A little over a year ago, I was in a bar with a friend. We had stopped in to happy hour after work for a couple of drinks before the train ride home. At one point, there was a man standing in front of us that I probably wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t excused himself for being in our way.
He was tall, handsome, and in possession of a sexy British accent. We ladies are such suckers for an accent.
On our second date I told him I wouldn’t marry him so he could become a citizen. He swore he didn’t want to do it that way, that he would rather get a green card on his own, even though he’d had offers from women to be his beard. Women he barely knew. I wasn’t that kind of woman.
So here we are a year later. It hasn’t been an easy year, we haven’t been together for all of it. We’ve reached a happy “friends with benefits” stage. (Amazing benefits, though, if I do say so myself.) He once told me in a crowded bar that he was afraid I was going to get hurt because he didn’t love me. This was no surprise, but his timing was awful. He pursued another woman for a time but as “she has no taste,” that didn’t work out.
And now he’s posed the question: If I get in trouble with my legal status, would you marry me?
It wasn’t an easy question for him to ask. It’s not something he wants to make me do. It was preceded with the disclaimer, “No matter what you answer, it will not change the way I feel about you.”
Right now, the question is still hypothetical. I didn’t give him a solid answer. I said I would seriously consider it, but that there was a lot more discussion to be had if I were to say yes.
A lot more discussion.
So really, what’s a girl to do?