The Professor's Green Card Marriage

by Heidi Cullinan

  Valentyn stared at Peter’s hand on the table. He wanted to hold it. He didn’t. “I have too much darkness inside me. I’ll taint you.”

  Peter caught Valentyn’s hand. “I don’t mind.”

  Then Peter drew Valentyn’s hand to his mouth and brought his thumb into his mouth, sucking gently.

  Even through his haze of self-loathing, Valentyn’s libido rose to the call. He wanted to kiss Peter. Strip off his clothes. Fuck him against the wall. Turn on the light and open the blinds this time. Let everyone see! Who cared what they thought.

  I care what Peter thinks.

  Valentyn sagged, and when Peter tugged him forward, he let himself be nestled against his fiancé’s shoulder. “I’m such a bad man.”

  “Don’t say such things about my husband.”

  My husband. The phrase tugged everything loose inside Valentyn. “I’m not your husband.”

  “You will be tomorrow.”

  “I’ve been sitting up all night trying to convince myself to stop the wedding.”

  “I won’t let you. I’m going to marry you.”

  It was what Valentyn wanted more than anything in the world, which was why he felt so compelled to push it away. He clutched at Peter. “I won’t let this hurt you. I’ll die before I let that happen. If I can’t be man enough to walk away from you, I’ll be man enough to keep that vow.”

  Peter said nothing, only held him for several minutes. Eventually he drew away enough to rise, tugging Valentyn with him.

  Valentyn followed blearily, a man stumbling through the fog. He should have stayed sober. “If we’re caught, if our marriage is deemed fraudulent, you could get fined and go to jail.”

  “I know. I already looked it up.” Peter squeezed his hand. “It won’t be fraudulent.”

  “We should never have sent emails discussing it. What if they have them? Why did I put you at risk like this?”

  “We’ll delete the emails.”

  “They already have them all.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “They might, and that’s enough. I won’t marry you. I won’t hurt you.”

  Peter stopped walking, turned, and pushed Valentyn against the wall. It was just rough enough to make his blood hum.

  Peter looked him dead in the eye, no hesitation. “You’ll marry me, Valechko. Tomorrow.”

  Valentyn caved. “I want you so much. I want to hold you, fuck you, protect you, delight you, cherish you.”

  A hand along his cheek, setting his nerve endings aflame. “I feel the same.”

  Tears stung his eyes but didn’t fall. “I’ve never been more terrified in my life, for you and for myself.”

  Peter brushed a soft kiss against his cheek. “It’ll be all right. We’ll make it all right.”

  “I don’t want to delete the emails. I’ve reread them a thousand times.”

  A soft smile. A wicked one. “Same.” Another kiss, this one on his mouth. “Come to bed. Let me hold you.”

  Yes, please, hold me tight and never let me go. “I’m too drunk to fuck.”

  “We’ll save that for tomorrow.” Peter slid his hand into Valentyn’s hair and nipped at his neck. “Tomorrow you’ll fuck me like you mean it, not like you’re trying to shut yourself away.”

  Valentyn clutched at him. “I would set the world on fire for you.”

  Laughter. “No. I like the world. Help me save it instead.”

  “Whatever you want.”

  Peter led him up the stairs, into his bed. Into their bed. Peter had moved in completely over the weekend, would be legally part of his life tomorrow. The thought still terrified him as much as he yearned for it. But this time as he lay down, wrapped in Peter’s arms, he was able to let go enough to fall asleep.

  When he woke, it was time to get married.

  ON his wedding day, Peter learned his instinct to protect Valya overrode a lot of his social anxiety.

  Peter had seen Valentyn drink quite a bit and rise unaffected, but that morning Valentyn had a terrible headache and struggled to function. Instead of worrying about his performance at the ceremony, Peter focused on soothing his husband-to-be, making him strong hot tea with sugar and lemon.

  He teased him too, stroking his temple as he said, “You need to get me an espresso maker and steamer.”

  Valentyn leaned into him, clutching his mug. “I wanted to buy it for a wedding present, but it seemed selfish, as it was mostly for me.” Groaning, he leaned over to a drawer and opened it to pull out an envelope. “I got you this instead.”

  Still cradling Valentyn against him, Peter opened the envelope. When he read the card inside, he gasped and clutched Valentyn closer. “You planted one thousand trees for me?”

  “Ah, well. Not me personally. But the website said they would be planted on protected land, yes.”

  Peter kissed him gently on his temple. “Thank you very much. Your present from me is waiting at Helen and Joe’s house.”

  “My present is you.” He clung to Peter. “Mylyy, I’ve never been more nervous in my life.”

  Peter stroked him. “It will be fine.”

  This was their mantra for the entire morning. When the gravity of everything weighed on Valentyn, Peter said it, and when the reality of SM sabotaging his wedding vows got to Peter, Valya took his turn.

  “It’s our wedding, Petrush. We’ll do it our way. There’s no right or wrong.”

  Dennis was already at Helen and Joe’s place as they arrived, and he had charmed them both, and the kids. He beamed at Peter and Valentyn, embracing Valya and shaking Peter’s hand. “Excited for the big day?” He laughed when both Peter and Valentyn looked green. “Not to worry, not to worry.”

  Though Peter remained stilted around Dennis, he could speak a little, especially if Dennis didn’t make excessive eye contact with him, which he took care to avoid as much as possible. He also took over helping set up the last of the decorations and chairs, urging Peter to sit with his aunt and Valentyn to go over the service, both the private and the public one.

  Helen had been ordained in order to perform the ceremony, and she’d enjoyed looking everything up and making sure she knew how to do her job properly. They were each keeping their own surnames, which made things a bit easier. After some discussion, though, they’d decided to take Helen’s suggestion and hold a highly private ceremony in the living room before anyone else arrived. That was due to happen as soon as Joe and Dennis got done wrestling the balloon delivery.

  “Deep breaths,” Helen told them both as they vibrated next to one another on the couch. “This is a day of celebration, not terror.”

  Peter and Valentyn had joined hands as soon as they entered the room, and they had yet to let go. Peter kept drawing deep breaths, and Valentyn had cleared his throat six times. Peter tugged occasionally at the cuff of his suit jacket, a new gray one his mother had bought him as a wedding present. Valentyn’s was a darker gray, but they had matching red ties and pocket squares.

  Helen sat across from them, smiling softly. “The day will go by fast. Try to keep drinking and eating, and don’t be afraid to duck into the house to escape when you need to.”

  Peter nodded and continued to stare at the floor. Valentyn didn’t say a word.

  Helen nudged Peter. “Why don’t you show Valya his present?”

  Oh—Peter had forgotten all about it. Rising, he took Valentyn’s hand and led him to the garage. “I hope you like it.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  “You mentioned it once, and I had Joe and Helen help me find the right set.” He led Valentyn to a small heap behind the car and withdrew a sheet which had been obscuring it. “It’s a container-gardening system. And a home composter kit. Joe will help us set it up tomorrow.” He worried his bottom lip. “Do you like it?”

  Valentyn drew Peter tight to his body and kissed him. “Of course I do. I want nothing more than to put down roots in Boulder, and you’re helping me do that literally.”

  When they retur
ned to the living room, it was time to get started.

  By design they hadn’t planned an elaborate ceremony, either in private or public, but Valentyn’s one request had been that they get a rushnyk, a ritual embroidered cloth which was supposed to symbolize life’s journey. It was long and rectangular, rather like a dishcloth, full of what Valentyn said were embroidered ancient symbols. As Valentyn had directed, Helen spread the rushnyk in front of them before the ceremony began and waited for them both to step on it. Peter glanced at Valentyn, unsure of how or when to proceed.

  “Go ahead,” Valentyn urged.

  As soon as Peter put the toe of his shoe on the rushnyk, Valentyn did too. Smiling, Helen began the ceremony, and they said their very brief vows. The kids giggled and everyone grinned at them, and then with absolutely no fanfare and a quiet kiss, they were married.

  Peter let out a long, ragged breath and leaned into Valentyn—into his husband.

  His nerves returned as the guests arrived for the public ceremony, but Helen kept people inside while Joe took Peter and Valentyn outside for some pictures. He wasn’t any kind of a professional photographer, but he got the job done, and Peter could relax around him. They got several good shots of a staged ceremony, of the two of them standing side by side, of the two of them with Helen and the kids, then a timed one with Joe as well. Helen brought out Peter’s mom too, and Terry, and Peter’s brother, Corey, and they took yet another family portrait.

  Joe would get some of the public ceremony, and that would be all the documentation they needed.

  In the end, Peter was able to say his vows, albeit quietly, in front of their family and friends, after stepping on the rushnyk once again. (This time, the same as before, Valentyn made him go first.) He didn’t know if this was because he’d had the pressure removed or if he was simply that much more in control of his anxiety. In the end, it didn’t matter. He was glad he and his SM were at a truce for the day.

  It was a fun ceremony. Simple, only twenty guests, close friends of the family, Amy from the coffee shop, a few of Valentyn’s professor friends, some neighbors, and various members of Peter’s family. They had barbecue afterward, which wasn’t exactly a wedding norm but felt, according to Valentyn, very American. Valentyn played with the kids, both Joe and Helen’s and those who came with some of the professors. As the guests thinned out, Peter sat next to his husband, nestled in the crook of his arm as Valentyn and Dennis discussed politics and drank vodka.

  It was the treasured bottle of peppered vodka Valentyn had said he was saving for a special occasion.

  As the sun started to go down, Peter and Valentyn bid their goodbyes and headed back to their house, Peter driving because the flow of vodka had never stopped.

  “I think you’ll have to drive me a lot more in September,” Valentyn said, slouching contentedly in his seat.

  “Why September?”

  “My birthday is midmonth, and I suspect I won’t have the papers I need for them to renew my license yet.”

  Peter lingered at a stop sign to stare at his husband. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t you have papers?”

  Valentyn didn’t seem concerned, but that could be the vodka talking. “I’ve applied for the change of status, and they can’t deport me while that’s been filed, but I’m missing the slips of paper I need for things like work, and of course for my driver’s license. Kevin is hopeful I’ll have it by October or early November, but until then, I’ll be walking, biking, or relying on the assistance of others.”

  “But you have thirty days’ grace period after your license expires.”

  “No, Petrush, you have thirty days. That’s a right only for citizens. Foreign nationals have until the expiration date and not a moment after.”

  “That’s not fair. How can they do that?”

  “They can do whatever they like. I’m grateful I don’t have to leave the country until I have the papers.”

  Peter didn’t like this. “It’s bad enough you can’t work. Now this too?”

  “I won’t have insurance either, which is what worries me the most. The good news is the college is going to let me guest lecture, working without pay, essentially, until my papers come through.”

  “Oh, what a nice deal for them.”

  “It’s a nice deal for me as well, since I’ll be employed the second I have the piece of paper they need. Otherwise they’d hire someone to replace me.” When Peter pursed his lips, Valentyn caught his hand and kissed it. “Don’t worry about it, koshenya. I promise not to be a burden to you.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about.” Peter didn’t take his hand away, and in fact linked their fingers together. “I’ve been thinking for some time I should get a better job, one with benefits. Now I’m more convinced of that than ever.”

  “Don’t push yourself into something for my sake, please.”

  “It’s not pushing. I’ve never planned on staying at the coffee shop, not exclusively. A job just opened up I was thinking about applying for. It’s similar to my last job, but this time I wouldn’t have to attend meetings. I’d be responsible for writing up research at home. Maybe some Skype meetings, but I could work toward that.”

  Valentyn rubbed his thumb along the side of Peter’s hand, smiling. “I hope it works out.”

  “Even if it doesn’t, I can apply for a change of status with my health insurance. I have Obamacare, and even though the enrollment period is up for this year, I can add you to my plan. It’s expensive, but it’s better than nothing. Don’t argue with me either. You think I could sleep knowing you weren’t taken care of?”

  Valentyn sighed, gripping Peter’s hand tighter. “Then I suppose I’ll have to spoil you to make up for all this care, miy cholovik.”

  Peter glanced at him again. “That’s a new one.”

  “Yes. It means my husband.”

  Peter’s heart fluttered. “Say it again?”

  Valentyn said it several times, in the car and in the entryway to the house, cradling Peter’s face in his hands.

  “Sit on my lap and drink with me, miy cholovik.”

  Peter did precisely this. Straddling Valya’s legs, he sipped the bottle of peppered vodka, whimpering at first from the burn. Soon he whimpered for other reasons, chiefly Valentyn’s tongue in his mouth and hands on his body.

  “This feels like a dream,” Peter whispered as his husband removed his clothes.

  His husband.

  “Let’s make it a good dream,” Valya replied.

  Valentyn’s hands were everywhere, stroking, teasing, building fires in Peter there was only one way to put out. Peter pushed at Valentyn’s clothes, trying to make him naked too. They hadn’t had sex in the kitchen yet, and he was in a mood.

  Peter had thought he’d get fucked on the table again, but Valentyn had other ideas. Bracing Peter face-first against the edge of the counter, he spread Peter’s legs and knelt between them as he parted his husband’s cheeks. When Valya’s lips closed over his hole, Peter cooed, then yelped. “Y-your mouth! It’s h-hot from the vodka oh my God.”

  Chuckling, Valentyn said something seductive and dark in Ukrainian, and Peter gave up, collapsing against the counter as Valya had his way with him.

  Once Peter was properly wrung out, Valya led him naked to the bedroom, where he took a moment to lube Peter, work him a little farther open, then pushed him on his back onto the bed. It was some kind of a compromise between the careful fucking they’d done lately and the wild abandoned lovemaking Peter had been craving. He could hardly complain when Valentyn held him so tenderly, murmuring sweet things in two languages into Peter’s ear as he drove them both to bliss.

  Later, when they lay twined naked beneath the sheets, when Peter was almost asleep, he felt a kiss against his hair and heard Valentyn whisper.

  “Serdechne spasybi.”

  Peter knew that one now. Thank you very much.

  Kissing the warm tuft of chest hair near his cheek, Peter grunted softly in reply and drifted the rest of t
he way into sleep.

  Chapter Seventeen

  MARRIED life was different than Peter expected.

  He hadn’t approached it with too many preconceived notions, and he knew his situation wasn’t usual by any means, but even so he often went to bed feeling a bit dizzy over how much… well, work marriage was. The little things that shouldn’t matter were often what tripped them up the most. Things like how the dishes were put away in cupboards, whether or not the butter should be left out on the counter or kept in the fridge. They struggled to work out a system for meals, for laundry, for everything that encompassed the two of them sharing a house together. Valya had been on his own for so long that he was reluctant to change his ways, and Peter longed to give himself some independence again after living with his mom and then his aunt and uncle. It was foolish, he knew, to fight over plates and heaps of dirty towels, but that’s what they ended up doing far too often the first month.

  There were uniquely Ukrainian vs. American arguments too, and most of them left Peter mystified. It didn’t matter how high the kitchen garbage was heaped in the evening, Valya wouldn’t allow it to go out until the morning because of some kind of superstition. It was a strange thing to have a superstition about, but it wasn’t the worst offender or the most frustrating. If they left the house and forgot something, Valya wouldn’t let them go back to get it unless there was no choice, and if Peter went inside to fetch the forgotten item, Valentyn would shout, “Look in a mirror before you come back to the car!” as if this would in any universe make sense. They couldn’t pay bills in the evening, because apparently they were bad luck too. Once Peter whistled in the house, spurring Valya to swear in Ukrainian and shout “Pohana vdacha!” at him. Bad luck!

  “Why are Ukrainians so obsessed with bad luck?” Peter asked one day when he’d had enough.

  “Because we have so little good luck, we can’t afford to let any slip away,” Valya replied.

  Some of it unquestionably was that Valentyn was stressed out by waiting for his EAD, which made him irritable at the best of times and crippled by anxiety at his worst. As the summer wore to a close, he spent a great deal of time in the backyard smoking. He liked to fuss with his container garden too, and when Peter sat with him, he talked a lot about building a greenhouse for the winter. Whenever Peter went inside to make dinner, though, Valya prowled the perimeter, lighting up one cigarette after another. It took work to get him to eat, and Peter worried how much his husband leaned on his vodka bottle.