It was like the world stopped turning. Justin’s face remained stoic and his hands stilled. Mila bit her bottom lip as it quivered, tears threatening to spill. One minute, two minutes, maybe it was ten minutes passed in silence.
Then, Justin’s shoulders shook with laughter and he unsuccessfully tried to stifle his giggles.
“Deported? Really, Mila? Do I look like an idiot?” he managed to speak, laughter threatening to take over his body again. Mila face remained expressionless.
“Yes, Justin, deported. My visa’s been revoked, and they won’t tell me why. I think I may have simply overstayed my visit,” Mila calmly explained, silent tears now staining her still-pale face. Seeing her tears, Justin knew in the deep pit of his stomach that she spoke the truth. His laughter died in his throat, a knot formed and a sense of panic rose in his insides.
“No, no, no…you can’t get deported. You can’t leave me here. I mean, you can’t leave your friends, your job, your house, and your dog,” Justin began to ramble; standing up, he paced the cold tile floors. Mila sighed from her place on the bed, a sense of déjà vu embracing her. This had been her reaction to the news as well.
“I can be and I will be,” she sighed, turning her face away from him as more tears fell from her eyes. He’d never seen her cry in the nearly 3 years that they knew each other.
“Hey, hey…we’ll figure this out. Fuck, I’ve never had to deal with immigration before. But, umm…let’s see. We’ve got to go see a lawyer and find out what we can do,” Justin ramblings didn’t fall on naïve ears.
“I’ve done that. I’ve got two options: marry a US citizen that can adjust my status or leave the country and reapply for another visa, which can take anywhere from 1 year to 5 years,” Mila whispered, reaching a hand to grab his wrist. His movements stopped and his eyes dropped to meet her own.
“I’ve got to leave, Cowboy.” A sad smile and a weak shoulder shrug broke his heart.
“Well, then I’ll come visit you in Italy while we wait. I planned on taking a break after this album anyway. I could use a vacation, plus I could find a studio somewhere and just mess around from time to time. You can show me where you grew up and I could learn more Italian,” Justin rambled, a soft hand reaching out to caress the top of her head. Instinctively, she leaned into his touch.
“J, I’m not going back to Italy. I’ve got to go back to Libya, my home country,” Mila’s cold hand held tightly to his, resting peacefully on her stomach.
“Libya?” he choked, his spirits vanishing in thin air.
“Yeah, Libya, Africa. My entire family is Italian, living in Tuscany, but I was born and raised in Libya – Tripoli to be exact. Daddy worked there, so we lived there. I’ve got to go back October 30th,” she explained.
“Well, then I’ll go to Libya,” Justin pouted, causing a small chuckle to escape Mila.
“We, Libyans, would not welcome your dancing butt,” Mila tried to joke, but she knew it was true. Her country was very conservative, and someone of Justin’s stardom would not be nicely received.
“Then, we’ll get married, and save ourselves flight fees,” he stated, sitting down on the edge of her bed with a definitive nod of his head.
“Are you crazy? I am not marrying you!” Mila sat up, excitement causing her heart monitor to spike.
“Hey! Relax! Jeez woman, would it be that bad?” Justin exclaimed, pushing her back to a laying position and hovering over her.
“Justin, you’re mental! To marry under fall pretenses is a federal offense. Plus, we’re not even dating! How are we going to explain that one?” Mila took a deep breath, and slowly released it, hoping to calm her racing heart.
Before Justin could respond, a nurse walked in and announced that he’d have to leave Mila to rest now.
“Alright then, babygirl. I’ll come by in the morning to take you home. Have a good night and rest up! Love ya bunches,” he sweetly spoke to her, caressing her hair back with a warm hand before leaning down and gently pecking her lips. The startled look on her face made him chuckle.
“We try to keep this private, but I like surprising her sometimes. Take care of my baby, Betty,” Justin charmed the middle-age nurse, reading the name on her nametag. A silent, dumbfounded nod was her response.
“Fuck me, now I’m getting married. Shit, fucking hell…” he mumbled, having closed the door and walking back to the waiting room.
