Page 38 of Cross Checking (Off the Bench #2)

LUKE

Heading to the consulate now. Will keep you posted

.

Erik usually replies pretty quickly, but it’s whatever. He’s probably coaching, and I have to apply for that visa. After gathering my documents into a folder, I head downstairs, into the subway, and up to the French Consulate on Bloor Street.

Once I’m inside, the scene that greets me is placid. The guard at the front tells me to turn my phone off, and I take a ticket from the scheduling machine.

I’m called within five minutes—so much for the chaos my dad warned me about.

The agent at counter three sighs when I walk up. “Yes? What do you need?”

I empty the contents of my folder onto the counter. “Hi, good afternoon,” I say in French, which makes the agent’s surly expression soften a little. “I would like to apply for the French ancestry visa on the basis of having a French grandparent.”

“The what?”

Uh oh.

“My dad said that there’s some visa for people with French grandparents?” I say, sliding my dad and grandmother’s French passports over to separate them from the pile.

The agent mutters to himself while leafing through the pile of paperwork. “No such thing exists. Did you do any research before coming here?”

“I trusted my dad. He told me he knew what he was talking about.”

“Well, your father misled you. He was poorly informed and incorrect.”

Ouch .

“But—”

He sticks up a finger. “Hold on,” he says, flipping through my documents. “This French passport is your father’s, correct? And this is your birth certificate?”

I nod.

“You don’t need a visa. You need to apply here for confirmation of French nationality.”

“Huh?” I stare blankly back at the agent.

“Uh, you can apply for a French citizenship certificate now,” he repeats in English.

“I got that, but nationality ?”

“Yes, your father held a French passport which means he is a citizen, and so are you. The Government recently passed legislation that allows foreign missions to process these applications instead of the Judicial Courts in France.” He sighs, heavier than before.

“My workload is now double, but that’s beside the point.

Please fill out form 16237 and take another ticket from the front. Now go.”

I accept the form, which is more like a thick booklet, and plop it on a side counter to fill it out. Written at the top, in large, bold French text, is the title: Application for Certificate of French Nationality.

That’s when it hits me.

I’m French, apparently.

That lets me live anywhere in the EU. I can move to Sweden as soon as I have my documents.

Holy fucking shit. This is perfect.

With no time to spare, I race through the form, filling it in with the black pen I thankfully had the foresight to bring with me. I take another ticket and get called up almost immediately, given that the consulate is empty today.

“Hi, good afternoon. I have a citizenship certificate application,” I say, handing over the booklet and my folder of documents.

The agent leafs through the form, glances at my dad’s old passport, rifles around some more, and types something into her computer.

“Sign on the screen in front of you, please.”

I comply and wait in silence for a few more minutes.

The agent clears her throat and jolts me back to attention. “Your certificate is approved. You can pick it up in around two weeks. Please pay the consular processing fee of fifty euros and we will provide a temporary confirmation for use in the meantime.”

I tap my card on the debit machine. “Already? That was fast.”

The agent gives me a terse smile. “Yes, we’re getting better with bureaucracy, and the digital national database helps, too. Once you have the certificate in hand, you may apply here for an ID card and your passport.”

This is a lot. I really need to update my dad on the positive developments in French government bureaucracy over the last fifty years.

I mumble a quick thanks in French, and she returns it before tapping at her computer. I sit down and collect myself, scanning over the plain-typed French text on the confirmation receipt in my hands.

Agent 4917, under the authority of the Consul General of France in Toronto, Canada, acting on behalf of the French Judiciary, certifies, on the basis of the documents provided, that

LUCAS GAbrIEL TREMBLAY, born in TORONTO, CANADA

IS FRENCH

in accordance with Article 18 of the Civil Code.

This document confirms the holder’s eligibility for the issuance of a Certificate of French Nationality.

I’m French.

Erik is gonna love this, and I race out of the consulate to call him.

I don't connect, so I text instead.

Yo I’m French!!!

Not Delivered

.

Huh, that’s odd, but the rink might be a dead zone. Stuffing my overflowing folder of documents into my backpack, I walk back home, and once I’m inside, I slump down at my dining table. It’s after three in the afternoon, which is when Erik says his workday ends, so I try to call him again.

Again, the call doesn’t connect.

Maybe he always turns his phone off during coaching and his session went overtime. That’s probably the case. I’ll give him a few more hours to get back to me.

A few hours pass, Erik does not get back to me, and my texts to him still haven’t gone through. I’m pacing around my apartment, likely annoying the shit out of my downstairs neighbors, but I don’t care.

At five, my impatience gets the better of me.

Maybe I’ll text Nils and ask if he’s heard from Erik.

Fuck no. Texting his friends for details when he takes six hours to reply? That’s obsessive.

But his texts aren’t delivering at all, so maybe I’d be justified.

Hey Nils, sorry to message out of the blue like this, but I wanted to see if you’re able to reach Erik. I’m trying to give him some news but the texts are bouncing back

Nils Enlund

Yo it’s my favorite bf in law

Okay, at least Erik hasn’t decided to break up with me and block my number out of nowhere.

Yeah so I sent him 50 messages (mostly memes) and he hasn’t opened any of them

He’s such an asshat sometimes

Anyway it’s probably a problem with his phone. Maybe call the camp and ask to talk to him

Thanks Nils

Np. Send updates

Btw what’s the news if you don’t mind sharing

I found out that I’m French

No way

Croissant croissant

WAIT

You can move here!

Yeah haha I’m hyped

A quick scroll through my text thread with Erik informs me that he’s coaching at the Minneapolis Elite Training Camp, so I find their number and dial it.

The line crackles and a bored voice comes through. “You’ve reached the Minneapolis Elite Training Camp central switchboard. How can I direct you?”

“Hi, I’d like to speak with Erik Norberg. He’s coaching U20.”

Silence.

“Your name, please?”

I give it, and more silence pours through the phone before the voice comes back. “Luke Tremblay is not an approved contact for anyone in our system.”

“Look, I’m his partner,” I say, putting emphasis on the word “partner.” “I think his phone broke, and if I can’t speak to him directly, could you pass along my contact details?”

“Our camp hosts high-profile professional athletes from across the world. You need to be on the approved contact list provided by each league if you would like to reach anyone through us.”

Shoot. “Okay,” I mutter.

“Sorry I couldn’t help. Was there anything else?”

“Nope, thank you!” I say through a grimace. The line clicks.

It’s whatever. Actually, it isn’t whatever because I’m sitting on amazing news that’s burning a hole in my mouth.

I update Nils, but he’s probably asleep and doesn’t text back. Frustrated, I spend the rest of the evening puttering around the house and keeping busy, with no update from Erik coming in before I fall into a restless sleep.

The next morning, I wake up way too early at seven, and I immediately check my phone. A text from Silja is waiting for me.

Silja Gronvall

Hey Luke! Nils and I stalked the Elite Camp’s social media and we found Erik in the background of a story they posted yesterday

So he’s alive!

She sends a screenshot of the story in question, with Erik circled in red.

Thanks! Tried to call the camp last night but they wouldn’t put me through

Said something about SHL privacy restrictions

Yeah Nils tried too and they said the same thing

I’m in the middle of typing out a reply when a barrage of notifications interrupts me.

Nils Enlund added you and Silja Gronvall to the group “Finding Erik”

Nils Enlund

This is an emergency

Erik has gone off the grid

Incoming Video Call from Nils Enlund in the group “Finding Erik”

It’s not even eight in the morning and this is too much chaos. I pick up anyway.

Nils booms through my speakers. “Luke, are you taking a nap?”

What? “No? I woke up a minute ago.”

“You look like that right after waking up? No wonder Erik is obsessed with you.”

I have bedhead and chapped lips. What is he even talking about?

“Anyway,” he says as Silja walks in and joins him. “I’m calling you to discuss the severe crisis that has befallen us, and it must be resolved at the earliest opportunity.”

Holy corporate-speak. Nils is giving me a run for my money. “Crisis? Erik’s phone is off, it’s hardly a crisis.”

“Why am I more concerned about your boyfriend going missing than you?”

I groan. “He isn’t missing , Nils.”

“But he is,” Nils insists. “Nobody can reach him at all!”

“We literally saw him alive and well in the camp’s story,” Silja deadpans, but Nils is on a roll.

He fixes me with an intense, pointed expression. “Luke. You need to do a grand gesture and get through to him.”

I cock my head. “Come again?”

“Grand gesture. Send him a food delivery with your phone number in it.”

“That camp is locked down so tight, I don’t think they’d let anything in,” I mutter.

Silja pipes up. “Maybe you could tip the driver to say that he’ll get fined if the delivery doesn’t go through.”

“Maybe,” I say. “I don’t think that would work. The only person who cares enough to talk their way through Elite Camp security is gonna be me.”