by Dylan Allen
“I did, thanks,” I say slowly.
I look back at Reece. He’s watching me, his kiss-stung lips tipped up in a lazy smile. His dark hair is tousled and his eyes are hooded. The memory of our bathroom “hello” makes my toes tingle. I smile back and walk over to give my mom a hug.
“You have a nice morning,” she says absently as she butters her toast.
I give her a quick kiss on the cheek, grab Reece’s hand and head for the door.
“Where are we going?” I ask when we’re outside. He swings our joined hands between us as we walk to the car.
He waits until I’ve climbed up into the jeep’s bucket seat before he answers.
“To see our house.”
My head jerks back.
“Close your mouth. A fly’s going to hop in,” he says jovially right before he closes my door.
“Our house?” I repeat incredulously when he gets into the car. He looks at my face and laughs. “You look like I just told you I bought you a pile of plastic.” He pats my knee and turns the car. He starts out of my driveway.
“Yes. I bought us a house.” He sighs. “I’m sorry I’ve been so secretive, but I wanted everything to go through before I told you. We had to get approval from the feds—”
I cut him off. I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone and he’s not making any sense.
“Reece, what are you talking about? You bought us a house? Why? I don’t want to live here alone. I couldn’t sleep in a house here by myself. You’d only be here a few days a month.” His eyes on the road, his profile shows all the emotions that pass over his face. None of them are appropriate responses to my outburst. He only smiles and then grins.
“Reece.”
He just glances at me and breaks into a wide grin. “Patience, Fifty.” His enjoyment obvious.
Ugh, I really hate that nickname.
“Okay. Fine. I’m just going to sit back and relax,” I say, glancing out of the window to watch the desert go by. I marvel, as always, that the land so close to the ocean is so dry.
He pats my leg again. “It’ll be worth the wait. And we’ll be there in less than a minute.”
He turns left into a gated community and stops at the guard post. He shows his ID to the guard and the gates open.
When we drive in, I expect to see big houses, manicured lawns. The manicured lawns were there, and the houses are beautiful, but modest. And there are scores of them. The street we’re on is lined with houses as far as the eye can see.
“It’s a three-mile-long road. The entire subdivision is enclosed in the gate.”
“What is this place?”
“It’s our new neighborhood,” he says gleefully as hops out of the car.
41
Reece
Loreto Bay is said to be the greenest and most lush city in all of Baja. I walk over to open the door for Lucía after we pull into the house that I designated as ours when I bought this development. I’ve been keeping a lot from her, but I wanted this to be right before I told her. The deal was signed this morning and I got on a plane and came straight here.
“I bought this community from a developer who finished construction, but was caught up in a lawsuit that meant he couldn’t afford to carry the cost of the development while he was waiting for people to come in and buy. It was supposed to be a retirement community for Europeans and Americans who were looking to spend part of the year here,” I say as I help her out of the car.
“It was meant to be?” she asks as she lets me lead her up the stone tile walkway. The landscaping is perfect. Everything is.
“Now, it’s going to be staff housing for the studio we’re building here. Staff that’s going to be made up of voluntarily departed and deported people.”
She stops in her tracks and tugs my arm to make me stop.
“Hold on, stop and explain. Now. It’s obviously something great, because you’re grinning like you’re high. So, just tell me.”
“You’re ruining my fun.” I scowl. She scowls back . . . and it just makes me want to kiss her.
“Fine.” I relent. “Let’s go in and get out of the heat, I’ll tell you.” I open the door and lead her inside and watch her face as she takes in the coral colored stucco walls, the Travertine tiled floor, the beamed ceiling lined with sky lights. The hand crafted local furniture and artwork are things I picked out. “We can redecorate later, if you don’t like it.”
She spins to face me. “You’re building a studio?” I laugh at her doggedness.
“In partnership with the largest media company in South America. Yes. We signed the deal this morning. It’s been a nightmare because we’ve had to negotiate with the Mexican government to purchase the property. I had to get my parents on board. They’re not thrilled that I’m moving to Mexico, but they understand and they agree that Artemis is ready for this kind of expansion.”
I grab her and pull her into me. “I talked so much about my family and my duty to it. But you’re my family, too. We may not have a piece of paper or blood that says so. But we’ve got something much stronger than either of those. We love each other. We chose each other. And so, I had to find a way to be here while you were.”
She steps back and just stares at me. Her eyes bright, her smile, that smile, even brighter.
“You’re moving here?”
I nod and laugh as her dark eyebrows rise nearly to hairline. Her eyes narrow.
“Reece, what about the City Council?” she asks, reaching to cup my face. She holds my eyes as if she needs to look into them to see the truth. I let her see. The truth of my heart. The truth of my life.
“Three years of us living apart is not an option. City Council isn’t going anywhere. We’re going to keep fighting, but we’ll do it as private citizens.”
She kisses me, but frowns as she says, “I’m not a citizen, Reece. And what if they don’t let me come back? Or what if I decide I want to live here?
This surprises me, but my answer is the same. My motivation unequivocal. “We can stay. We can live here. My visa is one that gives me permanent residency because I bought a business here.”
“So you would stay here? For me?”
“We’ll be together wherever we need to be. And if you decide you want to go back in three years, we’ll apply for you to enter, but as the spouse of a US Citizen.”
Her grin explodes, she shrieks and jumps up, throwing her arms around my neck and climbing up my body, before I’m even done with my sentence.
I put my hands on her hips and haul her up.
“Reece, yes! Yes. You asked again and I’m saying yes.”
“Well, I was going to get down on one knee and ask you properly. I have a ring in my pocket,” I say into her hair as she tightens her grip around my neck.
She stills and then scrambles down. “Oh, I want that. I SO want that. I’ve been waiting for this,” she says, beaming.
She runs her fingers through her hair. And smooths the fabric of the dress she’s wearing.
“Okay, I’m ready.” She smiles happily up at me.
I drop to my knee and pull out a ring that my grandmother left me. It holds value that’s more sentimental than monetary, but when I saw it, I knew it was right for her. It’s a filigree of a bird in flight, set with tiny diamonds.
I slip it on her finger and tell her, “You’re my freedom. You’re my family. I want to be with you until I take my last breath. You’ve shown me what real courage looks like and I want to live with you where you can really live free. So here I am; at your feet, and I always will be.” I kiss her hands, the hands that wrote the story that brought us together. “I love you in a way that I’ll never be able to understand or contain. Will you be my wife?”
She smiles a new smile. I’ll come to recognize that smile. It’s the one she wears when she’s so happy her heart’s song can’t be contained. It’s so bright that it casts everything around into the shade.
I’ll see it again next year when she says, “I do.” In a few years, I
’ll see it when she holds our daughter, Julianna, for the first time. But today, it’s new. And it’s the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. I slip my ring on her finger and she joins me, dropping to her knees in front of me and says, “Fuck, yeah.”
* * *
The End
Epilogue
FIVE YEARS LATER
* * *
“Mommy! Wave at me,” Juliana screams across the room at Lucía. Lucía glances at us, and waves at our daughter and then looks at me and crosses her fingers. I lift my hand, showing my own crossed fingers too.
We’re in the South Hall of the Los Angeles Convention Center, watching Lucía and nearly five thousand other newly naturalized citizens get ready to take their oath of citizenship. We’ve been here for a couple of hours and we had to separate while she went through most of the process herself. My parents are here with Juliana and I and my dad’s recording everything on his phone.
“Daddy, I’m hungry,” Juliana whines as she wiggles on my lap. She’s three and growing like a weed and always hungry. My mother reaches into her purse and pulls out a bag of grapes. “Come sit with your Mimi, baby and I’ll feed you.”
Juliana’s big brown eyes widen as she scrambles off my lap and walks over to her grandmother. My mother retired a year ago and she and Juliana spend a lot of time together when we’re in LA.
We spend six months a year here and the other six months in Loreto. When we got married four years ago we decided to split our time. It’s been great for Juliana because she gets to spend plenty of time with both sets of her grandparents. The studio we built in Loreto has thrived. Our little community of returners has been a success and we still live there. Some of our employees have stayed, others have used the jobs we gave them as a stepping stone to rebuild their lives in Mexico.
A few months after Lucía left, the new president ended DACA, the program that had given DREAMERs the right to work and to remain the country without fear of deportation. We lobbied congress, raised money, ran campaigns and were relentless in our pursuit of our goal. When the bill was introduced to give DREAMERs permanent residency and a path to citizenship, Lucia and I both cried as we watched the legislative proceedings.
A year later, Throw Away the Key hit box offices. The film exceeded all my expectations and when the screenplay won Artemis Films it’s very first Oscar, Lucía accepted the award in person. The film, it’s success and Lucia’s own journey gave the DREAMER’s movement real momentum.
Since then, she’s published two more books and the film she wrote a screenplay for just won the Palme d’Or at Cannes. My girl is on a roll.
As the crowd of people begin to recite their oath of office, all of them with their right hand up, swearing to be loyal to the United States, I gaze at my wife.
She’s solemn, looking straight ahead. Her left-hand rests on her gently rounded stomach, where our son is growing. She’s my inspiration. My dream come true. And as she says the last sentence of the oath she’s spent the last week memorizing, she turns to look at me. Our gazes hold and she smiles as she says, “I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; so help me God.”
And then her eyes close, and she puts her right hand over her heart and caresses that tattoo. She opens her eyes again, her smile bright enough to rival the sun as she mouths “I’m free.”
* * *
THE END
Afterword
Thank you so much for reading Thicker Than Water. Writing it has been a labor of love. Lucía and Reece’s story ends happily, but for many people in Lucía’s position, things are far from ideal or easy.
* * *
If you’d like to know more about this subject, I’ve included some links that you can explore.
To learn more about what life is like for undocumented immigrants, read: http://www.nytimes.com/2011/06/26/magazine/my-life-as-an-undocumented-immigrant.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0
* * *
https://roomfordebate.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/04/22/immigrant-children-in-legal-limbo/?_php=true&_type=blogs&_r=0
* * *
Video of Conversation between mother and son.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/04/25/dreamer-movie-struggles_n_3156449.html
* * *
Movie:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/04/25/dreamer-movie-struggles_n_3156449.html
* * *
Movie of Protected DACA enrollee deported:
https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/world/2017/04/18/first-protected-dreamer-deported-under-trump/100583274/
* * *
Great Book:
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/p/dreamers-eileen-truax/1119919868/2674344192646?st=PLA&sid=BNB_DRS_Marketplace+Shopping+greatbookprices_00000000&2sid=Google_&sourceId=PLGoP23941&k_clickid=3x23941
* * *
Article:
https://longislandwins.com/news/national/the-undocumented-truth-a-new-video-for-the-immigrant-youth-to-be-aware-of-daca/
Acknowledgments
I want to thank the brave men and women who shared their stories with me. I won’t name them, to protect their privacy. But please know that you are my heroes.
To my beta readers, Autumn, Cézanne, Chelé, Layla, Lisa, Margie, Nana, Rachael, Sara, and Sophie,— you guys are the reason this story is any good at all. Thank you all SO much for putting up with my indecision and self-doubt. I love you guys and am lucky to call you my friends.
Patricia and Lylian, thank you for reading it early and giving me the confidence to show it to the rest of the world.
To my editor Anja, thank you for believing in me and pushing me to do better.
To Marla, my amazing proofreader, thank you for making this pretty enough for the world to read.
To Mary Ruth for the incredible cover you created . . . your talent is awe inspiring and your spirit is just as beautiful. I’m grateful to know you.
To the great team at Foreword PR- Linda and Alissa your support and encouragement means the world.
To Crystal thanks for stepping in and saving me.
To Jeananna and Kylie at Give Me Books, you guys are the best, I love working with you. Thank you!
To my amazing author friends and mentors who read this story, encouraged me to write it and helped along this journey – you’re my comrades in arms, thank you.
To Mila – Thank you for everything. I owe you more than I’ll ever be able to pay, but know that for as long as you’ll have me, I’m yours.
To Chelé – What would this journey be without you? I don’t want to even imagine. I love you!
To my Layla – Your honesty, you constancy and your friendship are a cornerstone of my life. Love you.
To my friend Claudia – you’re wonderful. Thank you for just being you and for helping along every single part of this journey.
Mara, you’re a goddess. That is all.
To my friend Nana, everybody needs a friend like you. You’re wonderful and love having you has part of my Ghana Massive.
To Becca, you’re definition of kindness and grace. Love you, girl.
To my dearest Kennedy—no words could ever express how much I appreciate your presence in my life. And I know for sure that this books wouldn’t be what it is without your input and guidance. Thank you for putting up with me. I’ve learned so much from you and you carried me across the finish line on this project. Thank you for everything. I love you.
To my author friends who support me in so many ways every day, I can’t
To my parents for being brave enough to leave their home country and seek out the American Dream for the sake of their children, I hope we’ve made you proud.
To my husband and children — you are my reason. I love you so much.
To all the amazing bloggers who have shouted about my book, thank you, I couldn’t do this without you.
To my Darlings you ladies are my own personal army. Thank you for your support and willingness to roll up your sleeves for me. I can’t say thank you enough.
To my Day Dreamers — You’re my favorite corner of the internet. You guys make my day, every single day!
And to every single reader who has given my work a chance, thank you for making my dreams come true.
All my love, Dylan
Rise
by
Dylan Allen
* * *
The week of their visit goes by like a blur. I have taken the week off from work so I could spend it with them.
We do all the touristy things. The Tower of London, Westminster Abbey and Big Ben. Anthony is absolutely enamored by the London Eye, and despite the exorbitant cost we ride it twice in a row. I don’t mind a bit. The view of London is spectacular, and I love seeing the wonder of it through his eyes.
Cara meets us for lunch near Westminster on the fourth day of their visit. She suggests we all go down to Green Park and stroll to Buckingham Palace to watch the changing of the guards.
It’s a lovely day and we are all up for the walk. Cara’s been in London for almost four years now and she knows the city like the back of her hand. It’s wonderful strolling with her.
As we walk up Birdcage Walk, away from Big Ben and toward Green Park, I hear a deep voice calling Cara’s name. We all spin around to see two drop-dead gorgeous men walking toward us.
One of them looks he could be Chris Hemsworth’s doppelgänger, except he is covered in tattoos. And the other, well, let’s just say, I’ve never seen a man who looks like him before. Ever.