The Wall of Winnipeg and Me by Mariana Zapata
It was like an episode of The Twilight Zone.
His chin tipped back in a determined gesture I was too familiar with. “My visa expires next year,” he ground out.
And… I shut my mouth.
A few months ago, I remembered opening his mail, and seeing something about his visa in an official-looking letter. A letter that I thought he might have gotten again right before I quit, when I’d told him he needed to check the things I’d left on his desk.
I didn’t get how a visa could be used as an excuse for being a jerk.
“Okay. Did you already send the paperwork to renew it?” The words had no sooner come out of my mouth than I was asking myself what the hell I was doing. This wasn’t my business. He’d made it not my business.
But I still wasn’t expecting it when he said, “No.”
I didn’t understand. “Why not?” Damn it! What the hell was I doing asking questions? I scolded myself.
“It’s a work visa,” his words were slow, like I was mentally impaired or something.
I still didn’t get what the problem was.
“It’s subjective to me playing for the Three Hundreds.”
I blinked at him, thinking maybe he’d taken one too many hits to the skull in his career. “I don’t get what the problem is.”
Before I could ask him why he was worried about his visa when any team he signed with would help him get a new one, he cleared his throat. “I don’t want to go back to Canada. I like it here.”
This was the same Winnipeg native that had only once gone back to his motherland in all the time we’d worked together. I’d grown up in El Paso, but I didn’t go ‘home’ much either because nothing really felt like home any more. I hadn’t had a place that made me feel safe or loved or warm, or any of the feelings I figured could be associated with what ‘home’ should feel like.
I glanced at the wall to the side of his head, waiting for the next revelation to help make sense of what he was saying. “I’m still not understanding what the issue here is.”
With a deep sigh, he propped his chin on his hand, and he finally explained. “If I’m not on a team, I can’t stay here.”
Why wouldn’t he be playing? Was his foot bothering him? I wanted to ask him but didn’t. “Okay… isn’t there some other kind of visa you can apply for?”
“I don’t want to get another visa.”
I blew out a breath and shut the refrigerator door, my fingers instantly going up to my glasses. “Okay. Go talk to an immigration lawyer. I’m sure one of them can help you get your permanent residency.” I chewed on my cheek for a second before adding, “You have money to get it worked on, and that’s a lot better than most people have it.” Then an idea entered my head, and before I thought twice about suggesting it, or talked myself out of not saying anything because I wasn’t feeling particularly friendly, I blurted it out. “Or just find an American citizen to marry you.”
His gaze had drifted to the ceiling at some point, but in that moment, he shifted it to scrutinize me. Those broad features were even and smooth, and not even remotely close to a scowl.
“Find someone you like, date them for a little bit or something, and then ask them to marry you. You can always get divorced afterward.” I paused and thought about a distant cousin of Diana’s. “There’s also people out there who would do it if you paid them enough, but that’s kind of tricky because I’m pretty sure it’s a felony to try to get your papers fixed by marrying someone for that reason. It’s something to think about.”
I blinked, noticing his expression had gone from scrutinizing to contemplating. Thoughtful. Too thoughtful. This weird sensation crept over my neck. Weird, weird, weird, telling me something was off, telling me I should probably get out of his line of view. I took a step back and eyed him. “What is it?”
Nothing in this world could have prepared me for what came out of his mouth next.
“Marry me.”
“What?” It came out of my mouth as surprised and rude as I imagined it did, I was positive of it.
He was on drugs. He was seriously on fucking drugs.
“Marry me,” he repeated himself, like I hadn’t heard him the first time.
I leaned back against the kitchen counter, torn between being weak from shock and dumbfounded from how ridiculous his statement was, and settled for just staring blankly in the general direction of his granite-like face. “You’re on dope, aren’t you?”
“No.” The usually taut corners of Aiden’s mouth relaxed a fraction of an inch; the tension in his body diminishing just a tiny amount, but it was enough for me to notice. “You can help me get my residency.”
What in the hell was going on with him? Maybe it was brain damage after all. I’d seen some of the guys he went up against, how could he have gotten off scot-free after so many years? “Why would I do that?” I gaped. “Why would I even want to do that?”
That strong jaw seemed to clench.
“I don’t want to work for you, much less marry you to help you get your papers fixed.” An idea rang through my brain, and I almost threw my hands up in joy at the brilliance behind it. “Marry someone who can do all your assistant stuff, too. It makes perfect sense.”
He’d started nodding when I brought up the assistant idea, but the emotion in his eyes was a little disturbing. He looked way too determined, too at peace with whatever crazy crap was going on in his big head. “It’s perfect,” he agreed. “You can do it.”
I choked. As badly as I wanted to say something—to argue with him or just tell him he’d lost his mind—nothing managed to come out of my mouth. I was flabbergasted. Fucking flabbergasted.
Aiden was on crack.
“Are you insane? Did you drop a barbell on your neck bench pressing?”
“You said it; it’s a perfect plan.”
What had I done? “It’s not perfect. It’s nowhere near perfect,” I blabbered. “I don’t work for you anymore, and even if I did, I wouldn’t do it.” Seriously? He was thinking I would? I didn’t know him to be anything but practical, and this was just outrageous.
But he wasn’t listening. I could tell. He had his thinking face on. “Vanessa, you have to do it.”
Did he not understand that we weren’t friends? That he’d treated me in the opposite way you would treat someone you cared about?
“No. I don’t and I’m not.” If I met the right person, I wasn’t opposed to getting married some day in the future. I didn’t think about marriage often, but when I did, I kind of liked the idea of it. Diana’s parents had been a perfect example of a great relationship; of course, I’d want something like that in the future, if it was possible. Realistically, I knew I would be fine on my own too.
And I wasn’t going to scratch kids off my list of things I’d like if I also had the right person in my life. I faintly knew what I wanted in a partner, but more than anything, I knew what I didn’t want.
And Aiden, even on his best days, wasn’t that person. Or anywhere near it. Sure he was good-looking; anyone with eyes could see that. His body alone had women of all ages turning in their seats to get a good look because Aiden breathed virility, and what woman didn’t like a man who looked like he drank testosterone in gallons? He was a big drink of cool water, or so I’d been told. Okay, and he had money, but that wasn’t a hard requisite for a future boyfriend or husband. I could make my own money.
That was it though.
Except for the first three months of my employment, I had never once thought to myself that I had feelings for The Wall of Winnipeg. I was physically attracted to him, sure. But for me, and because of everything I’d seen my mom go through, jumping from one relationship to another my entire life, that wasn’t enough. My last boyfriend hadn’t been the best looking guy on the planet, but he’d been funny and nice, and we liked the same things. We got along. The only reason we’d split up was because he’d been offered a job in Seattle, and I hadn’t been convinced I was head over heels in love with him enough to mo
Aiden didn’t fit any of the same qualifications my ex had. He wasn’t funny or nice, we didn’t like the same things, and based on the last two weeks of our work relationship, we didn’t get along.
And why the hell was I even thinking about reasons why this was a bad idea? It was a terrible one point blank. One I wasn’t going to go through with. No way, no how.
Aiden, on the other hand, wasn’t paying attention. He didn’t have to say a word for me to know he was ignoring everything coming out of my mouth.
“Aiden, listen to me”—for the second time in your life, I added in my head—“I’m sure Trevor can find you someone. Just ask.”
That comment had him snapping to attention. His thick, dark eyebrows straightened. “I’m not telling Trevor.”
I pushed at my glasses even though they were in place.
“Would you?” he questioned.
Yeah, that had me wincing. I wouldn’t trust Trevor to put something in the mail for me. “What about Rob?”
No response.
Huh. Touché. “Zac?”
Aiden simply shook his head in denial.
“Your friends?”
“I would have told them already if I wanted them to know,” he explained in a careful tone that made too much sense.
With that comment, a few things suddenly made sense. Of course he’d been serious about coming back from his injury. But on top of that, his extra terrible mood at the fear of being deported if he was let go by the organization added to that. Even more so, dealing with his manager and agent, who didn’t seem to be totally onboard with whatever it was Aiden wanted once his contract came to the end, only made matters worse. But there was one thing that didn’t really add up once I thought about it, and it wasn’t the reason why he didn’t want to go back to Canada or why he didn’t want to stay in Dallas.
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked hesitantly.
Those brown irises settled on me, lines scorching his broad forehead.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I frowned in return. “You’ve never really told me anything before.” I blinked. “Ever. But now I quit, and you’re suddenly over at my apartment, asking me to come back to work for you when you hadn’t given a single crap that I was quitting, and you want me to marry you to get your papers fixed. You’re telling me things you don’t want to tell anyone else about and… it’s weird, man. I don’t know what the hell you expect me to tell you.”
“I’m telling you because…” He opened his mouth and closed it just as quickly. Opened it once more before closing it again, the muscles in his cheeks moving, as if he didn’t really know why he was doing so. Hell, I didn’t get it. Finally, Aiden shrugged those massive, rounded shoulders and made sure our gazes met. “I like you as much as I like anyone.”
Damn it.
God damn it.
Diana had told me once that I had no backbone. Actually, I’m pretty sure her exact words had been, “You’re a sucker, Van.”
I like you as much as I like anyone shouldn’t have been a compliment. It really shouldn’t have. I wasn’t that dumb. But…
A rough laugh tore its way out of me unexpectedly, and then I was snickering, raising my eyes to the popcorn ceiling.
Coming from someone like Aiden, I guess it was the biggest compliment I could ever get.
I like you as much as I like anyone. My word.
“Why is that funny?” Aiden asked, a frown curving his mouth.
I slapped a hand over my eyes and leaned forward over the kitchen countertop, giggling a little as I rubbed at my brow bone in resignation. “There’s a huge difference between me not irritating the hell out of you and us being friends, Aiden. You’ve made that perfectly clear, don’t you think?”
His blink was innocent, so earnest, I had no idea what to do with it. “I don’t mind you.”
I don’t mind you.
I started cracking up—really cracking up—and I was pretty sure it sounded like I was crying when I was really laughing.
“You’re the most even-tempered woman I’ve ever met.”
Even-tempered. He was killing me.
This was what my life had come to. Taking half-assed compliments from a man who only cared about one thing: himself. A man who I’d tried to make my friend over and over again to no avail.
To give him credit, he waited a bit before saying carefully, way too calmly, and almost gently, “This isn’t funny.”
I had to squat down behind the kitchen cabinets because my stomach was clenching so badly.
“You’re asking me—oh, hell, my stomach hurts—to perform a felony, and your reasoning for having me do so is because you ‘like me as much as you like anyone,’ because you ‘don’t mind me,’ and because I’m ‘even-tempered.’” I held my hands up to do air quotes over the top of the cabinets. “Holy crap. I didn’t think you had a sense of humor, but you do.”
The best defensive player in the NFO didn’t hesitate with the opening I gave him. “You’ll do it then?”
I couldn’t even find it in me to be annoyed by his persistence after that. I was still laughing too much over my greatest attributes as a possible fake wife. “No, but this has been the highlight in my time knowing you. Really. I wish you’d been like this with me from the beginning. Working for you would have been a lot more fun, and I might have even thought about coming back for a little bit longer.”
It still wasn’t enough though. Working for him permanently wasn’t part of the plan, especially not after everything that happened, and everything he was asking of me now. Marry him.
He was out of his damn mind.
The plan after becoming entirely self-employed on my graphic design work was to pay off the terrifying amount of student loans I still had, buy my own house, buy a new car, and the rest… it could all fall into place in its own time. Travel, find someone I liked enough to be in a relationship with, maybe have a kid if I wanted one, and continue my financial independence.
And to make money, I needed to work, so I forced myself to my feet and shrugged at my old boss. “Look, you’ll find someone if you just try a little. You’re attractive, you have money, and you’re a decent guy most of the time.” I made sure to pin him with a look that emphasized the ‘most of the time.’ “If you found someone who you liked, even a little bit, I’m sure you could make it work. I’d give you one of my friends’ phone numbers, but they’d drive you nuts after ten minutes, and I’m not mad enough at you to give you any of my sisters’.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, not knowing what else to say, fully aware that I would more than likely never understand what had led him to this time and moment with me.
And what did he do?
His eyes roamed my face as his forehead wrinkled and he shook his head. “I need your help.”
“No you don’t.” Shrugging again, I offered him a reluctant smile, a gentle one because I was well aware he wasn’t used to having someone tell him no. “You’ll figure everything out on your own. You don’t need me.”
Chapter Seven
Flipping my grilled cheese sandwich over, I snickered into the phone. “I’m not going. I don’t think he liked me much anyway, either.”
“I didn’t like Jeremy until our third date and look at us now.” Diana’s argument was probably the worst one she could have chosen.
The five times I’d met him over the last six months was five times too many. I knew for a fact her brother felt the same way about him. We’d hung out with him for Diana’s birthday, and within minutes, we’d shared a ‘he’s a jackass’ glare. Neither of us tried to hide our dislike, and in this instant, nothing actually came out of my mouth, which said more than enough, I figured.
Not surprisingly, she knew what the silence was for and sighed. “He’s really nice to me.”
I highly doubted that. The times we’d gone
I’d told her enough times how I felt, but she continuously brushed it off. “Hey, I don’t have anything nice to say, so I’m not going to say anything,” I told her.
The big sigh that came out of her let me know she didn’t want to talk about Jeremy anymore—well aware it was a lost cause. Nothing would get me to change my mind about him unless he saved my life or something. “I still think you should go on another date. At least you can get a few drinks out of it.”
Why had I even told her my date last night had invited me out again? I knew better. I really did. “I drank about as much wine as my liver could handle last night just to get through two hours. I’m good.”
She made a “meh” noise. “There’s no such thing as too much wine.”
“Is there something I should know about?”
“I don’t know. Is there?”
“I don’t know, Betty Ford. You tell me.”
The person who was almost as much of a sister as she was my friend, barked out that familiar loud laugh that was about as close to home as possible. “Fuck you. I only drink two, maybe three times a week.”
“If that’s your way of trying to convince me you don’t have a drinking problem, it isn’t working.” I laughed.
She blew out a raspberry. “I don’t even know why I talk to you sometimes.”
“Because no one else likes you but me, your brother, and the boys?”
Di made a genuine thoughtful noise. “That’s probably it.”
We both burst out laughing at the same time.
“When are you free?” I asked. I hadn’t seen her since she’d dyed my hair.
“Oh, ah, let me get back to you. I have plans with Jeremy.”
Yeah, I might have rolled my eyes a little. “Well, let me know when you don’t.” I let the Jeremy thing in one ear and out the other.