Page 11 of Merlot Marriage

I sit back down on the couch, one of Maggie’s many decorative pillows at my back. “Hemispheres.” The switch from Southern to Northern Hemisphere seasons had been odd, but not as difficult for me as the lack of sunshine. “How’s work?”

My brother launches into a story about some lady who can’t seem to respond to her emails without accidentally hitting “reply all” to the entire company. While he talks, my mind wanders to the job listing he sent me a few days ago. It’s a position with his company, looking for an international trade analyst. Specifically, they’re looking for someone with experience or schooling from America. If I thought she’d consider it for a second, I’d pass it along to Ophie. It’s exactly what she’s looking for, except she would never move so far away from her family.

As it stands, if I want to move to Australia to be nearmyfamily, it’s perfect.

But for some reason, I’m reluctant to apply.

I’ve dreamed of living in the States since I was in secondary school. There was a pretty even split in my classmates between going to the University of Cape Town or trying to get out of South Africa. Some to the States, some to England, Australia, or New Zealand.

My mates and I didn’t start the diaspora, but we’re following in the footsteps of the family members we’ve seen thriving while living anywhere but in South Africa.

No one wants to end up trapped there, taking care of aging parents on a sinking ship.

“How’s Ophelia?” Nicola pushes Jono’s face out of the way to steal my attention.

Panic that they’ve figured out what we’ve done flares in my chest for a second, before I push it down. “She’s fine. I’m at herplace right now, actually.” I flash the camera to the room around me.

“Oh?” Nicola gives me a meaningful look. “Have you finally realized that your ‘no dating in America’ rule is silly?”

I bristle. “It’s not silly. If I get a green card, I want it to be through my own merits, not because I tricked some poor girl into marrying me just so I could stay.” Nausea bubbles in my stomach—isn’t that exactly what I’ve done to Ophie? I feel sick over lying to my family, but they’ve never understood my need to earn it myself.

“Trust me, Flip, no girl is going to mind being your ticket to stay in the States.” She shakes her head at me. “You’re being stubborn.”

“No, I’m being ethical.” The argument is familiar and safe, but the sick feeling in my stomach doesn’t dissipate as I dig my grave deeper with each lie. “I was concentrating on school and establishing my future. It’s not fair of me to drag a girl into the uncertainty that is my life when I have no idea where I’m going to end up. And it’s a little bit illegal to marry someone just to stay in the country.”

She rolls her eyes and hands the phone back to Jono, who takes over the argument. They’ve been together since they were sixteen and I was fourteen—it’s annoying how in love and happy they are. “Well, if you get kicked out of the country, you can always come stay with us. Our guest room is always open, or you could crash with Mum and Dad. They’ve got a posh blow-up mattress now, and you’d only have to share it with the boys occasionally.”

Talking about their homes in Australia always stings. I hate that I’ve never seen them with my own eyes, that I haven’t seen my family since I left for America. The familiar pangs of homesickness grate against my thirst for adventure and leave me feeling raw.

I rub a hand over my chest, pushing away the feeling. “I know. Thanks, Jono.” Living with my parents again is a last resort—thinking of the last time still makes my chest tight. I’d been all set to go to school in California when Mum was diagnosed with breast cancer. Even though she’d insisted that I should still go, I’d dropped everything to stay in Cape Town.

In the end, they convinced me to at least start my undergrad in Economics at UCT. By the time I graduated, my mum was in remission, and I was desperate to get out of the country. Jono is not only my brother, he’s my best mate, but he and Nicola headed to Sydney just before I graduated. Mum and Dad were hoping to follow, assuming I would also be leaving South Africa.

When Portland offered me a scholarship to do an MBA, I jumped at the chance. Even if the Pacific Northwest wasn’t exactly the part of the States I’d intended to move to, getting out of Africa was the goal. Now that they’ve all moved, there’s nothing for me to go back for, even if I wanted to.

Only time will tell if the decision was a good one or not.

But I’ll never regret meeting Ophie or my life here in Portland for the last two years, even if the lack of vitamin D is painful.

As if thinking about her summoned her, the front door opens behind me, and she steps inside. “Oh, sorry.” Her voice is tired as she slips off her coat and sets her shoes on the rack. “Hi, Jono. Hi, Nicola.” She knows it’s them—she’s joined more than one of our standing phone dates on a Thursday night.

Ophie sets a brown paper bag on the coffee table before squishing beside me on the couch, waving to the faces crowding into my phone screen. I bury my nose in her hair, taking a big sniff of the coffee-and-pastry smell permeating it as I pull her into my side.

“Did he tell you why he’s at my house?”

Noise filters into my ears, but I’m distracted by her arms wrapping around my waist and the way she melts against mychest. She and her sister hug the same way—full body, arms wrapped around you, leaning in a little. I fucking love it.

Ophie proceeds to tell them the story of my kitchen fire. Not wanting to think about it again, I hand my phone over to her and head to the kitchen. Their exclamations go from amusement at our graduation shenanigans to horror at the fire and then back to amusement when she wraps it up with Chris’s confession.

I hand her a glass of water—she’s always thirsty when she comes home from work—and sink back down beside her, dropping my arm over her shoulder so she can’t escape the conversation yet.

“How long will the damage take to fix?” my brother asks, then disappears from view—probably to wrangle one of my nephews.

“I got a call from the apartment manager today, actually. He said it’s going to take a couple of weeks. The smoke damage is pretty extensive, and some of the windows were damaged by the heat and have to be replaced. And of course they’re currently on back order.”

We chat a bit longer, but when wailing starts up from somewhere in my brother’s vicinity, I end the call. “Bye-o, talk to you next week.”

“So, how was the fam?” Ophie doesn’t move from her spot resting against my chest as she talks.

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