Page 74 of Season's Schemings
After a huge feed of steak tacos, wild rice, guacamole, and the ever-present sautéed veggies, I tell Maddie that I’m heading out and I’ll pick her up for our date as soon as her shift ends. It’s actually now turned into a double date, seeing as a gleeful Mal invited himself and Chantal along because he wants to “witness this for himself.”
Luckily, Maddie loved the idea.
I give her a quick kiss goodbye. Then, it’s time to see Roger.
It’s a pleasant day, and I drive with the windows down, breathing in the winter breeze. As much as I love snow and ice, that’s one thing about non-Canadian winters that I have to appreciate—not freezing your tail off every time you step out of your house.
I follow my GPS to the shiny law offices on Peachtree Street, and pull into the underground parking lot. I’m making my way to the elevator when someone behind me calls my name.
Expecting a hockey fan looking for a photo, I turn around with a warm smile. Instead, I’m totally thrown to see Richard Grainger striding towards me. He’s wearing a three-piece suit and has a leather briefcase in his hand. Which is a very different look from the fuzzy and expensive, various-shades-of-gray cashmere sweaters he donned over Christmas, always paired with pressed slacks and an ever-present snowman mug that smelled of hot cocoa and some sort of liquor.
“Richard. Hello,” I say warmly. No matter my wife’s family's eccentricities, I still want to be polite when it comes to her parents. Unless her mother’s insulting her or her choice in a husband, of course.
“What a surprise.” He extends his hand and gives mine a hearty shake. “What brings you to this neck of the woods?”
“My new lawyer works in this building,” I tell him.
“Let me guess…” Richard says, pointing a finger at me. “Mitch Goldman? Or Roger Delaney?”
I’m surprised—this is a huge firm. But I nod and say, “Yeah, Roger.”
Something flickers across Richard’s expression, but he steps into the elevator before I can tell what it is. He presses the button for Floor 21. “You’re going to want to get off here, then.”
“Thanks. How do you know Roger?” I inquire.
“I’m a senior partner at the firm he works at.” I love that he emphasizes that he’s a partner, whereas Roger is merelyworking there.
“Wow. Small world.”
“Yes. As we spoke about at Christmas, myself and Paul do criminal defense law, whereas Roger works in immigration law. Specializing in representing professional athletes…” Richard’s glinting brown eyes roam over me shrewdly. “Mitch is the only other pro-athlete specialist we have, but he works more with brand deals. Not immigration.” He pauses for a beat. “I believe Alicia mentioned you’re Canadian?”
I give a nod, resisting the urge to shrink back from his steady gaze. “Roger’s helping me sort out some stuff with my green card, as well as my contract for the Cyclones.”
“Ah.” For some reason, this response feels loaded and the atmosphere in the elevator suddenly becomes a touch suffocating.
Finally, the doors open and we step into an opulent, marble-floored lobby, complete with floor-to-ceiling windows with city views that put the ones in my apartment to shame. The office is literally buzzing with activity as well-dressed people move to and fro, and phones trill noisily. And yet, the silence between Richard and me feels almost painful.
“Well. It was good to see you, son.” For some reason, the way he says this makes me bristle. But I guess I literally am this man’s son-in-law. “Take care.”
“You too.”
Mr. Grainger shakes my hand once more and marches on his way. I stare at his retreating figure for a moment, feeling like I’ve somehow said too much.
Richard and I didn’t spend a lot of time alone at the cabin. In fact, I hardly remember having a single conversation with him, and only him. I assumed that Maddie’s mother would be the difficult parent to deal with given how blatantly and shamelessly she would put down her own daughter. But something in Richard’s demeanor—the keen, sly look in his dark eyes—has put me right on edge.
I don’t have much time to dwell on this, though, because as soon as I inform the secretary that I’m here to see Roger, he immediately escorts me into a lavish office. The bushy-browed man is seated behind a behemoth pinewood desk littered with piles of paperwork, waiting for me with the same stern expression I remember from the last time I met him.
“Mr. Slater. I trust that you spent a merry holiday season.” His mouth twitches upwards at the corner, but I definitely wouldn’t call it a smile. I open my mouth to respond—confirm his not-a-question—when he dives right down to business. “Your paperwork has been filed, and we are moving onto the next step in the process.”
I blink in full surprise. “Wow. Already?”
Roger tsks as he rearranges some of the mess on his desk. “Yes. Someone high up in the immigration office must enjoy your hockey or something because you’ve been given an interview appointment for your green card.” He gives me a pointed look. “Thejointinterview.”
“Oh. Sure.” I rub the back of my neck, feeling my unease radiating around the room.
The lawyer props his elbows on the desk and peers at me. “In this interview, you will need to convince a USCIS officer that you and Ms. Grainger are man and wife.”
“Which we are,” I say.