Page 5 of Merlot Marriage

I shrug. “The opportunity presented itself, and I went for it.” Looking around at the dissipating crowd, I catch more than one girl shaking her head in my direction. Ophie’s cheeks are still pink, although that could be from the sun. “You knew it was just jokes, right?”

Ophie glares at me, stepping closer to her mom. “Yes. But it was a bad joke, Philip.”

“It was, you’re right.” I shrug. “How are you all? Are you staying for the whole weekend?”

“No, unfortunately, we’ve got to drive back tonight. I have an important client coming from out of town tomorrow.” Dave, Ophie’s brother-in-law, joins the group. “Daisy is making her famous lasagna, with pasta from scratch and everything.”

“Yes, and it takes all day to cook, so I need to get back early.” The eldest Moore sister, Daisy, steps into view, towing her two kids behind her. The preteen boy is glued to the handheld video game console in his grip, while the girl is walking backward, chatting to Kel’s daughter, Olive. Kel and Maggie follow, her hands looped over his arm as she navigates the grassy field, the smallest hint of a baby bump outlined by her clothes.

Leaning down, I quickly whisper in Ophie’s ear, “God, I forgot how much family you have, liefling.”

“And they’re all nosy as fuck, so quit being a brat,” she whispers back before straightening with a smile.

“Well, Ophie is very lucky to have you all here today. I would have loved to have my family here to celebrate with me. Maybe then my father would believe I actually graduated.” I try not to let the bitterness that’s been stewing in my gut leak out with my words, but Jenny casts a sideways glance at me, and I know I haven’t quite managed it.

Philip

Shoving our caps andballed-up gowns into the trunk of my car, Ophie waves goodbye to her family as they pull out of the restaurant parking lot. “Was the joke about Daisy’s meatballs really necessary?” With a true beleaguered sitcom-wife sigh, she slides into the passenger seat of my car.

I grin to myself, waving to Kel and Maggie as they follow the others. “Better than making a joke about Elvis serenading us as he signed the marriage license,” I point out as I climb behind the wheel.

Joining the Moores for a celebratory lunch had been equal parts painful and fun. On the one hand, poking subtle fun at Ophie’s oldest sister and making Maggie giggle had been a delightful way to spend an afternoon. And once Mrs. Moore forgave me for my joke earlier, she had smothered me with motherly love.

But every squeeze of the shoulder or “that’s lovely, dear” was a reminder that my family is thousands of miles away. And of the giant secret we’re keeping from all of them.

We head back to my place in silence for a few minutes, and I can’t help thinking about how little time I have left.

The familiar panic of “where do I go now?” swirls in my belly, amplified by the silence. Two years felt like forever when I arrived in the States. Now it’s almost gone, and the expiration date on my student visa is too close for comfort. Especially since I have no home to go back to.

“Have you heard from any of the jobs you applied to?” Ophie asks, breaking the quiet.

“Some. Most of them aren’t willing to jump through the immigration hoops for me, but there are a few potential ones that I haven’t heard from yet. What about you? Has the port called you back about the job?”

The setting sun glints off her sunglasses, golden hour approaching as we near my apartment. Ophie stares out the window for a beat before turning to give me a small smile. “Port’s a no-go. At this rate, I might be usingyouto get a visa somewhere.”

I snort. “Sadly, my South African privileges are fairly limited, Mrs. van der Merwe.”

“Not Mrs. van der Merwe.” She clucks her tongue against her teeth.

“Technically…”

“Technically, I did not indicate a change of last name on the marriage license. So I am still and forever Mssssss. Moore. We are married on paper only.”

Sunlight catches her phone screen, blinding me every time she turns it over in her hand. The somber mood in the car irks me. Today should be a day of celebration, not already burdened with what happens next.

Not ready to declare the festivities over, I crank up the radio and start belting out Icona Pop’s “I Love It.” I add some arm dancing, eliciting a giggle from Ophie—my goal.

“Come on, ball and chain. Let’s go home.” I flip my indicator to turn right at the light and get a smack on the arm for my cheek before she closes her eyes with a deep sigh.

“Wake me up when we get there, poopsie. I need a nap.”

I don’t know if the warmth that spreads through my chest is from the sun shining through my window or from the privilege of getting to see her playful side—not many people have that privilege.

Since the first time I sat beside her in class, Ophie has tested my resolution to turn over a new leaf when I came to the States. My older brother and parents had long given up on me being anything more than the family clown. When I got accepted to the University of Portland’s master’s program, they didn’t have much faith that I would make it to graduation. Not that I could blame them. I’d only graduated from UCT—University of Cape Town, the family alma mater—by the grace of a few professors.

As I pull up at another red light, Ophie closes her eyes, resting her head against the chairback. I allow myself to stare at the way the sun drips across the curve of my wife’s cheek for a long moment before I focus back on the road.

I know my parents won’t approve of our quickie Vegas wedding, but I am convinced they’ll love Ophie. They’ve chatted with her before over video call. But they’ll absolutely lose their minds when they find out what I’ve done. Worse, they won’t be surprised.Ifthey find out.

---