Page 21 of Not Your Basic Love Story

She half-smiled. “Maybe I won’t go back to work.”

I sat back in my seat, surprised. She’d worked so hard to get into the medical field, worked as a server to pay her way through school, but now that she was married, she was willing to let it all go?

“But you love being a nurse!”

“I know, I do, but nursing is hard work. Even working part-time, I think I’d be burnt out trying to do both. And there’s no reason for it.”

“Aren’t you worried about your independence?”

She shrugged again. “A little. Money is the last thing I have to worry about anymore. It sounds shitty to say, but it’s true. There’s no point in me being stressed out about a job and kids when I can relax and enjoy having a family.”

That rang true. It sounded like she’d put a lot of thought into it. It still made me uncomfortable being so completely dependent on someone else. Perhaps if I had someone like Derek, I’d understand.

She must have noticed the sad look on my face because she reached across the table again and took my hand. “Hey, your time is coming. Okay? Just don’t be afraid to love again. You can start by picking up the damn phone and calling Dev!”

That night, two glasses of wine in, I went for it. I didn’t even text. I called. Like, actually called. Shiraz made me brave.

The phone rang twice, and then he answered. A confused, “hello?”

“Dev? Hey, it’s me. Rebecca.”

“… hey.”

“Hey. Um. Sorry, is this a bad time? I can call back—”

“Nope. Is everything okay?”

Classic gentleman, as always. I tucked my feet underneath myself and exhaled, suddenly unsure of what to say, the speech I’d prepared vanishing from my brain.

“Listen. I just wanted to apologize for not telling you about… about Graham earlier.” Saying his name out loud brought me physical pain. “We were having such an amazing time. I didn’t want to ruin it. I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

A moment of silence. “Okay.”

“Okay. Um.” I pressed onward. Wine, don’t fail me now! “Well, I was thinking, if you’re up for it, could I take you out for dinner or something?”

Another moment of silence. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“… yes.”

“I don’t think a lady has ever asked me out on a date before.”

I smiled into the receiver. “I’m a feminist, remember?”

I could hear him smiling, too. “I remember.”

“Besides,” I added, “you owe me one.”

“I owe you one? How’s that?”

“You barfed on me on the plane.”

He laughed. “That’s true. I did, a little.”

I paused and waited, chewing the skin off my bottom lip.

Finally, he spoke. “Sure. You gave me a chance to start over. I’ll give you one, too.”

My heart leapt. “Okay, great! Um, how about Saturday? Are you okay to come out to Vancouver? I don’t… I use transit.”

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