Fake Married to My Best Friend’s Daddy by Sofia T Summers
Jessica
“Iknow you said no presents, Jessica,” Grace admitted. “But I thought just a little something for your office might be nice.”
Sitting at my desk, I admired the African Violet with its purple blossoms. I didn’t keep plants in my small rectangular room, but only because there was just one skinny window in the corner. I brought color to my office in other ways.
I hung art prints from our gift shop along the beige wall, while pictures of my family were framed on the long glass desk. If there had been more windows, I might’ve been tempted to have more flowers around me.
“It’s really sweet of you, Grace,” I thanked her. “I love it.”
Grinning, she remarked, “You know, the director’s office has lots of natural light. Maybe this little plant will be the first of many.”
Grace’s dark eyes glinted with a mischievous look. In her charcoal tweed dress, there was no shame in her stance or expression.
“It’s starting to feel like you want me to have that job more than I do,” I laughed, shaking my head.
“Well, Stuart was a great director,” Grace confessed. “But he was never the most… progressive. He didn’t take risks, and he didn’t even do anything about workplace culture. We both know our co-workers' complaints were swept under the rug.”
“Mine too,” I admitted.
Being half-Latina, I remembered plenty of occasions where people asked me if I worked for housekeeping. They didn’t know how a woman with my complexion was managing major programs for one of the country’s best art museums. It was like I needed to carry around my master’s degree from American University.
The museum was wonderful, and no amount of ignorance would drive me away. I knew what Grace meant though. The time for change was long overdue.
At that moment, Tiffany Reagan knocked on my door frame. I forced myself not to scowl as her icy eyes met mine. Her glossy lips curled into a sickly-sweet smile.
“I’ve got a Mr. Noland here to see you, Jessica,” she declared in her chirping bird-like voice. “He says it’s very important that you two speak.”
“I didn’t know you were running our front desk now,” I remarked. “Is that a new promotion?”
Tiffany’s nose scrunched up into annoyance. “Oh, I was just lucky enough to run into Mr. Noland in the hallway.”
She waved, and a small balding man in a suit stepped into my office. He was entirely unassuming with his nondescript briefcase. The only remarkable thing about him was the yellow paisley tie he wore.
“Miss Cartier,” he began. “I’m Dexter Noland. There are some matters I’d like to discuss with you… privately.”
His eyes glanced toward the other two women lingering around the office. My little room wasn’t big enough for all these people. Tiffany vanished from the doorway without another word, just offering me one final smug smile. Grace quickly bent over and hugged my neck.
“I’ll catch up with you later, Jess,” she promised. “Happy Birthday.”
“Thanks,” I replied, waving as she shut the door behind herself.
“It’s your birthday?” Mr. Noland asked from where he stood.
There was a nervous hesitancy about this stumpy man, and it was starting to make me nervous too. I didn’t like Tiffany’s haughty look either. Mr. Noland scratched at the salt-and-pepper hair sticking out from the side of his head, and I did my best not to come undone. He was just a harmless man in a rumpled suit… I hoped.
“Yes,” I replied. “Would you like to have a seat, Mr. Noland?”
Adjusting my scarlet blazer’s sleeves, Mr. Noland settled himself into the one guest chair I had across the desk.
“If I’d realized that, I might’ve come on a different day,” he admitted. “But, um, I’ll wish you a happy birthday first.”
I smiled politely. “Thank you, but I’m the kind of girl who appreciates candor. So, what can I do for you?”
“Oh, right,” he sighed, showing me his government identification card. “Miss Cartier, I’m an officer from the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Service. I’ve, um, come here today to tell you that your citizenship is under review.”
“I’m sorry,” I laughed in disbelief. “What?”
A sheepish look of regret washed over his old face. Scratching his head again, Mr. Noland explained it again.
“There was an error on your paperwork regarding your citizenship application,” he told me with a sigh.
“But my parents wrote those,” I asserted. “I was in diapers when I got my citizenship.”
“Yes, well, your parents weren’t,” Mr. Noland explained. “Your mother, Natalia Serrano Cartier, was listed as a citizen on your paperwork, but she wasn’t yet. It’s a falsification of status. Since she’s no longer alive, we cannot know if she made this claim willingly or not.”
“But she was a citizen here,” I pointed out. “She got citizenship status the year I was born.”
Opening his briefcase, Mr. Noland began rifling through papers, finding the facts for himself.
“Yes, but your mother was in… Montreal when you were born?”
It had been a long time since I heard my father tell the story. My parents both died when I was twelve, leaving me and my little brother in the care of my mother’s parents in DC. Before that, we’d traveled around North America with my father’s work as a neuroscientist. He was from Quebec, while my mother had been born in Costa Rica before her parents emigrated.
She didn’t know a life outside of her family’s townhouse in Alexandria. She was a toddler when her father took a job as a diplomatic translator and left Costa Rica, family in tow. She didn’t remember a day in that Latin seaside town, but the United States government did.
My mother was nearly twenty-seven years old when the government finally granted her citizenship, but my parents were living in Montreal due to my father’s research. They were supposed to take a train down to New York for my mother’s swearing-in ceremony, yet I decided to arrive three weeks early. My mother had to postpone her final step of citizenship until I was a few months old.
Telling this to Mr. Noland, he nodded in agreement and added, “Mr. and Mrs. Cartier submitted their paperwork before that second ceremony, but your mother was not yet a citizen at that time. The paperwork for your citizenship was filed… one week before that.”
“One week?” I exclaimed in shock. “The government wants to threaten my citizenship here over a single week?!”
Mr. Noland shrunk back into his chair as he answered, “I know this is difficult to understand, but I am only a messenger, Miss Cartier. If your parents were still living, this would affect them as well.”
“What about my brother?” I pressed.
“He was born in the United States, so his citizenship is protected under constitutional law.”
I sighed in relief. At least his life wasn’t being thrown in the lurch, but I still didn’t know how this affected me. Propping my elbows up on my desk, I breathed in deeply before running my hands over my smoothed ponytail.
“So, Mr. Noland,” I finally had to know. “What does this all mean for me?”
“There will be a formal review of your documentation,” he explained quickly. “In twelve to sixteen weeks, my office will let you know if a formal hearing needs to be scheduled.”
“And then?”
“It will be decided if your citizenship in this country will be revoked or not.”
“No,” I huffed, growing agitated. “I mean, what happens if my citizenship is taken away?”
“You will have to leave the country and can re-apply for U.S. citizenship from your home country.”
“You mean… Canada?” I pressed. “I only ever lived in Canada for a year. I’ve maybe seen my cousins there… ten or twelve times? We’re not close. I don’t even think of myself as Canadian.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s how it will be,” Mr. Noland replied with a shake of his head.
Still, there was one thing I didn’t understand. The questions nagged me like a fly refusing to go away.
“But… why was anyone looking at my paperwork anyway?”
Mr. Noland shook his head again. “I’m not sure. I’m just a messenger, Miss Cartier. Do you have any questions?”
“None that you can answer.”
The weight of the situation was starting to pile over me. I could feel its crushing weight pressing harder and harder. Mr. Noland didn’t want to linger around much longer. Quickly packing up his briefcase, it was clear he felt bad about what he’d done.
This wasn’t the kind of news people liked to hear on their birthday.
As he stood, I asked, “Well, can you tell me something… off the record? Just as a man who’s worked for immigration?”
“It’s really not my place,” he tried to say.
“Think of it as a birthday present.”
He sighed, “Yes, Miss Cartier?”
“What could I do to not be forced to leave this country?” I asked, feeling the tremor in my voice. “It’s the only home I’ve ever known.”
I didn’t want to give up my life. My family and my career were both here in Virginia. Even if I survived the fallout of this investigation, my career certainly wouldn’t. I would have to give up the director’s position and my job at the museum. My whole life would be thrown into a black void of nonexistence.
Mr. Noland considered the question for a long quiet moment. His hand rested on the doorknob before his brown eyes met mine.
“The only way you could get quick temporary status is to become a college student somewhere or marry a U.S.-born citizen,” he finally surmised. “If you have a significant other who was born in this country, you might want to give them a call.”
I didn’t. I hadn’t been in a serious relationship in over a year, and I didn’t have the time to become a student. Neither option seemed viable.
“Thank you,” I told him anyway.
“Take care, Miss Cartier. You’ll be hearing from my office soon.”
“Yeah,” I answered absentmindedly. “You too.”
I was left to the silence of my office and the dizzying thoughts that refused to leave me. My career, my family, and my life were all in jeopardy because of some small clerical error. I didn’t want to believe it, but my desperation for denial didn’t stop my heart from racing a mile a minute.
Grabbing up my winter coat from the back of my office door, I shoved my wallet and phone into each pocket and took off. I couldn’t sit still. It allowed my growing anxiety to reach a boiling point. While I was walking, the emotions couldn’t build up. My mind focused on the steps as I breathed in the nippy February air.
I didn’t know where I was going. Following my feet, I found myself walking along the Mowbray Arch, a greenway overlooking part of the Hague water inlet and Smith Creek. It was a breezy place that offered wide views to the well-established neighborhoods just beyond Norfolk’s downtown. It wasn’t the first time I’d walked the long arching sidewalk, but it was certainly the most memorable.
My heels tapping against the concrete, it wasn’t even a week ago that I’d been drinking cocktails at my boss’s retirement party. I’d been so sure life was mine for the taking. I couldn’t find anything to complain about, not that I was looking to complain.
I just didn’t know what I’d done to deserve this karmic retribution.
With a quiet sigh, I looked over the water to see apartment complexes across the Hague. They were nice places near a park and my work. For the briefest moment, I thought about looking into getting a new apartment there, but then I realized there may be no point. I couldn’t sign my name on a year-long lease if I was going to be leaving the country in just a few months.
My mind started to go into a wild tailspin. Everything I thought had been in the palm of my hand was now slipping away. It twisted my bones up with worry and brought tears to my eyes. I’d picked myself up out of the dirt plenty of times, but I didn’t know if I could do it this time.
There was a chance I could build a new life for myself in Canada, but everyone I loved would be here. Time would keep ticking by. Life would go on, and I’d be stuck in a strange country. Wiping away a stray tear, I turned quickly without thinking.
My eyes stared down at my feet for just ten steps until I hit what felt like a hard wall. It wasn’t though. It was a man’s chest. Falling back on my butt, I sprawled out onto the nearby grass feeling like a heartbroken fool.
My eyes glimpsed a pair of brown leather loafers and khaki pants hovering next to me. I had full breasts and even fuller hips that helped cushion the blow, but I still felt where I was going to find a bruise on my butt tonight.
“Some freaking birthday,” I grumbled to myself.
“Jessica?” A voice called like a question.
In the bright midday sun, it took my eyes a second to focus on the face looking over mine. I turned my head to meet a pair of blue eyes that matched the sky.
“Adrian?” I mumbled back.
I sat up to get a better view. Sure enough, Adrian Davis was looking down at me in a tan suit and overcoat. His wheat-blonde hair fell across his eyes as he leaned down towards me.
“Are you okay?” He asked, his chiseled features shifting into a concerned expression.
“That’s a loaded question,” I sighed. “But I’m physically okay.”
His hand reached out for mine, and I felt the strength of his arms effortlessly pulling me up. I brushed the dry grass off my scarlet trousers and wool coat. I was fine, but Adrian began to apologize.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention,” he told me profusely. “I’ve just been looking at some available offices to rent nearby. I was just checking out the neighborhood, but I should’ve been watching where I was going.”
“No, it was me,” I insisted. “I was staring at my feet.”
“Is, um, something wrong?” He asked hesitantly.
My anxieties must have been written all over my face, and I had no strength to hold back my words. The explanation began to spill out of me in nonsensical snippets.
“Oh, well, a small man from immigration came to see me with a paisley tie, and he said I might have to live in Canada. I only have some cousins in Canada, but it’s my parent’s mistake. They were the ones who made the error over twenty years ago, and I still need to get a new place to live. I was looking at that building, but it’s like, what’s the point if I can’t be in America anymore?!”
I knew none of it made sense. I could see it in the way he looked at me.
Adrian blinked several times before suggesting, “Why don’t you let me take you to lunch?”
