you in person. Which is soon I hope, because you’re a really good kisser and I’d like to kiss you again. I mean, really good. Did you take a class or something? You seem so serious and straight-laced and then BOOM! You should really give a girl some warning!

  He held the paper up. “Do you really send this sort of thing to guys?” he asked with an amused smile.

  She looked at it quickly and answered, “No! I’d been watching a bunch of mindless vlogs, don’t judge me!” He laughed and shook his head. “Besides, I was trying to sound like the kind of girl that gets swept up into a whirlwind romance and says yes to a man she barely knows and follows that up with marrying him in Vegas. This was not a time for restraint.”

  He raised his hands in defeat. “Fair enough.”

  “And who are you to talk, Mr. Let-me-read-you-a-sonnet.” His eyes got wide and Liz took perverse pleasure in watching him squirm. “Let me see, where was I?” She skimmed through the page she was reading.

  “You weren’t the only one trying to sound besotted,” he said defensively.

  “True, but I was the only one who didn’t get to see all these emails the first time through, so I’ll just take a good look now.” She smiled and leaned back in her seat, the stack of papers in her lap.

  Will chose not to argue with her and went back to his own stack, laughing and blushing in turn as Liz’s emails became increasingly complimentary and suggestive.

  Dear Will,

  That thing you do with your tongue should be illegal! Who knew I was dating such a bad boy.

  He was interrupted by Liz’s sigh as she read his. She just waved him off when he raised a brow inquisitively and continued reading silently.

  Dear Elizabeth,

  I’m not very good with words, I never seem to know what to say and more often than not I put my foot in my mouth, so allow me to borrow from someone more talented.

  How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

  I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

  My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

  For the ends of being and ideal grace.

  I love thee to the level of every day's

  Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

  I love thee freely, as men strive for right.

  I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.

  I love thee with the passion put to use

  In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

  I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

  With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,

  Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,

  I shall but love thee better after death.”

  ― Elizabeth Barrett Browning

  It’s simple to say, but I love you.

  William

  She flipped to another for the day after the proposal.

  My Darling Elizabeth,

  Words cannot describe how happy you’ve made me. If I was a poet, I would write you a verse. But as it stands, “I love you the way a drowning man loves air. And it would destroy me to have you just a little.”

  That is how I feel—I know this has all been sudden, but I cannot imagine living without you, or having you only for a moment or an evening. I need you always. Please tell me we can marry soon. A long engagement would be torture.

  Yours

  Liz leaned back and sighed.

  “What? Is it bad?” Will asked.

  “No, it’s—it’s good. I like it.” She smiled coyly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had a thing for me.”

  “Well, I did consult a website titled, ‘How to write a great love letter.’ They had a bank of quotes to choose from.”

  She nudged his leg under the table with her foot. “Good call.”

  He smiled and put the papers away to make room for the French toast that had just arrived.

  “So what now?” Liz asked between bites.

  “What do you mean? We’re in the clear—mostly anyway,” he replied.

  “I know. I mean, are you off for the rest of the day or do you need to go to the office?”

  “Oh, right. Technically, I don’t have to go in. I wasn’t sure how long all of this would take so I cleared my schedule.”

  “It is Friday. We could escape to the beach if you wanted. If we could pack quickly, we’d beat the weekend traffic.”

  “Sounds good. Let’s do it.”

  19

  Hostile Takeover

  Late July

  2.5 Months Married

  “Ugh,” Liz growled as her textbook slid off the counter and fell to the floor. She climbed down and picked it up, then slammed it noisily onto the counter, stretching her back out after sitting so long on the hard wooden stool.

  Annoyed with studying, and a little mad at herself for picking up yet another accelerated summer class, she walked down the hall and looked longingly into Will’s office. The enormous desk could easily hold all her books, and the chair looked so comfortable. But she knew it would be crossing a line to use his office. It was his private space, his cave, the only part of the apartment Liz wasn’t constantly mentally redecorating. Even his bedroom sported a fluffy purple pillow and pictures of them together—all to keep up the ruse, of course. This was his last bastion of masculinity, the meagre remains of his life as a bachelor. There were no throw pillows or cashmere anything, not a single picture of Liz in sight.

  And yet, she was tempted.

  No. She would not take over Will’s space. He had a right to privacy. Of course, he had an enormous office at work to use and she just had a tiny little bedroom. Okay, it wasn’t tiny, but there wasn’t really space for a desk and she didn’t want to spend all her time in one little room. She sighed and backed out of Will’s office, or the study as he called it. British snob.

  Walking past the spare room that housed the bed she’d banned from her room, she got an idea. Five minutes later she was changed and walking out the door.

  “Feel like doing a little shopping?” Liz spoke on her phone as she walked down the hall toward the elevator.

  “Always. But I can’t leave for another hour,” Jenny answered.

  “That’s all right. Meet me at the Crate & Barrel on Madison when you’re free.”

  “See you then.”

  Liz enjoyed the thirty minute walk to one of her favorite stores and happily stepped inside.

  “Can I help you with anything?” asked a young saleswoman with a perky smile and wavy brown hair.

  “Yes. I’m turning a guest room into an office. I’ll need a desk, some bookcases, a chair, and possibly a murphy bed. Do you carry those?”

  As much as she hated to admit it, her favorite part about being married to Will was probably the shopping. She’d been counting her pennies for so long, walking into a store and being able to just buy what she needed was such a relief. She’d even stopped taking a calculator to the grocery store, something she’d been doing since she left home at eighteen. She was still frugal a
nd hadn’t even gotten close to her spending limit, so she thought it was all right to spend a little on furniture.

  Jen arrived a little after six just as Liz was listening to the merits of various murphy beds, and they quickly picked out two tall bookshelves, a vintage-looking swivel chair, and an oversized desk. Jen led the way to a small boutique nearby where Liz found a perfect worn leather armchair and a hand-woven rug second-hand.

  “Do you want to grab a drink?” Jen asked as they walked down the darkening sidewalk.

  “Sure. Your turn to pick.”

  “You okay?” Liz asked as they sat at the bar sipping cocktails. Jenny was being unusually quiet.

  “He said it.”

  “Said what? Who, Andy?” She looked at her sister’s preoccupied expression. “The L-word?”

  Jen nodded.

  “That’s great.” Liz smiled and touched her sister’s arm. “That is great, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, I think so. I mean it is, I just…”

  “What? I thought you loved him, too.”

  “I do, I just don’t know if it’s all moving too fast.”

  “It’s been seven months, and you see each other all the time…” Liz trailed off at her sister’s worried expression. “What is it, Jenny?”

  “I think he’s going to ask me to move in with him.”

  “And that’s what you think is too soon?”

  “Yes!” she said almost desperately. “You’ve seen his place; it’s enormous! He doesn’t even pay rent, his parents bought it for him as a graduation gift.”

  Suddenly Liz was feeling a lot better about the six-grand worth of furniture she’d just bought. “Wow. I thought dad went all out with earrings.”

  Jen smiled wearily. “It’s just, he comes from this whole other world, you know? He has a trust fund!” she cried disbelievingly.

  “What’s the real problem here, Jen? You never cared about Andy’s money before.”

  “I just don’t want to get sucked up, you know what I mean? I work for a non-profit. I live in a studio apartment over a drag bar. But at least it’s mine. I pay for it, I earn it, nobody but me. If I move in with Andrew, and don’t even pay rent because who would I pay it to, what will become of me? Of Jennifer Barrett? Will I just be Andy’s girl? Just an extension of him? Will I eventually quit my low-paying job and become a corporate wife? Don’t say it won’t happen because we see it all the time.”

  Liz rubbed her back soothingly while Jen signaled the bartender for another. “I know, Jenny. Has he actually asked you to move in?”

  “No, but I can tell he’s going to. He commented at least five times on how small my place is last weekend. He was nice about it, but I think he’s trying to convince me slowly. You know how he is—great at strategy. He plants the idea in my head that I should live somewhere bigger, nicer, with a twenty-four hour doorman. Then his place is magically offered as the answer to my better-living dreams.”

  Liz stifled a laugh. “Are you sure you’re not taking this a little too far? Maybe he was just being honest and letting his guard down when he said your place was small. You’ve said it yourself plenty of times. Maybe he was taking cues from you.”

  Jen gave her a cynical look. “When we were getting dressed this morning, he said it would be so convenient if all my stuff was already at his place.”

  Liz pulled a face. “Yeah, that’s pretty clear. So what will you say if he asks you?”

  She held her head in her hands, blonde waves spilling over her fingers. “I don’t know.” She shook her head and looked balefully at her sister. “You know what the worst part of it is?”

  “What?”

  “I want to move in with him. I want to be part of his life. I don’t want to lose my own identity, but I like the idea of sharing a closet and waking up with him every day. I want to cook together in that crazy modern kitchen and read the paper on the terrace every Sunday. I’m just so afraid of waking up years from now full of regret. I’m scared to give up my independence.”

  “Oh, Jen! You can be independent and want a little romance, too! The two aren’t mutually exclusive!” She tried to believe what she was saying, but she had the same fears herself and she didn’t think she was very convincing.

  Jen let out a deep breath and set her drained glass heavily on the wooden bar. “I know that in theory, but how do we do that in real life? I want romance, I do! I can’t watch a sappy movie without crying.”

  “I know. You even thought Vegas was romantic,” said Liz.

  “But I’m a self-sufficient woman! I like my freedom, I like calling my own shots. What am I going to do? If he asks and I say no, he’ll be so hurt, I might never see him again. I can’t let that happen! I love him so much, I don’t want to hurt him, but I can’t be a crappy side salad to his steak! I don’t want to be like mom, giving up everything for a man, planning my whole life around him, only to wind up disappointed.”

  “Hey! You are not mom!”

  Jen scoffed.

  “Seriously, listen to me, Jenny. You may look like her and share her penchant for pastels, but you are nothing like her! You’re smart, you’re educated, you’re tough. You ran a marathon last year!”

  Jenny laughed shakily, but Liz could see the pride in her eyes. She’d trained for months for that marathon.

  “Talk to Andy. Tell him you don’t want to quit your job or lose your identity. Maybe you can put the money you’d normally spend on rent into a sort of fund for a vacation home or another apartment or something. That way if you two break up, you’ll have something to fall back on.”

  “I would be able to pay off my student loans,” Jen said thoughtfully. “But that’s a terrible reason to move in with someone.”

  “Quit kidding yourself. You’re dying to move in with him, you just need a way to justify it to your modern sensibilities.”

  Jenny laughed and nudged Liz’s shoulder. “You know me way too well.”

  “We’re sisters. I’m supposed to know you well.” Her phone blinked and she looked down. “The car’s here. Let’s get you home.”

  Liz led Jenny outside to the car she’d requested twenty minutes ago when she realized Jen was drinking more heavily than usual. Regular car service would have to be her second favorite thing about being married to Will.

  After she dropped Jenny off, Liz couldn’t stop thinking about what her sister had said. It was so easy to get sucked up into a man’s life. His name, his apartment, his everything. Had that happened to her? Had the formality of their business arrangement blinded her to what was happening? Had she run away from it with Jeremy only to walk right into it with Will? And if she had, it was much worse because she didn’t even love him. She’d have no excuse for her stupidity.

  They’d been together such a short time and none of it was really real. She and Will were friends. But when she thought about it, was her life already blending into his? Was she the side salad to his main dish? The idea was scary and shocking and unfortunately, all too common.

  **

  The next evening, Liz flipped a grilled cheese sandwich while reading a textbook, her thoughts distracted. She couldn’t stop thinking about what Jen had told her and wondering if she had become something she really didn’t want to be.

  She kept track of the calendar; Will never knew what was happening when. She went to all of his social functions, but he had yet to join her on a single group outing or dinner with any of her friends. She’d gone to Sheila’s dinner party alone because Will had needed to work late. She would never be allowed to skip a dinner like that; she would never consider doing it. And yes, she had redecorated almost the entire apartment, but in the end it all belonged to him. She might be able to take some furniture with her, but it was his place and ultimately, she was just a visitor. Long term, but a visitor still.

  This made her sad and irritable and confused. She nibbled on her grilled cheese and began one of her regular pastimes, arguing with herself.

  Sure, she kept the calendar, but Will h
ad never asked her to. His assistant Evelyn maintained his schedule and told him every morning what he was doing that day. He had times blocked for personal scheduling, but otherwise, he was very well managed. Liz was simply copied on his personal calendar and had exercised a wife’s prerogative and asked Evelyn to send her a copy of all accepted invitations. She couldn’t really blame him for that. Slightly mollified, she moved on to her next point.

  It was in her contract that she had to show up with Will, and he was in the public eye while she was not. Sheila and Peter were not going to care if her husband worked late and missed dinner, but her not being on her husband’s arm for public functions would not go unnoticed. Still, it chafed that he felt she and her friends could be so easily moved aside. We should have put that in the contract.

  Finishing her sandwich, she took her plate to the sink.

  “Ugh!” she groaned.

  There was a bowl and spoon in the sink, now covered in dried yogurt and granola, a coffee cup, again with dried black gook in the bottom, and a bread plate with a half-eaten piece of toast on it. At least it’s in the sink, she thought dryly.

  At that moment, she heard the front door opening and the sound of Will’s keys plonking into the dish by the door. He was in the kitchen a minute later, looking hungry and expectant.

  “Hi, Liz,” he said. “Have a good day?” He grabbed a beer from the fridge and quickly popped off the top, leaving the opener on the counter next to the discarded lid. “Ooh, making grilled cheese? Is this the one with apples? I’d love one.”

  Liz turned toward him and met his smiling expression with fiery eyes.

  “Do you have thumbs, William?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Thumbs!” she exclaimed, holding up her hands and wiggling hers in front of him. “Opposable thumbs, these amazing things that allow humans to hold things and move things and wash things.”

  He looked at her dumbfounded. “Uh, I—”