Page 37 of Not Your Basic Love Story

“Thanks, dad,” I said, taking it from Dev and setting it in the trunk amongst our baggage.

I hugged Dad and then climbed into the car, my stomach rumbling for more than light, fluffy pastry. With my direction, we made our way to downtown Victoria and parked. It was a gorgeous day, the weather was warming up, and people were out in droves. We waited in line at a cafe for several minutes before taking a seat. Dev and I ordered giant plates of waffles and fruit, chai tea for him and a vanilla bean latte for me, and played footsies under the table as we chatted about everything and nothing at all.

Stomachs full, we walked out into the sunshine to explore. One of my absolute favourite places in the world is Fan Tan Alley— It’s like if the magic of Diagon Alley and Chinatown had a baby. There are tiny, twisting walkways and pass-throughs, little shops with intricate wooden signs hanging above bright red doorways, and address signs written as fractions. We popped in and out of the shops, both of us equally excited about the treasures they held, as we had nothing but time on our hands. After Chinatown, we meandered down the streets, greeted on either side by old red brick buildings and a slight breeze off the inlet.

Afterwards, we jumped back into Dev’s car and went to Craigdarroch Castle, another landmark everyone should visit their first time to Victoria. It was getting closer to five, so I dialled my mom to see what the plan was for dinner, hoping and praying she’d figured out something that didn’t involve meat.

“Hey, sweetheart!” Mom said on the other line. “Are you two hungry? I made a reservation at this Indian place. I have a coupon!”

I hesitated, looking up to Dev. Never once had my parents ever suggested going out for Indian food. They were doing this on Dev’s behalf. Inwardly I was cringing.

Dev nodded, and I replied that it would be fine. Mom was adamant about relaying the address to me despite explaining that we could Google the location. I rolled my eyes, smiling at Dev as I pretended to take down her instructions.

Once we got into the car, I couldn’t stop myself from fidgeting. The more time we spent with my parents, the greater the likelihood of them doing or saying something embarrassing. We’d had a good visit so far. Short and sweet, the way I liked it. Why chance ruining it with more time together? I was working up the courage to cancel, to pretend I wasn’t feeling well. Picking up on my anxiety, Dev wordlessly reached over and placed his hand on my thigh, giving it a squeeze.

I exhaled, trying to relax.

This was Dev we were talking about, the king of making any possible uncomfortable situation feel perfectly at ease and natural. The man had a gift. I found myself smiling as we pulled up to the restaurant. Inside, my parents were already waiting, drinks set before them. I’d hoped my dad would have dressed a bit better, but I think he threw out all his decent clothes when he retired.

“So, Dev,” Mom said, looking up from her menu. “What’s good here?”

My optimism of everything going smoothly with her getting Dev’s name correct vanished. I can’t believe she implied that Dev should know what was good at a restaurant he'd never been to, simply because his ancestry was from the same continent as the food being served. If it bothered Dev, he didn’t show it. It made me wonder how much casual racism he had to put up with on a daily basis to allow it to run off his back like water off a duck.

“Do you like spicy food?” he asked, picking up the menu to peruse.

The server came, a young girl with gorgeous brown skin and wide, dark eyes. She checked Dev out, and rightly so. He was sexy as fuck, and stuck out amongst the sea of white that was our table. I ordered a coke, and Dev something called a mango lassi.

“Is all the food here spicy?” Mom asked, concern plaguing her brow.

“You could get vindaloo or Kashmiri. I’d stay away from the madra options,” Dev said.

She shook her head with a smile. “Well, it’s good to try new things!”

“Dev, you work in the car industry, right? You mentioned that yesterday,” Dad said, setting his menu down.

“Yes, my family has a few businesses in the automotive industry. I’ve been working between them since I was a kid. Now that I’ve graduated, my father wants me to start taking things over for him.”

“That sounds nice and secure!”

Dev’s smile faded, but only for a moment. “Yes, I’m lucky. My family’s worked hard for me to have such a great career path laid out.”

“Is that what you want to do?” asked Mom.

He hesitated. I was about to change the subject, move on to something less personal, but Dev spoke up. “I’d be a fool to turn down such an opportunity. My dad worked his whole life to build this business with the intention of his son taking over one day. I’m grateful for it.”

It didn’t take a genius to see through Dev’s well-practiced speech. I could see my mom opening her mouth to talk about it more, but thankfully the server was back with our drinks. We relayed our orders. Dev got the veggie madras, me the butter chicken with naan bread, my mom chicken Kashmiri, and my dad the beef vindaloo. I tried Dev’s mango drink, which was like a delicious yogurt smoothie. I wished I’d ordered the same, eyeing my coke with regret.

“Dev, dear, you said you recently graduated college. You must be a few years younger than our Becky, hey?” Mom asked. Why, oh, why did she always have to ask such awkward questions?

I placed my hand on his knee under the table. “It’s only a few years difference, mom,” I said, eyes wide as if I could telepathically encourage her to talk about something else.

“Well, twenty-nine and, what, twenty-six?” Mom sipped her tea.

“Twenty-five,” Dev corrected quietly.

“Twenty-nine and twenty-five is quite a difference when the woman is older.”

“Mom, it’s fine.” My glare intensified.

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