Though, if LA were where Daisy wanted to be, I’d pack up my shit, sell my apartment, and move without hesitation. I don’t give a shit where we live, as long as we do it together.
“Flynn’s family—our family—they’re here. I’ve never had the kind of support network I have here, and…” Daisy’s voice catches a little with the admission, and I squeeze her thigh to bring her comfort. “I can’t imagine my life without them in it.”
Even robotic Fran cracks a little at that, licking her lips and looking down at her notepad in a way that makes me think she might be fighting tears. When she looks back up after a nod, however, her professional armor is back in place.
“Great. Okay. Well, it looks like we just have one more question to finish up. Is there anything that you didn’t note on your application that you feel compelled to tell USCIS today?” Fran’s attention is fully focused on my wife—I suppose since she’s the technical immigrant here—and Daisy’s reaction isn’t one of calm and cool.
Her eyes grow big, and she looks over at me like she’s a woman with something to hide.
Shit, babe, relax. It’s fine. I squeeze her thigh again, but her eyes only get more expansive.
I try to hold her manic gaze, but her eyes move from me to Fran and then back to me, and she repeats that circuit another ten times. All the while, the silence is growing to the kind of intensity that Fran just might be wondering if Daisy is some kind of undercover Canadian terrorist who actually did commit a murder.
Which, truthfully, would be quite the turn of events, considering Canadians are about the nicest fucking people in the world, but anyone who is staring into the depths of my wife’s currently crazy-fucking-eyes probably wouldn’t feel at ease.
Do something, man!
“I think what Daisy is trying to—” I start, but I’m quickly cut off by the beautiful maniac sitting beside me.
“I have a child!” Daisy yells out so loudly, it startles Fran’s pen out of her hands.
“You have a child you didn’t mention on your application?”
“Yes!” Daisy exclaims but then shakes her head. “Wait… No. I mean, I haven’t had a child yet. I have one in my stomach. Growing inside me,” she rambles, even pointing to her belly as evidence. “I’m pregnant. Knocked up. Bun in the oven…” She pauses and then points two finger guns in my direction. “By this guy, obviously! My husband. Flynn Winslow. He’s the guy who did it. Got me pregnant, I mean.”
Well, fuck, Dais. You could’ve, maybe, kept the finger guns holstered.
I shut my eyes for a brief moment, but then, I smile like a fucking fool. Though, I guess that’s what happens when you’re in love; you become a goddamn buffoon for the woman who owns your heart.
Fran looks at me and then at Daisy and then back at me.
“We just found out today,” I explain with a knowing smile and wrap my arm around Daisy’s shoulders, pulling her closer to me. “And, well, I’m sure you can understand why my wife is a little on the excited…” I lower my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Antsy…side. We’re both over the moon with the news.”
“Yeah… Flynn’s right… I’m…uh…kind of an easily excitable person if you haven’t noticed,” Daisy chimes in. “So, I apologize for all the shouting.”
“I see.” Fran just nods and jots more shit down on her notepad.
No congratulations or soft smile. Just…a fucking nod. Obviously, that reaction does nothing for Daisy’s current worked-up state.
I squeeze her thigh again for reassurance, but before I can get her to relax back against my arm, Fran is back with the same unnerving question.
“Is there anything else you feel compelled to tell USCIS today that you didn’t note on your application?”
Daisy’s knee is off to the races again, bouncing up and down in quick succession. “Anything else besides that I’m pregnant?”
“Yes,” Fran responds, and her lips stay in the same firm line they’ve been in since we sat down across from her.
Oh fuck. Here we go.
“Uh…” Daisy pauses, and her eyes are so big I can actually see my reflection in her pupils. “I don’t think so… I mean…”
“We haven’t had a change of address,” I calmly respond. “Daisy is still working with EllisGrey. They have offices in Manhattan.”
“Yep. Yep. Yep.” Daisy nods so many times I fear her head might roll off her neck. “Same address. Same job. Same Daisy and same Flynn. Same awesome marriage. Just a baby in the belly!” she exclaims again, and the finger guns are back out and blazing.
Goddamn, she’s cute. A fucking mess, but cute.
Discreetly, I reach out with one hand and ease the guns back into Daisy’s lap. “I will say that with a baby on the way now, we’ll definitely be looking at other apartments in the city because our current place is only one bedroom. I’m assuming we’ll need to update USCIS with any change in address?”
“Yes,” Fran answers firmly. “Within thirty days of your move, you need to update us by mail or through the online form.”
I nod, look over at Daisy, and realize her mouth has morphed into the biggest smile I’ve ever fucking seen. I’m talking, the Joker’s smile pales in comparison to this all-teeth, megawatt force.
While Fran makes more notes on her notepad, I subtly tilt my head to Daisy, but it only makes her smile grow bigger. Shit. Pretty sure all the emotions of the last several hours and her pregnancy hormones and this fucking woman with the face made out of stone are about to make my wife break.
Dude, you’re going to have to get her out of here.
Yeah, I have to get this interview show on the road. The sooner I can get Daisy out of this room, the sooner I can take her home and fuck the anxiety away until she can relax.
“Well, Fran, this has been a real pleasure,” I say and reach out to pat Daisy’s knee. “And I really appreciate the professional manner in which you conduct these interviews.”
Fran looks at me through narrowed eyes.
You’re going to have to do better than that, my guy. Really hit her with the charm.
Fuck me. I inhale a discreet breath and prepare myself to be the kind of man I most certainly am not—a small-talk schmoozer like my baby brother Jude.
“Fran, I’m sure you don’t get to hear this as much as you should, but the United States of America is lucky to have you at the helm of the immigration process.”
Her eyes become less narrowed.
“So, thank you for your service,” I say with a proud nod. “I know this isn’t an easy job.”
She purses her lips. “No, it’s not.”
Daisy adjusts in her seat a little, almost as if she’s going to chime in with something, but I know that is the opposite of what we need right now. No offense to my gorgeous, beautiful, amazing, intelligent wife, but in the name of her and my sanity, I need her to sit tight while I extract us from this situation.
“Just out of curiosity, how long does it take for applicants to find out if they’ve received a green card?”
“It depends,” Fran responds. “Some applicants find out during the interview. Some have to go through a longer process.”
I feel Daisy tense up beside me, but I keep my cool.