Page 3 of Fifth Avenue Fling

Panic rises in my chest as my heart does a little jig.

AmI staying?

Yesterday, my world came crashing down. ÉireAuPair4U told me know that the Kennedys, a second-generation Irish family, won’t need me after all. I was going to nanny their ten-year-old daughter to help bring her closer to her Irish heritage.

It turns out the Polish au pair agency was cheaper, and that’s more important than their roots. The Kennedys were my ticket to staying in the States.

Luck of the Irish, my fat arse.

“I have a flight booked back to Belfast next week,” I say mournfully.

Liam shifts in his barstool, making an abrasive screech with the legs. He looks as devastated as I feel.

Because in seven days, my American dream ends. I’ll have overstayed my welcome.

Orla and I entered the States a few months back, intending to stay. I’m on a tourist visa, which bought me ninety days, and my egg timer has run out. We cheekily took cash-in-hand jobs in the pub to keep us afloat.

The au pair position was my only possibility of getting a visa to stay legally in New York.

He scowls at me. “Ack, sure, we’re all in the same boat here. Ain’t none of us legal. You’ll be alright. You don’t need to leave.”

I don’t want to be like you, Liam.

“Fuck’s sake, Sean will give you a wee job here for as long as you need it,” Aidan, also from Belfast, chimes in, looking at me like I’m being unreasonable. “And you have that wee stretching class you teach on Saturdays. Sure, what else do ye need?”

Belfast-ers useweeto refer to anything and everything, regardless of size. “He’s bought a wee boat”could be anything from a dinghy to a superyacht.

I don’t want my only option to be cleaning the men’s toilets of The Auld Dog. And yes, I enjoy teaching my wee yoga class in the park on Saturdays, but that’s just a hobby with a few tips thrown in.

Yoga with Clodagh. Very clever, if I say so myself since it rhymes. Most people outside of Ireland try to pronounce the silent gh, though, so it’s a marketing bust.

If I’m illegal, that’s what I’ll be restricted to.

But… I can’t leave.

Iwon’t.

I stare at the pretzel crumbs Aidan has all over his T-shirt and take a deep breath. Then I plaster a smile on my face. Smiling tricks your brain into feeling positive. “It’s fine. I read an article that Ireland will be the best place to live in 2030 because of global warming.”

“Stop that shitty chat. You’re back on the waiting list for the au pair agency,” Orla pipes up. “They’ll sort you out with a job.”

Orla is burying her head in the sand. If I’m honest, I am too. Immigration will have to take me to the airport in a straitjacket because I refuse to leave American soil.

Orla has gold-dust genes. Even though she grew up beside me in Ireland, she was made byAmericansperm, allowing her to stay in the States. Never in my life have I hated my deadbeat, absentee, Irish-born father so much.

“Unlikely.” I sigh, refilling the lads’ pretzel bowl. “They won’t find another family in time. I’ve told them I’d nanny Satan’s spawn for minimum wage if it means getting a job in the next seven days.”

I amfucked, for want of a better word. I’m calling the agency so much that they’ll get a restraining order against me. But it’s my only chance of getting sponsored to stay.

“You’ll begrand, Clodagh,” Declan slurs, grinning at me. “You’ll be grand. No need to worry.”

Saying I’m grand is as useless as theghin Clodagh. An overused filler word in Ireland. If I’m not on that flight on Monday, I’ll be at risk of deportation and a life of hiding from immigration.

That’s notgrandin any way.

These guys don’t get it. They’ve been illegal for years and have never been caught. But they’re also in their own New York prison. It’s one life or the other. Ireland or the States. If they ever board a flight home, it’s game over.

Which makes sense why all they do is talk about what’s happening in Ireland.

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