Page 45 of Not Your Basic Love Story

Easier said than done.

The white crushed stone driveway crunched beneath our feet as we walked to the front door. Before he could open it, the door swung inward. A petite girl that looked about eighteen burst through the doorway and hugged me before I could even realize what was going on.

“Welcome!” she chimed.

I patted her on the back and looked up to Dev, who was scratching his beard with an apologetic smile. “Rebecca, this is my sister Priya. Priya—”

“I know who she is. Come inside! Wow, you’re gorgeous! Pictures don’t do you justice.” Priya pulled me by the hand into their home.

The entryway was wide with honey-coloured wood floors and a rounded staircase that wound its way up to the second floor. To my left were French doors opening to an office with large, ornate wooden furniture and heavy drapes framing the windows. Down the hall was a living area with giant south-facing picture windows, catching the last rays of sunlight that lit up the expansive backyard. An impeccably maintained lawn met the blueberry fields in the distance. The smell wafting down the hall was fabulous: fresh bread and curry.

“Leave your shoes on,” Priya ordered.

I glanced over my shoulder at Dev, who shook his head in disagreement. I kicked off my shoes while Priya continued pulling me along.

“Mama! Papa! She’s here!” she shouted, her voice echoing.

The kitchen was massive, with white marble countertops, a matching backsplash, and muted walnut cabinets that complimented the floor. Behind the giant island, stirring a pot on their six-burner gas stove, was Dev’s mom. She was wearing tasteful black slacks and a deep navy blouse, her gold jewelry a perfect accent. She turned from her cooking, her eyes quickly scanning up and down my dress. I averted my gaze, nervous under her scrutiny. I should have picked something less revealing.

Priya released my hand as Dev came up beside me. I prepared for a reassuring touch, something I’d grown used to, but instead, he stood about a foot away, his hands behind his back.

“Mom,” he said, “this is Rebecca.”

I forced my shoulders to relax and conjured the best smile I could.

She set down her spoon, wiped her hands on a dishtowel, and then made her way around the island to greet us. Dev kissed her on both cheeks, and I held out my hand for her to shake.

“Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Singh,” I said.

“Oh, please call me Shawan,” she said and then moved past my hand to kiss both of my cheeks as she had with her son. “Can I get you something to drink?” she offered, stepping away.

“Um, sure. Water, please, thanks.”

Dev gestured towards a stool next to the island, and I sat gratefully, not entirely trusting my legs. Priya was perched on the countertop with a grin, looking from me to Dev. She was dressed casually, in tight jeans and a long-sleeve t-shirt with some sort of anime pictures on it, making me feel silly and overdressed. At least Dev still had his business-casual clothes on from work. He sat next to me as his mother set down two cold glasses.

Shawan moved back to the stove. Before an awkward silence could fully set in, a large man with a purple turban and long black beard with a grey stripe down the middle entered the room.

“Hello, there!” he greeted, his arms out, welcoming. Aside from his turban, he was dressed as most older middle-aged men I knew would be—other than my father whose taste in clothes ranged from ‘about to mow the lawn’ to ‘going on a trip to Walmart.’ A purple button-up shirt matched his turban and was complimented by dark grey slacks and slippers. His eyes were identical to Dev’s, and his presence filled the room with warmth and comfort. I liked him immediately.

Standing, I held out my hand.

He jokingly pushed it aside and opened his arms, beckoning for a hug. I obliged, his embrace feeling like home.

Releasing me, he held me at arm’s length. “Oh, Jagdev, she is a beauty, this one!” he said, his eyes twinkling.

I blushed and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. Dev appeared behind me, and my heart swelled at the proud look on his face.

“Rebecca, this is my father, Jagraj,” Dev introduced.

“You can call him Jag,” Priya called from her perch.

“That’s why you go by Dev,” I realized.

Dev shrugged. “Otherwise, it gets confusing.”

“Mama usually yells everyone’s name when she gets mad,” Priya laughed.

Shawan tutted from her place at the stove, then spoke a string of words in Punjabi. Priya responded in what sounded like a snarky, teenage tone. Then, suddenly everyone was speaking Punjabi. I looked from face to face as this went on for a minute or two.

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