Dennis typed again. I can feel you freaking out from here. No more jokes. I’m sorry I let our conversation be overheard. That kid’s always so quiet, I forget he’s there. If he gives you trouble, I’ll go talk to him.
Hunching over his desk and dreaming of nicotine, Valentyn replied. He’s not giving me trouble.
Good. What’s his name?
Peter Grunberg.
He looks like a Peter. Was he serious about marrying you, or was that a joke?
He was serious. I think.
Excellent! Serious and cute. And your type. This is all win, Val.
Was it? Then why did Valentyn want to throw up?
Stop freaking out, Dennis added when Valentyn didn’t reply.
Valentyn sighed. I can’t go back. I can’t live there again. I’d rather be dead.
You’re not going to go back.
You don’t know that.
I’m going to do whatever I have to in order to help you stay. Look, I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon. I’m gonna talk to Abby. She loves you. She’d let me divorce her to marry you so you can get a green card. I can be your backup. Except I’m not sure we could get it done in time. Also, we’d probably look suspicious.
How much could Valentyn’s stomach twist before it made him vomit? You can’t do that for me. You can’t do that to Abby.
You think either one of us will be okay if you get deported? But anyway. I’m not your first choice. Let’s make it work with this Peter guy. Let me talk to him.
Well, there was one mercy. You can’t. He won’t be able to talk to you.
Why not?
He has selective mutism.
Despite his anxiety, Valentyn enjoyed Dennis’s moment of silence. It wasn’t often he could render his friend nonplussed. Eventually, Dennis recovered, and it was clear he’d googled. Oh, okay. Wow. That’s… wow.
Yes. So no talking to him.
But you need to chase down this lead.
We’re texting. He’s going to email me. We’ll see what happens.
Okay. I’m going to keep plotting in the meanwhile.
Valentyn hadn’t even had a day to process the rejection of his visa renewal. Now he’d been proposed to. Twice. It was too much. He couldn’t cope with this.
Except he had no choice.
Have to go. Student. Valentyn’s second use of that lie in fifteen minutes.
We’ll talk later. Just don’t lose hope, all right? We’ll fix this. I promise.
This time Valentyn shut off his phone and put it in a drawer.
He stared at the space between his keyboard and the edge of his desktop, eyes unfocused. He couldn’t go back, yet he had to face the reality that this might actually happen. Would Ukraine still be safe? How close was a Russian takeover? Would he arrive in time for another Maidan? Would there even be a revolution this time?
What would it be like to go back in the closet? Which of his friends in Ukraine should he believe—was it better there now, or worse?
It wouldn’t be like it was here. He’d never have this freedom anywhere else.
I can’t live like that again.
God but he needed a smoke.
A knock sounded at his door. “Dr. Shevchenko?”
Shaking off his cold terror as best he could, Valentyn pasted on a smile as he replied to the student. “Come on in.”
Chapter Three
FROM: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: A little more about me
Dear Valentyn,
Hi, me again. I hope your day went well and that you haven’t worried about your immigration status too much.
I searched for you online, and I’m thrilled to see you’re passionate regarding the environment like I am. I love that you come at it from a deep science and ecology angle and don’t go into the weeds. I’m not really for the straw bans and all that because it feels like theater. What we really need to do is get the whole of government and industry on board for massive conservation efforts, which right now feels like a pipe dream. I just want there to be a planet in another hundred years, and right now I don’t feel like that’s going to happen. I mean, I get there will be something here, but I don’t want it to be all dust and rock. I want to save the water. I want there to be people and animals and fish.
I realized you don’t know my age and maybe that’s important to you, especially since people usually tell me I look younger than I am. I’m twenty-eight. It seems like you’re a little older? I hope that wasn’t offensive. If you’re also twenty-eight, I am full of apology. I kind of figured, though, since you’re a professor, you have to at least be in your thirties. Anyway I’m going to stop talking now. How old are you?
More about me. My uncle owns Procaffeination. He’s an off-the-charts coffee enthusiast and roasts his own beans in the back, which I suspect you know if you’ve read one of his thirty signs advertising the fact. Word of advice: never mention that corporate coffee company that starts with an S to him.
I moved to Boulder two months ago. I’ve been here a lot ever since I was little to visit my uncle and aunt and their family, but this is the first time I’ve called it home. My mom and stepfather and younger brother live in Littleton, and I lived with them until recently. Before that I was on my own in an apartment, but I couldn’t afford it after I lost my job.
Okay, I’m going to just tell you the story of my SM because I feel like it’s an elephant I need to push out of the way. I never talked much when I was young, but when I was four I stopped completely. I’d talk some to my parents and older brother but nobody else. School was a nightmare. Once they changed the number of the bus that was supposed to pick me up, and I couldn’t ask what had happened or where my bus was, so I stood on the playground until my family came to get me three hours later. I had a lot of speech therapy, and a shrink, and every kind of counselor you can think of. For a while they thought I had autism, but it didn’t fit. They figured out it was selective mutism and started to work with me to find strategies so I could communicate at least part of the time. I got a lot better when I was sixteen, but then I went to college and fell back again. I had learned by then how to talk to one or two people at a time, but a large group was impossible. It still is. And the coffee shop is actually not great no matter what because it feels like there are tons of people there even if there aren’t. I’m working on it, but it’s a process.
Nobody really understands SM, and everyone who has it presents in their own way. Different people have different times when they can’t talk. I know one guy who was in my therapy group back in Denver who could whisper in the ear of people he’d met a few times. For me, the more I want to get to know someone the worse it is at first. Which is why I’m so awful with you. I’ve wanted to talk to you since the first week. I hope this isn’t out of line, but I thought you were hot! Also, I like the air about you.
This is the frustrating thing regarding my SM. I can be drawn to someone and absolutely unable to engage with them at the exact same time. Sometimes I feel like I’m watching the world behind a pane of glass.
I can text you, though, if I’m in front of you, after I’ve gotten to know you a little. It was tough for me to write on the pad of paper, but with some effort I can usually communicate that way. Also, even if I get to know you well, if too many other people are around I can’t talk to you.
Sorry if this sounds really strange. Unfortunately I didn’t get to make the rules, I just live with them. But basically if we get together and you feel like I’m not really there, I am. I’ll have all kinds of stuff to tell you once I go home and can text again.
I hope this isn’t putting you off. Let’s not talk about SM for a minute. How about that.
I have a ton of interests. I like to debate, a lot, and since I can only do that not in person, I do it online. My entire family, I think, has unfollowed me on Facebook because I gleefully argue with trolls. I love it, though. Arguing with people, throwing facts in their face
s. Such a rush! I try not to be a jerk, but if I’m honest, sometimes I am just because I can be. If any of them met me in real life, they’d be so surprised.
I don’t talk about my SM online, though. Just in case we ever talk online.
I love crossword puzzles. I do basically any I can get my hands on, but my favorite editor is Peter Gordon at The New York Sun, and no, it’s not because of his first name. He actually studied under Will Shortz, the guy who does the puzzles at the New York Times. I like those too, but Gordon is king to me. I love books of puzzles too.
I also like baking and cooking. I miss my mom’s oven because it was better than my aunt’s. I’ve had fantasies of opening up a bakery, but I think I’d hate the reality of it. Better to just do it for fun.
I don’t know what I want to do when I grow up, which is a problem when you’re almost thirty. I don’t have a particular passion, outside of the environment. I just want a job where I don’t have to talk to people and my employer and managers will work with me. My old job I got because of a friend of my mom’s—I was basically a corporate flunkie in the human resources department at an investment firm. But then the manager changed and the new guy insisted I come to meetings and contribute something out loud every week. You can see where this went south. I came to Boulder because I could work for my uncle. It doesn’t pay much at all, but he needs the help and I needed a job so it all works out.
Wow, this has gotten long. I’ll stop talking now so you can get a word in edgewise. Hope you had a good day, and I look forward to talking with you soon.
Peter
FROM: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: RE: A little more about me
Dear Peter,
Thank you for your lovely email and your efforts to introduce yourself. I’ll endeavor to do the same.
I’ll be thirty-nine at the end of December. I feel I am an old man to you. Which brings me to something I need to repeat one more time up front: I know your offer is serious, but understand you may back out at any time. Though I’m pleased you find me hot. I will in turn confess I think you’re handsome. And a bit cute. Is that insulting? You have a softness about you, but also a sharpness. It intrigues me.
Also, yes, I am a thinking, rational human and therefore understand we are undergoing significant climate change and responsible persons should act, in large ways, to reduce the effects. You forget I’m not American. The majority of the rest of the world is fully on board, trying to figure out how to compensate for what your country won’t do to help. Even Russia has woken up. The permafrost melting does that to a government.
Despite this flaw, I admire the United States a great deal and want to become a citizen someday. It’s an incredible place of opportunity and freedom, particularly for me as a gay man. I didn’t realize how much I needed this freedom until I went home and lost it. While it isn’t as bad in Ukraine as it is in Russia, it isn’t great to be LGBT there. My family suspects my orientation, I think, but we don’t talk about it. Should you and I get married, they will not be happy. However, I’ve made many friends here who have become a sort of family in their place.
Ah, I say that, but it’s a bit of a lie. I’m guilty of not connecting on a meaningful level with people. Old habits, I suppose. I keep to myself and brood quietly for the most part. It’s funny to hear you talk about wanting to connect with people, but mostly I wish they would leave me alone. I’ve become adept at a polite shell that keeps people happy but also safely away.
That went a bit dark. Let me share my interests, then. As it sounds like you’ve learned, my research and specialty is all in restoration ecology. I’m also a passionate gardener, though I haven’t been able to keep up my habit here beyond a few plants in my kitchen window. That’s the one thing I miss about Ukraine. I had reclaimed my backyard as a vegetable and herb garden. I also had a dog. I had to give him to my friend. I still miss him, though. I think I talked more to him than my neighbors.
I am apparently only capable of maudlin. My sincere apologies.
Other interests. Movies. I love movies of all types, especially horror. Especially bad horror that makes me laugh or groan. There are some good horror films in Russian, and some in Ukrainian too. I also enjoy reading, but mostly nonfiction.
I enjoy taking walks, though, especially in the mountains. Do you enjoy hiking? Perhaps we could make a hike our first date.
Is it all right to call it a date? We seem to have a mutual interest in one another romantically, but we’re also talking about a business arrangement. I’m unsure how to proceed here, and I also feel a bit guilty. This is probably not the courtship you’ve been dreaming of.
I’m sorry to hear about your job. That must be frustrating to have lost it over something so trivial. There’s so much that needs to be done in the world. Why waste time putting other people down for no reason but one’s own ego?
Oh, goodness, I can’t believe I put this off until so late in the reply. I actually went back to see where I could say it earlier, then gave up. No, I’m not at all put off by your selective mutism. How rude would that be of me? I promise to be patient and understanding when we meet and you can’t engage the way you would prefer to. I’m certainly not going to be impatient about it, especially when you’re offering to help me in such a vital way. To be honest, I’m part relieved I might potentially have a solution and part thrilled it’s you who made the offer. I don’t know what sort of ground rules you’d like to apply, but I’ll agree to anything. I am overwhelmed with gratitude you’re even considering this. It’s painful to have no real recourse to pursue my goals, and that you would do this for someone you simply watched in a coffee shop speaks to your generosity of spirit. I promise to do everything I can to live up to that and will handle this however you’d like. I am perfectly capable of keeping this friends-only.
I have an early meeting tomorrow and so must get to bed. But please feel free to text during the day. If I don’t reply right away, it’s because I’m in class or with someone. Please, though, let me know when would be a good day to meet, and where you’d like to do this.
Thank you again, so very much. It’s a pleasure to get to know you.
Yours respectfully and in humility,
Valentyn
Chapter Four
VALENTYN had never been much of a texter, but he became one for Peter.
He’d received a thanks for the email, have a good evening text before bed, and he’d replied—thanks, you too, talk tomorrow. They had indeed talked the next day. And the day after that. Nothing too intense, just more getting-to-know-you things. They also spoke about the environment a lot, sharing articles and discussing the importance of conservation and reduction of waste. It was all very easy and pleasant.
Valentyn was still terrified.
One day after class, Dennis elbowed Valentyn conspiratorially as they entered his office. “Hey there. Any more updates on barista boy?”
He asked this every day. Valentyn thinned his lips at the nickname. “Nothing new. We’re still texting.”
“You should meet him in person.”
“He can’t talk to me then, remember?” He rubbed the back of his head. “Besides, he works late tonight.”
“But this is progressing, yes? He’s a possibility?”
“We’ve become a bit friendly, but I shouldn’t ask him to do such a thing for me.”
“Why in the world not?”
“It’s completely irresponsible.”
Dennis plunked into the chair opposite Valentyn’s desk and propped his feet on a stack of books. “You’re running out of time. You should pursue things with this kid. Or let me—”
“I’m not going to let you divorce your wife, so stop bringing it up. And I don’t know that it’s wise to marry someone the age of my graduate students, either.”
“He’s not one of your grad students, is he? Or a student of any kind?”
“No, but—”
“But n
othing. He’s the answer to your prayers.”
“He’s a human with his own rights, and this isn’t his business. I don’t know why he’s so willing to do this for me, but it can’t be good for him.”
“That’s his decision to make.” When Valentyn tensed, Dennis pressed on. “All I’m saying is don’t go down one of your standard pessimistic rabbit holes over this. Maybe don’t run to the courthouse tomorrow, but definitely consider this an option. Because it’s probably your best one.”
With a heavy sigh that came from the bottom of his soul, Valentyn leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands. “I hate this situation.”
Dennis patted his shoulder, then gripped it affectionately in a halfhearted massage. “Don’t overthink it, is my point. Take this guy on a date. Get to know him.”
Valentyn’s laugh was bitter. “Well, that’s another problem. I can’t take him on a date. I keep meaning to ask, but I don’t even know how it would work if he says yes.”
“So write to him more. Are you hesitating because of the mutism thing?”
Valentyn sat up sharply. “Absolutely not.”
“Good. I wouldn’t have thought so, but people get funny under stress sometimes.” Dennis adjusted his ankle to rest on top of his opposite knee. “Look, I’m gonna give it to you straight. You’re a champion brooder. The more you chew on this, the more you’re going to invent your own plot line, and that’s not fair. You need to invite him into your neurotic hand-wringing sessions. If this is going to work, even without a potential romance, he deserves to hear how you’re feeling. If the fact that he isn’t hand-wringing too upsets you, tell him so.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You have to.”
Valentyn tried. Or rather, he attempted to convey a general representation of his apprehension, but every effort felt forced, awkward, insulting, or some combination of that mess.
The next few days he started to descend into himself, replying more slowly to Peter, drinking coffee at the office instead of at Procaffeination. A week after he’d been proposed to by Peter, he thought he was going to go out of his mind. He knew he was drifting away in texts, avoiding emails. He knew he shouldn’t. He knew he couldn’t afford to do that. But he was terrified and confused.
The Professor's Green Card Marriage (Dreamspun Desires Book 98) Page 3
