Green Card

1 Oh Right... I'm Married (Piper)

I asked him to marry me.

There had never been anything even remotely romantic between Lucas and I. Not even a hint of flirtation. But I loved him in a way that meant just as much and I knew how badly he wanted to stay in this country, how much he needed to in order to make his dreams come true. And he would. There was no one on this earth with the determination and sheer willpower of Lucas Vega. So if I had to sign a little certificate to make it happen, hey, that's what friends do.

That very same week I heard back from NBC about the internship I'd applied for. I'd been accepted. Lucas lifted me into the air in the parking lot of that same seven eleven and we spent the whole afternoon drinking celebratory cherry-flavored slushees until we made ourselves sick.

On Thursday, we went to the courthouse, signed the papers, went through with some silly ceremony the presiding judge said was a requirement, and left making jokes about our sham marriage, calling each other husband and wife for the rest of the day. On Friday, we graduated. My parents caused a scene when my mother, unable to help herself, called my dad's new wife a whore under her breath and got a high heel to the back of her calf in return. Lucas helped separate them. We thought it best not to enlighten them about our arrangement. On Saturday, I got on a plane to New York City. Lucas took me to the airport, hugged me, wished me luck, and made me promise to keep in touch.

I did. For a while.

But after a year, it was clear that life was taking us in two different paths, both of which, it seemed, we're paved with long working hours in far apart time zones and a lack of attention to even basic nutrition, much less finding the time to make a phone call. Besides, nobody kept in touch with their college friends. Right?

In truth, I'd forgotten about Lucas, about how I'd never felt more myself than I did with him, about how college with him was the most free and happiest I'd ever been, about the friendship we'd had that was more than any I'd experienced before.

My life turned to late nights and long days. I made new friends, some of which I moved in with to afford New York City's astronomical rent. I left NBC after a two year internship with no job offer and landed at a low budget studio with one successful, albeit mediocre sitcom in their lineup. I started out as a staff writer and rose through the ranks to become chief among them. But still, it was a shitty sitcom with cringy actors that somehow kept making it through season after season. Needless to say, it wasn't the dream. But it was close enough, for now.

I called my parents but never visited, not wanting to see my dad and too busy to see my mom. I lost track of my sister when she married and moved to Washington. Her two kids and doctor's schedule kept her even busier than me.

I was twenty eight, I was mature. I was someone new and enjoying figuring out who that was. And I wasn't thinking of Lucas Vega even one bit when I stepped into my apartment that lovely spring day.

"Leah!" I shouted into the empty loft. "Are you here?"

"On the phone, one sec!" My nutritionist/yoga instructor roommate called from her room down the hall.

I tossed my things onto the table by the door and trudged into the kitchen, absentmindedly trying to count the hours It had been since I'd last slept. Sixteen. Or maybe eighteen?

"Ugh," I groaned, reaching into the back of the fridge and pulling out a mostly empty carton of orange juice. "Connor always forgets to pick up more juice."

"Connor's right here and fabulous and didn't forget," a familiar voice said suddenly, setting a container of orange juice onto the counter with a thud. I looked up at my third roommate, raising a brow at the velvet jacket and patterned shirt he was wearing.