The Wall of Winnipeg and Me

It was really heavy, and I had a feeling I was going to pull my lower back. I did manage to smash my fingers into the doorjamb, hissing “Motherfucker” under my breath.

We were heading to grab the next piece of furniture when Aiden said over his shoulder, “You should think about doing some upper-body training.”

I made a face behind him. I might have even stuck my tongue out as I held my poor, mangled fingers with my good hand.

Luckily, moving the bookcase into Aiden’s office was a lot easier, and we didn’t have any problems. My new roommate carried the desk upstairs all on his own, and I hauled the chair. Apparently, either we both needed a break or Aiden recognized the signs of exhaustion that I was sure were all over my face, so we took a break to have lunch.

Then the awkwardness began all over again.

Was I supposed to make lunch or was he? Or were we each going to make ourselves food? I hadn’t gone grocery shopping yet, obviously, but Aiden had never been stingy with his groceries or complained when I had some, but…

“I have two pizzas in the freezer.”

“Pizzas?” Were we in the right house? This was Mr. Whole-Food-Plant-Based-Diet. The most processed he got was quinoa pasta, tofu, and tempeh every so often.

He muttered something under his breath that sounded like “with soy cheese and spinach.”

I bit my cheek and nodded, watching and wondering what the hell had happened to him over the last month and a half. “Okay.”

With that, I turned on the oven like I had a thousand other times in the past. Unlike every other time, The Wall of Winnipeg went to the freezer and pulled out food on his own, getting the pizza stones out from a cabinet in a way that surprised me a little. At least when I was around, he never messed around with any of the kitchen items besides plates and utensils.

I went into the garage to throw the cardboard in with the rest of the recyclables and paused. Container after container of frozen microwavable vegan meals filled the bin.

The tiniest bit of guilt nipped at my stomach as I went back into the kitchen just as Aiden set the pizzas into the oven after a few minutes. I took the same seat I’d taken almost two weeks ago when I’d come by to talk to him about his offer. That strange silence seemed to grow as he took his favorite seat.

“Where’s Zac?” I asked, watching the huge muscles in his forearms ripple as he rotated his wrist in a stretch.

A tendon in his thick neck seemed to pop, and I knew it was in annoyance. “He didn’t come home last night.” Before I could say anything, he added in a voice I recognized as a disapproving one, “He said he’d be here.”

But he wasn’t. Zac going out wasn’t unheard of; he actually went out pretty often. Not coming back home wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence either. I’d talked to him a couple days ago briefly just to make sure he was going to be fine lying to authorities if he was questioned, and that he was okay with me moving in. He’d seemed to be more than okay with both.

“It’s fine,” I said, knowing full well from the way that tendon was straining it genuinely bothered Aiden. “So… what’s the next step with your green card thing?”

Aiden had his attention on his arm. “We should go ahead and get the paperwork over with first.” Paperwork. He was going with paperwork to describe what we were doing. Was I nauseous or did I suddenly get heartburn? “Soon.”

“How soon?” My voice sounded more cryptic than what was really necessary considering I knew exactly what I was getting myself into.

Those thick eyebrows kind of quirked, his jaw slightly twitched. “Before the season. I don’t want to wait until bye week,” he said, referring to the week off the team got during the season.

He still wasn’t answering my question. “Okay…”

“I have an early preseason game next week. Let’s do it then.” I choked and he ignored me, barreling straight through into his explanation. “We can’t file the petition until the paperwork is done. You should change the address on your license as soon as you can, but you need to have mail coming here. ”

What could I say? Let’s wait? What he was saying made sense. He really didn’t have more than a day off after each preseason game, and from what I remembered, most of them were always in the evening. That probably would be the best chance we had of getting it done.

But it still made the part of my personality that liked to plan things in advance and mentally prepare cringe.

Next week. We were ‘doing it’ in a week.

It was that easy. We needed to live in a house together, sign some papers, maybe take some pictures—was that even necessary?— and then… live the next five years of our lives.

I almost expected him to give me spirit fingers and say “Ta-da.”

That simple. It was that simple apparently.

I took in the man who was sitting across from me—the biggest man I had ever seen, the most restrained, who was for all intents and purposes, technically my fiancé—and let nausea and nerves roll around in my belly like puppies.

“My lawyer said it’ll be several months between you filing a petition for me and having my status adjusted until I get a conditional green card. We’re going to need a lot of paperwork; they’re going to ask for your bank statements. You’ll have to go with me once everything is approved to have someone at the Immigration office interview us. Will that work?” he asked, eyeing me warily, like he wasn’t positive how I was going to take his plan.