In the background, I could actually hear my wall clock ticking while I stared at the envelope on the table before me. I’d received many of these letters through the years, but with this new administration, the ICE letters had grown scary. So many of my friends had already been shipped back to the countries they came from, but were completely foreign to them. Honestly, I was running out of acceptable excuses to stay. Sure, I’d never been in trouble, always paid my taxes, and been an otherwise model citizen, but that was the problem: I wasn’t a citizen. I was a DREAMer. My parents brought me here from Poland when I was a kid, along with my brother and sister. We’d arrived as tourists and then…stayed. Surprisingly enough, that’s the story for most illegals. We were welcomed into the country, complete with travel visas, and never left.

My parents had immigrated to Canada as soon as I graduated. Staying here had proven to be too painful after losing my sister. I had already been accepted into college. Since I went part time, and paid out of pocket, attaining my degree had taken longer than expected. When I graduated with my bachelor’s, I applied for Canadian citizenship in order to join them, but I’d already been waiting for over a year, and at the rate things were going, I’d be deported from the US before I could join them and become one of the neighbors to the north.

“Open it,” Franco urged. “Come on, scaredy-cat. If it’s like mine, it’s not so bad. I just have to go back in a few months, check in.”

“Right. I’m sure it’ll go just like that.” I frowned.

“Of course it will! Hey, you don’t have to believe me. Dominik has his appointment tomorrow. Talk to him about it when he gets back.” He rubbed my shoulders and then walked over to the fridge.

“I haven’t gone grocery shopping,” I warned. “Don’t bother. It’s the same thing that was in there yesterday and the day before, minus whatever you’ve consumed since then.

“What? You don’t eat here?” Franco shut the fridge.

I stood and sighed. “No. I don’t. I snack here, but I mostly eat at the hotel. Way to pay attention. You’re the worst big brother ever.”

“How can you say that?” His brows rose.

“Oh, because it’s true. Don’t worry. I love you anyway.” I wandered over to him and gave him a big hug. “After all, you’re my only brother.”

He gave me a squeeze. “And you’re the only sister I have left.”

I stiffened at the reminder. “Not today, Franco. I need to get to work.” Then I trudged to my room. I could hear his footsteps on the tile behind me.

“Which job?”

As I moved toward the closet, he flopped on my bed. I turned and sighed. “Waitressing.” I lifted the uniform, still on the hanger after being cleaned. The top was essentially a black corset. The bottom was little more than a tutu. This is what happened when I was more desperate to earn money than I was to hold onto my dignity.

“I make good money,” Franco complained. “You don’t have to keep that job. I know how much you hate it.”

“Oh, but I do, especially if I want to stay here fighting deportation long enough to make it to Canada.” My frown deepened as I disappeared into the bathroom to change. I closed the door behind me, but it didn’t stop him from talking to me through the door.

“Do you even want to go to Canada?” Franco asked. “You hate the cold.”

“No. I really don’t. I like it here, but I don’t think I’ll be able to stay and I definitely don’t want to be shipped back to Poland.” I growled in frustration. “I don’t even speak Polish. We have no one there.” I could feel tears threatening, so I focused on taking some deep, soothing breaths.

“You know, you have your counseling degree. You could do that instead. Maybe they’d let you stay then. Either way, I’m sure you’ll be fine! At least in counseling, there’d be no more strange men trying to grope you. And I won’t go to jail for defending your honor. We both win!” Franco chuckled.

I finished tugging on my uniform. Then I flung open the bathroom door. “Yeah. That’s an idea. After all, I’ve worked my ass off, lived just above poverty level for eight years so I can get an education and live just above poverty level in my chosen career for the rest of my life. I’m an idiot.”

“Then why’d you even go to school for that?” Franco shook his head. “Never mind. I already know.” He reached out and gave me a quick hug. “You’re not an idiot. You have a big, stupid heart. That’s all.”

I nodded. “My downfall.” Then I sulked out the door, and drove my crappy old Isuzu Rodeo to the hotel. When I arrived, I discovered I’d been assigned to a private party.

“I need you to be on your toes tonight. The owners’ best friend is getting married. Tonight is a big family gathering. Tomorrow night is the rehearsal dinner, and the following night we’ll be hosting the wedding and the reception.” Margot rung her hands nervously. “If we mess this up, we’ll all lose our jobs.”

“Come on. Aren’t you being a bit dramatic?” My brows rose. “From everything I’ve seen of the new owners, they’re pretty laid back and understanding.”

“Yes, well, everyone has a breaking point. I’m guessing ruining the best friend’s wedding might be theirs. So, let’s just not find out, m’kay?” She wagged a finger in my face.

I raised both hands, palms out. “I get it. Really, I do. And I would never do anything to jeopardize this job. I need it more than you can imagine.” I smoothed my long ponytail and checked my lip gloss in the mirror.

“Get in there as quick as you can. This is the cocktail hour. They’ll be up and mingling. Then a sit-down dinner.” She studied the menu. “Naturally, every bit of this needs to be timed perfectly.”

“We’re going to be fine. Promise. So stop getting all worked up. I’ll go charm them.” I winked.

“Crap. We’re doomed.” She made the sign of the cross.

“Drama llama,” I teased as I wandered out of the employee area and toward the private dining room the owners had reserved.

As soon as I entered, I was shooed behind the bar and ordered to start making drinks. “What can I get for you?” I smiled brightly at the two couples in front of me. They looked familiar. Once they started talking, I recognized them immediately. I swallowed hard as I realized I was serving the owners and the couple about to marry.

“Why are you so upset, Harry?” Mr. George asked as he threw an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “You went. You saw. You…”

“Sucked. I suck.” Harry sighed and passed me his empty tumbler. “Crown and Coke, please.”

His fiancée spoke. “You tried. You know how Drew is, pretty much single-minded and utterly determined to ruin his life.” She shook her head sadly. “Look how hard you tried to save him from himself.”

I passed the drink back. “She’s right. You can’t save anyone who refuses to be saved, no matter how much you want to.” Then I bit my bottom lip. “I’m sorry. This is none of my business.” I turned to Mrs. George. “Can I make you a drink?” I asked weakly.

Her head tilted as she studied me. “Actually, I’d love an Amaretto Sour.” Then her shoulders drooped and she grinned up at her husband and laid a hand on her abdomen. “Unfortunately, the baby’s underage. So, I’ll have a ginger ale instead.”

I giggled as I filled her glass. “Congratulations.”

Mr. George pulled her close. “Yes, I managed to impregnate my wife. It was quite the feat, actually.”

She looked at me blandly. “We didn’t use protection the first time we had sex. You’d think he was the only man to knock a woman up so quickly.” Then she rolled her eyes.

After a wink at Mrs. George, I addressed her husband. “Well done, Mr. George.”

“Dear Lord, don’t encourage him,” Harry grumbled. “I don’t know how Kate lives with him.”

“Happily,” she murmured. “So happily.” She smiled at me as I passed her the soda. “Laney, are you ready to be this happy?” She teased her friend.

“Oh, I am, but this happy would be much easier if a certain someone was more pleasant.” She jerked her head toward her fiancé before addressing him directly. “Harry, stop being so sour. You know the only reason you’re being so ugly right now is because you’re convinced Drew is going to ruin the wedding.” Then Laney laid her head on his shoulder. “It will be fine. I don’t expect much, really.”

“What do you mean?” His brow furrowed and he held her close against his side. “Is this about the wedding or the marriage?”

She licked her lips and tried to hide a smile. “The wedding. I have incredibly high expectations for the marriage.”

“Dammit. I’m still going to screw this up,” he joked. Then he planted a kiss on her lips.

Too soon their moment was interrupted. “So, what do you want to do about Drew? You want me to go un-invite him tomorrow? I was going to go see him, my last-ditch effort to get him on board with behaving for the wedding.” Mr. George rubbed his brow. “And we still need to arrange for his transportation.”

“He needs a sitter,” Harry growled. “I’m not having a dry wedding because he can’t hold it together.”

“You could hire a sobriety coach,” I murmured even as I kicked myself. They immediately froze and stared at me. I’d done it now.

“Where would a person find a sobriety coach, and especially on such short notice?” Harry threw his hands up in frustration.

“Well, we could offer a pretty penny to sweeten the deal. The sobriety coach could pick him up on Saturday, get him to the wedding, and take him back to L.A. maybe?” Mr. George rubbed the back of his neck.

Hoping they’d forgotten about me, I turned and began to clean up behind the bar, which took only a few seconds. Then I worked on refilling the garnishes. As I began to pour olives into the container, they started talking numbers.

“I’d pay fifty thousand for the security a sobriety coach could provide,” Harry mumbled.

“Is that all our happiness is worth to you?” Laney sighed.

“Did I say fifty? I meant one hundred thousand.” Harry paused. Apparently, she didn’t look appeased. “Okay, one hundred and fifty?”

“I’ll match your price. We’ll pay someone three hundred thousand.” Mr. George nodded feverishly. “There is a price for sanity. That amount seems fair if it will enable us to relax and enjoy the event.”

“Three hundred thousand dollars for a weekend of work,” Mrs. George marveled. “I’m in the wrong business.”

My jaw dropped, the jar slipped from my grasp and clanked against the counter. All eyes were on me. There was only one way for me to salvage the moment. “Sold.” I shrugged.

“Are you serious?” Mr. George asked with a frown.

I nodded. “Yes, Mr. George. Of course, you’ll have to change my schedule here…”

“Consider it done.” He exhaled deeply. “And from now on, you should probably start calling me Ty.”