The most difficult thing is the decision to act, the rest is merely tenacity.
—AMELIA EARHART
IT’S MID-MARCH AND we don’t hear anything about a new visa, or about the private bill other than Royce telling me that his father’s staff is working on it. Except for our relationship, which is growing deeper every day, everything else seems to be up in the air. I’m starting to think maybe Dad was right for not being optimistic about the process. If we do end up having to move back to Manila, Dad says his cousins have a house we can rent-to-own.
Mom starts organizing every room. We all help. A lot of our things will be sold at a yard sale to help raise travel expenses. We just can’t afford to move all our things. Mom says we’ll get new furniture in the Philippines. We’ll truly start over. She’s already window-shopping online, setting placeholders for the furniture she’s going to buy. She’s not as sad when she does this. Somehow I think there’s a kind of peace, a calm in the storm when she confronts Dad on the budget for all the furniture. Of course he’s more concerned with our house and if and when it sells.
Although immersing themselves in the business of moving helps my parents get their minds off the deportation, I get sad when they talk about selling the house. It’s the only place I can remember living. When I think of home, I don’t think of the Philippines or even America. I think of our house.
* * *
Even if my whole family is readying for the worst, I still have hope for the bill. I try not to constantly pester Congressman Blakely about the process. One night, at a dinner with Royce’s mother and father at a restaurant in Beverly Hills near Tiffany’s, I ask, “Are these things hard to draft?”
“No harder than any other bill,” he says, looking around. “But let’s not talk about that here.”
His wife gives him a look. I don’t know what it means, other than we change the subject to both Royce’s acceptance and my interest in attending Stanford. I won’t find out whether I’m in until April. I try not to think about it too much. Even if I can stay and Stanford does admit me—two really big ifs—I’ll still have to figure out a way to pay my tuition. Stanford says it’s need-blind even when it comes to international students, but who knows if that’s really true? As my dad says, you never know. I can’t depend on anything.
“So you applied there too,” Mrs. Blakely says. “What are you hoping to study?”
“Political science, I think,” I say. “I’ve been thinking I might go to law school.”
Mr. Blakely beams. “An excellent choice!”
Royce smiles at me proudly, and I’m tickled to have impressed his father.
“Are you continuing with cheer?” Debra asks.
I chew on a steamed green bean. “Thinking about it. I do want to compete at the collegiate level. It might help me focus overall. Keep me healthy. But I guess that depends on whether I make the team.”
Mrs. Blakely sips her wine. “I don’t think that will be a problem.”
“At any rate,” Congressman Blakely says, lowering his voice. “I did finally talk to the judge about an extension of you know what... I have a pretty good feeling.”
I’m quietly elated, but I don’t understand why he has to be so secretive about the extension. It’s not like any of his party leadership are hiding in the planters next to the dining tables.
Royce prods his dad for more information. “What did he say?”
Congressman Blakely takes a big stab of his steak. “I’m not going to talk exact details. Let’s just say I turned up the pressure and if he doesn’t take care of this right away, he won’t have my continued support when he’s up for reelection.” He takes a drink of lemon water. “It’s all about favors, son. Sometimes you have to put your foot down so these guys don’t continue to balk when you need something done.”
“Is that what you did with the immigration reform bill?” Royce asks.
Mr. Blakely appears agitated. “We’re not going to talk about that right now either.”
Still, Royce doesn’t give up. “I just thought, since you’re helping Jasmine, you might want to explain why you basically killed the bill that would have helped her family in the first place.”
I kick Royce under the table. I’m kind of impressed, but I’m also wondering why he’s doing this all of a sudden. I don’t want Congressman Blakely to think I’m ungrateful and stop helping us.
The congressman sets down his fork rather hard. He talks with his hands, gesticulating forcefully. “Son, I don’t have to explain anything to you. I’m not going to talk about that here, or anywhere in public for that matter. So drop it, okay? This isn’t the place. You sure are aggravating enough to make a good investigative journalist.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Blakely suddenly says, waving out the window. “It’s Mason! I told him to try and join us if he could.”
Royce reaches for my hand under the table. I squeeze his reassuringly.
“I see there are still aliens among us,” Mason says when he arrives, and my stomach immediately drops.
“Come on, Mason,” Royce says, raising his voice. “Why do you have to be that way? It’s not funny.”
Mason gives me a little smile. “Ease up, little brother. She’s a smart girl. She knows I’m kidding.”
“That’s enough, Mason,” the congressman says.
Dinner continues, awkward and tense. Royce squeezes my hand under the table, a small comfort.
* * *
A week later, I see that Royce has left me a voice mail. He rarely calls, since we text all the time, so I know there must be big news. I hold the phone close to my ear as I walk home, trying to block out the noise with my hand.
“The judge is allowing your family a temporary visa!” he says. “I think it’s for a year. Maybe more. Isn’t this great? It’s a first step. Dad says his office has been gathering some great letters from officials, including one from the commission that looked at your essay for National Scholar. Things are pulling together. I would have waited to tell you in person, but I thought you would want to know as soon as possible. Call me today. I want to see you when I can. We need to celebrate!”
I feel this weight lift off my shoulders. When I get home, I start dancing around the house. It’s a victory we desperately needed. I run into the living room and throw my arms around Daddy. I tell him and Mom the good news.
“Wait. Is this a sure thing?” Mom asks.
“Royce says so. I don’t know why he would be wrong.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Dad says darkly. “Until then, mission is not aborted. We still need to prepare to leave.”
“Daddy! Why do you have to be so negative? Come on.”
Mom stands there with a hand over her mouth, shocked by the news. I don’t think she ever believed the political plan would work.
“Did you hear me, Mommy?” I ask. “We got our extension! One, maybe two years! It’s a start, right?”
“Yes, it is neneng,” she says. “This is good news. Great news! But what about the bill? That’s what we really need. There was all this talk, but we haven’t heard anything in weeks.”
I think about the dinner the other night. Congressman Blakely was acting so strange. What was wrong with talking publicly about the private bill? Everyone would know about us soon enough. What’s wrong if people find out that his party sometimes does support immigrants? Wouldn’t that be a good thing?
It’s not like my brothers and I made those decisions to come here. We just live with them. It’s not our fault that we love America, that we want to stay in the only country we know.
It’s not our fault that we aren’t carrying green cards in our pockets.