Page 29 of Not Your Basic Love Story

On Friday night, I was out with Angelina at one of my favourite places. Tucked in along the wet cobblestone streets of Gastown, near the corner of Water Street and Cordova, we sat in a dimly-lit basement bar set up to look like the inside of an old pirate ship. The aesthetic was on point, with long butcher-block tables, black metal and leather stools, and lights on the wall reminiscent of portholes. There were all sorts of gems like this through the city, but the ambiance here always kept me coming back.

Ever since the wedding, Angelina and I had kept in contact, our friendship something I’d never expected. When Miranda and I were teens, Angelina had been the annoying kid sister, always bursting into her room and wanting to be included, followed by us shooing her out and complaining to Miranda’s mom that she wouldn’t leave us alone. We had more important things to do than hang out with a kid, like doing Cosmo quizzes and putting makeup on each other while eating Nibs and ketchup chips.

Angelina as an adult, though, was awesome. She feared nothing, including other people’s opinions, and she gave her own quite readily and without filter.

“Maybe he's ashamed of you,” she said, sipping her Granville Island lager.

I nearly spat out my drink. “Ashamed of me? Why would he be ashamed of me? I have two engineering degrees, for Christ's sake!”

Angelina laughed. “No, about you being white. My friend Suri is Indian, and she said shehasto marry an Indian guy. I guess her family knows other families and all the eligible boys her age, and she’ll pretty much be set up on dates with whoever they approve of.”

“Like an arranged marriage?”

She paused. “No, it’s not arranged. She has a say in who she marries, she can marry whoever she wants, but they have to be vetted by her family, I guess.”

My stomach knotted as my mind immediately went to Dev’s ex.

Angelina continued. “And my Chinese friend Julie, her mom told her shehasto marry a Chinese guy.Definitelyno Japanese guys.”

“But this is Canada!” I said, a little too loud.

“So? You still want your kids to be married to someone who has the same values as you, right? I mean, how can they be sure you can make Dev happy long term, or raising kids with him if you have no idea what it’s like being Indian? I mean, have you even eaten any Indian food aside from samosas and butter chicken?”

My face reddened. “Yes!”

She waited, one eyebrow raised and a smirk on her face.

“I like naan bread, too!” I hid my smile in my glass.

“But seriously,” she continued, “it’s not really much different for white people. Your parents are Catholic, right?”

“Not practicing.”

“What would they think if you brought a Muslim guy home?”

She had a fair point, though I wanted to deny it. As much as I wanted to believe that in Canada we all held hands and sang Kumbaya, there were still prejudices, racism, and stereotypes abound, especially amongst people from typically rival religions. “Dev’s Sikh, though, and I’m not really sure if he practices it. We don’t talk about religion.”

“Does he know you’re an atheist?”

“I haven’t mentioned it.”

“Have you asked him if his religion is important to him?”

“It hasn’t come up.”

She was exasperated. “What do you guys even talk about, then?”

I took a long sip of my Moscow mule. “We’re busy doing… other things.”

Angelina laughed. “You horn dog.”

I sighed, my smile fading. “Maybe I should take the first step, bring him home to meet my family. If I take the lead and show him I’m serious, maybe that will make him more comfortable introducing me to his own family. I mean, I’m sure if they meet me, it will be fine. Right?”

She shrugged. “That could work.”

“He’ll meet my family first, ease into it, you know. How could they not love him? My dad will be fine. My mom can be… difficult sometimes,” I said, unsure if Angelina had ever met my mom.

“Trust me. I know all about difficult moms.”

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