American Boy

Today was going to be the day he would finally try to kiss her, he promised himself. Or at least put his arm around her? Or at least tell her he wanted to be more than just friends? He shook his head, settling on seeing how the day played out before he made any brash decisions.

Phin exercised, quickly showered, watered his houseplants, and got dressed while looking out his apartment window at the dreary clouds that covered the North York sky. But today, he only saw it as cozy. Hopefully, Qadira wouldn't slap him across the face after hearing about how he'd fallen in love with her when he wasn't paying attention somewhere in the last three months.

Even more hopefully, they could spend the day under a blanket during a movie marathon. Or they could walk outside in what would most certainly be an early September thunderstorm.

She had to like him too, he reasoned, suddenly doubting himself. Who spends every free minute for several months with a guy she's not into?

But then again, she's been nothing but proper and polite, he worried, going into the kitchen to find his buzzing phone. What do you want her to do, idiot? Sit on your lap at the CNE fairgrounds? Phin argued with himself right up until he glanced at the caller ID.

"Harold! How are things, man?" Ordinarily, he wouldn't want to hear anything from anyone at work on his days off, but he'd been wondering how Harold was.

"They're... they're going," his former boss replied. Phin's hackles shot up.

"Okay," he said measuredly, his voice suddenly sane and sober. "Whatever it is, you know I want it straight, no chaser."

"Corporate is taking you off the Toronto office and want you back in Cleveland," Harold blurted out with an urgency that even surprised Phin. "They're giving you a week to transition your files and then—"

"They're firing me?"

"They're transferring you."

"Without my fucking consent. What's the alternative?" Harold's silence told Phin everything he needed to know. "So they're firing me. I'm starting to build a life here, Harold. We're a month ahead of schedule on projects and productivity is through the roof. What's their cause?"

"It's come to their attention that you've been allowing employees to work from home without authorisation. They, uh, they checked the frequency of keycard taps and apparently it was well below expectations." Harold's tone was so flat Phin knew he'd been designated the fall guy. He clearly thought this was bullshit.

"Corporate is not happy about your management because it's..." he let out a heavy, discontented sigh.

"This is going to be the dumbest shit I ever heard, isn't it?"

"Phin, it's the dumbest shit I've ever heard. The letter I received says your unauthorised decision has contributed to the devaluation of corporate property rates." A full 10 seconds of dead air fell over them as Phin contemplated what to say.

"The fuck?"

"They want to promote a corporate culture and they don't want employees to get comfortable at home, that's the gist," Harold responded, unable to hide his contempt.

"But... that's why they're productive! They don't have to commute an hour each way—that's a bare minimum of 10 hours per week they can devote to working instead of sitting in some goddamn office because corporate wants their asses to warm chairs!"

"Phin, I agree with you and I trust you know the research that people who work from home are happier and less inclined to change jobs, but it impacts the local economy."

"That's even more bullshit, Harold!" Phin wanted to fling his phone at the wall. "They're pissed because people aren't wasting their hard-earned money on gas or transit passes, or buying overpriced lunches?"

"Pretty much, yes." Harold knew they could argue this all day, and he needed to refocus. "Phin, I agree with you, and I hated having to be the one to call you. But the fact remains you have to make a choice here. They agreed to give you the weekend to think about it, but I need your answer Monday morning."

Phin ended the call, feeling the same nausea of heading to gym class as a scrawny eighth-grader. Today was just a grown-up version of facing the same rigged obstacle course. Toronto was a sprawling urban jungle but there were some things he'd gotten used to—like his shiny new health card he'd already used when he had an ear infection the previous week.

Qadira had taken him to the walk-in clinic, and he felt like an idiot having her escort him... but it was also a comfort he didn't know he'd needed. He had his credit card in hand just in case, but didn't have to use it. She'd laughed at him as he fumed while waiting for his antibiotic to be ready a few minutes later.

"They said in Canada you have to wait for hours at a clinic," he muttered to her in the waiting room.

"Look, we have serious issues here when it comes to emergency rooms especially in the winter," she explained. He couldn't forget the way her breath brushed against his cheek. "But it's a summer afternoon so no one's here. We're not perfect, though."

Not perfect, but Phin couldn't deny he didn't want to leave. He couldn't go back to the dreary backdrop of corporate America where happy hours were a requirement and 10-hour days were the norm. He remembered the kid at the last protest he'd attended in Cleveland, like he'd been some sort of oracle. It was only going to get worse, and the US wasn't going to be a good place to grow old.

Plus, it wasn't lost on Phin that every happy memory he'd had in Toronto involved Qadira. He stared out the sliding doors of his balcony when his phone buzzed again. On cue, the rain came down in sheets.

"Harold, I can't—if corporate wants an answer right now, tell them to go fuck themselves." The silence at the other end of the line made him actually look at his screen.

"Phin?" Qadira's voice came through. "Is everything alright? I'm outside but if it's a bad time..." When he went downstairs to let her in, apologising profusely, she forced the whole story out of him. He finally finished it on his living room couch, having no appetite for the falafels she'd brought whose aroma wafted from his coffee table.

"What would you want to see happen in a perfect world?" she quietly asked after he'd vented for several minutes.

"Whatever's been happening in the last three months." Phin knew she only saw him as a friend and he was trying hard not to fall in love with her. Well, no, that part's already a lost cause, he admitted to himself. I can't let her know I'm in love with her.

"I just want to do my eight hours, get paid, help other people have an easy working life, and come back home and—"

"And?"

Have dinner with you every night for the rest of my life.

"And... relax? Look, Qadira, a few days here, then a month back in Cleveland really highlighted the contrast for me. I'll be honest with you, the US is a fucking lost cause. I don't want to live in a place where every election is 'the most important election of our lives' because our system is so inherently fucked up."

A tiny smile played at the corner of her lips but Qadira then pulled out her phone, her brow furrowed.

"When does your work Visa expire?"

"It's not quite like that," Phin explained. "It's a closed work permit I got through the company. I can't work for anyone else here except them."

"Right," she mumbled, her eyes still on her phone. "And it says here the average processing time for a general work permit is 142 days." She finally glanced up and followed his lean, wiry form as he paced around the living room. "You might have to leave Canada in the interim."

The way he scrunched his eyes told her he was biting off a string of curses in his head. The worst idea had already occurred to her when they were coming up in the elevator, but she didn't want to say it. Not only was it reckless; it was a federal felony.

"Phin, marry me."

Phin let out a gruff laugh but continued pacing.

"Did you hear me? Let's get married." This time, he stopped.

"You're joking."

"No," she glanced at the wall clock. "It's only 11 in the morning. We could go to City Hall and get a marriage license before they close for the weekend, then tomorr—"

"Qadira, wait, wait," Phin came around to her and put his hands on her upper arms. "I would love to stay in Canada. But if I have to leave, I'm not going back to some war-torn dystopia... well, at least not yet it isn't." He smiled and pulled her to his chest. "I'll be okay. It's really sweet of you to offer, though."

"I'm not offering, I'm saying let's get married," she averred. Phin's face was expressionless as he looked into her eyes like he wasn't sure he could trust what was happening.

"Why are you doing this?" he finally asked.

Because I don't want you to go? Qadira answered in her head. Because we've spent most of the last three months together and I'm nowhere near tired of you? Because you're hilarious and sweet and the first guy I've known since grade school who didn't think appreciating my personality was the path to getting to fuck me?

"It's the right thing to do," she swallowed. "My parents brought me and my sisters here from Iraq when I was only eight. We lost family members there because of whatever shitheads were leading the US, and we were lucky to get refugee status anywhere, let alone Canada.

"I know what it's like to want a better life for yourself, knowing the place you come from is... bleak." She let out a small laugh. "Never thought I'd be saying that about the US, but..."

"Trust me, a country where nine rich, powerful, unelected people have the power to overturn a law that hundreds of millions of others want, can only be described as 'bleak.'" Phin said.

Good, Qadira thought when it looked like he'd accepted her reasoning.

"So... should we... should we tell anyone?" Phin asked. "I kinda thought if I ever got married I'd at least tell my parents." She looked up at him and grinned, and he matched it.

"My parents were originally very conservative Muslims, but maybe 21 years in Canada has loosened them up a bit," Qadira answered. "Honestly, I think the acid test would be telling them I'm marrying a Jew."

"Correction—you're marrying a Mexican-American Jew," Phin laughed. "I know my parents would love you, especially since they didn't think I'd live long enough to get married." He pulled up the back of his shirt to reveal a three-inch scar not far from his kidney. Qadira gasped as she reached out to run her fingers along the mark, but then withdrew when Phin flinched.

"I'm sorry, does it still hurt?" she asked, visibly worried.

"No," he gritted his teeth, wishing he'd anticipated what would happen to him when she touched his back. He let his shirt fall and stayed facing away from her until his semi-erect cock had the sense to lower itself. "But this is why I've taken to running instead of fighting if anything goes sideways at a night march."

"I'm hoping whatever criminal record you have doesn't get in the way of..." Phin genuinely didn't hear the rest of that sentence when Qadira casually lifted his shirt back up again to examine his scar, damn near killing him with her soft fingertips on his skin.

They gathered Phin's documents and ate the falafels in the car on the way back to Qadira's apartment. Grabbing her Canadian passport and a few other IDs would take seconds. It was also convenient she had a month-to-month lease on her basement apartment.

"Do you think you could add me to your lease?" she asked him, putting her phone down while taking his wrap out of his right hand and carefully passing him a bottle of water. He sipped it and they switched again, which was when it dawned on him.

"You're going to move in with me?"

"Well, of course!" she laughed. "Immigration will spot-check us and they'll want to see the lease. You can't have your wife living in a basement apartment two suburbs away."

My... wife... Phin slammed on the brakes before a red light, luckily after Qadira had capped his water bottle. He hastily apologised to her, then zoned out again, thinking about just what that term would entail.

He didn't dare want to imagine them naked and breathless together while she writhed in ecstasy underneath him. God, if her merely touching the scar on his back incapacitated him, he may well die if it ever got to them consummating their marriage.

No. No, motherfucker, no. She is doing you the biggest goddamn favour of your life, and you are going to zip both your mouth and your pants.

He parked in front of her driveway, staying in the car as she met up with her landlady on the front porch and told her she'd be moving out. This was the wrong time to confess his feelings, Phin decided, having no clue when he would ever stumble upon the right time.

***********

It was a haze. The day that everyone in Qadira's life had told her would be the most important day of her life—her wedding day—blurred past her as she unsuccessfully tried to dig in her heels and watch it happen. The morning after they'd decided to get married, she and Phin were battling Saturday traffic on their way to Niagara Falls.

"A drive-through elopement chapel?" Phin looked at her incredulously as his brain put together where her driving directions were leading them. "Qadira, I appreciate the efficiency, but is this really how you want to get married?"

She gazed into his dark eyes hooded by long, black lashes, not quite understanding why he was referring to their wedding as if it were a real one.

"I thought... I thought we were getting married to keep you in the country, Phin," she said.

"Right," he nodded, suddenly remembering himself. "Right. This makes sense."

She readied the marriage license they'd obtained the previous day, while Phin pulled through to a cottage-style compound that was some distance from the Falls. In a half-hour, they were back in the car and driving away, the ink on the registrar's signature not even dry.

"I'll apply for a marriage certificate online," she told him when they were back on the QEW to Toronto, flipping through her phone at the various pics the nice people at the chapel had snapped of them. It was a good thing they also provided witnesses, she thought, because she wasn't sure anyone in her life would approve of standing up at her marriage of convenience.

"I should also print these off at a photo kiosk and put them in a few frames," she made her mental to-do list out loud. "I've read that Canadian officials look for wedding photos during drop-in checks." She spotted one where she was smiling at the camera but Phin was looking at her, his eyes drifting closed.

"Thank you," he said, snapping her out of her analysis of that pic. Did they catch him in the middle of a blink? she wondered. She knew he liked her well enough, but there was something more on his face in that photo.

"Well, you're the one applying for permanent residency," she reminded him. "Maybe we should also register your car here and get you some Ontario plat—"

"No, I mean, thanks for caring about me enough to do this," Phin interrupted, gesturing toward the marriage license, his eyes still on the winding highway ahead. "I just want you to understand that I recognise what a huge sacrifice you're making."

Qadira stifled the laugh that threatened to erupt from her throat. He talked as though he were a troll or something when he was considerate, funny, smart, handsome, and would probably be gainfully employed again within a few months. Which reminded her of something.

"When was your last girlfriend?" She knew it was a mistake to blurt that query out for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was that they were zooming up the QEW at 115 km/h. The car didn't so much as swerve despite Phin whipping around to face her, then turning his eyes back to the road.

"I... uh, maybe seven months... but—I didn't know we'd be discussing—look, I always use protection because it's not fair or smart to put all the responsibility of birth contro—"

"Whoa, whoa!" Qadira laughed. "I just meant I found it hard to believe someone as great as you is unattached. I was wondering if there was someone back in Cleveland who would have a problem with what we've just done."

"Oh," Phin nodded, feeling like an idiot. "No, no girlfriend in Cleveland, no. And my parents actually live out in Colorado, where I'm from. We only see each other a couple of times a year anyway so it'd be the same flight, just to Toronto from now on." He paused. "God, that's so weird to say. We haven't mailed the certificate in yet, you know," he added. "It's not too late to back out."

"What, so you can go back and marry some chick from the mountains?" Qadira smiled and reached toward the back seat where she'd packed a cooler. "Want some water?"

"Hmm... sure, unless you've got anything else?" Phin felt a tad more relaxed now, and would probably remain that way as long as they talked about anything apart from his body count.

"I have juice boxes."

"Oh my god, fuck, yes. I want peach!" There was something so innocent but intimate in the way she pierced the box then tilted the straw up toward Phin's lips, allowing him to sip while keeping both hands on the wheel.

They were still friends when they got back to his apartment, still friends when they fell asleep on the couch together and then woke up to the Weather Network's early morning forecast. But Qadira wondered if she was imagining the tension she now felt between them.

Phin was nothing but a gentleman for the next few weeks, and he was no less jovial or talkative. But there was still something missing, and it had been replaced with an air of awkwardness. It was all she could think about one afternoon as she finished up at work and went to visit her old friend. Jennie, after all, had freaked when Qadira told her about her impromptu wedding.

"Q!" Jennie called out from behind the counter before ducking under it and emerging on the other side. The end of Qadira's ambulance shift today coincided with the slow hour at the café, so the place only had a few customers milling about. Jennie called out to Henry in the back that she was taking her break and the two women went around the corner outside.

"Heyyyy, they finally put in a bench here!" Qadira noticed.

"It's not the city; it was us," Jennie smirked as they took a seat. "Once we got the ball rolling on banning Green Lantern guy, we started asking for more and more shit, and it honestly feels like we've got Henry's balls in the palm of our hands." She took a swig from her water bottle. "Speaking of balls in your hands..."

"Jen, no," Qadira looked up at the overcast midtown sky, ruing that she should have known her friend would ask what married life was like.

"Fine," Jennie sulked. "All I wanted to know was whether all that sass added up to him being good in—" Then she caught the pause on Qadira's face. "Wait, Q, what is it? Did he hurt you?"

"No, no, Jennie, it's—"

"Ohhh, no, you rushed into it and he's a sex weirdo? He doesn't clean up after himself? He makes a lot of noise while eating? Too much farting? Sweetie, you can get this annulled. I'll help you!"

Qadira put her hand on her friend's and calmed her down. She never planned to breathe a word to anyone about their marriage of convenience but this was a story she couldn't go halfway on. She told Jennie about how she and Phin had decided to keep him in the country three weeks ago, but then went on to the part she was hoping she'd never have to verbalise.

"I balked when you asked me about how he is in bed because... I don't know. I don't—we never..." She expected the customary eye squint, not to mention the onslaught of questions. But Jennie took her time if for no other reason than she was confused as hell.

"Ohhhh... okay, so you two decided no sex because this is a... a favour you're doing him?"