Page 53 of Not Your Basic Love Story

He sighed and rubbed his hand over his beard. “I don’t know.”

I inched closer to him and kissed his back. “What is it that you want? You. Not what everyone else wants.”

He was silent for a moment, and I gave him time to gather his thoughts. “I want many things. I want you. I want us. I want to forge my own path in life. But I also want my family, and to look after them. I don’t want to neglect my responsibilities.”

My throat felt as if it was closing in on itself, betraying the tears brewing beneath the surface.

He stood, leaving me alone and cold in the bed, and began pulling on his clothes from the night before. I watched him dress, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that this was the end of the road for us. We’d come as far as we could go.

“I need some time to think.” He turned, his mouth forming a half-hearted smile that did nothing to reassure me.

“Is this about what your parents said last night?”

He ignored my question. Bending down, he kissed my forehead and hovered a moment. “I love you,” he whispered. I could tell by his voice that he meant it. And then he walked out of the room.

I sat with my knees tucked up to my chest and listened as he rummaged around the apartment for his things, the door squeaking open and then shutting behind him.

My bottom lip trembled. I allowed the tears to escape. Holding my head in my hands, my heart ached as previous wounds warned me of impending danger.

But I didn’t have time to wallow in self-pity. Today was the day I’d planned to meet with Graham. First things first, though, I had to get a complete picture as to what was going on with Dev.

I got up, wiped away my tears, and jumped in the shower. Feeling somewhat refreshed and energized, I sat down in front of my computer with a hot cup of coffee (with lots of Baileys) and made an ad on Craigslist.

‘WANTED: Punjabi Interpreter’

The rest of the day was a tense blur, anxious nausea surfacing and retreating in waves. I made myself busy going out into the world to grocery shop, cleaning my apartment, doing laundry, and working on my turbine project. I didn’t want to talk to Miranda, lest I accidentally bring up my coffee date with Graham later. No, not date. Coffee… rendezvous? Did that sound more innocent? I also didn’t want to talk to Angelina until I had more information. And Idefinitelydidn't want to talk to my mom. Geez. I needed to branch out, get more friends or something. How do adults even go about doing that?

My phone vibrated with an incoming text in response to my ad. We messaged back and forth to confirm details before deciding to meet at a mid-way point in a bar. It was nearing five o’clock anyway, and I needed a drink to calm my nerves before my coffeerendezvouswith Graham.

It took me longer to get ready than I cared to admit. I’d be heading right from my meeting with the interpreter to see Graham, and I wanted him to see me and think A: I was totally over him and didn’t care what he thought, and B: I was still super attractive, and he was an idiot for letting me go.

I pulled on my Lululemon pants, knee-high tan boots, and a comfortable (but not too comfortable) sweater. I walked the three blocks to the meeting point and entered the dimly-lit bar, already bustling with people ordering their cheap happy-hour drinks and appetizers. A tall, lanky college student with a fledgling beard, a black turban, and a grey Simon Fraser University hoodie flagged me to the booth where he sat.

Reaching across the table, I shook his hand. “Hey, I’m Rebecca.”

“Jagmeet,” he said, his grip confident but not too tight.

I ordered a Caesar, sans tabasco, and he ordered a tea. Then we got down to work. I passed him my phone and played the recording.

“Wow, they’re really angry!” he commented, laughing.

“What are they saying?”

He listened for a while and then paused it. “Do you want the gist, or like, a completely accurate transcription?”

I hadn’t brought anything to write on and felt silly about it now. “The gist is fine, I guess.”

“I’ll try to be as accurate as I can. What’s the context here? Who’s talking?”

“My boyfriend and his parents.”

Jagmeet pressed play. “So. The father says, ‘I can’t believe you would make a decision like this, such a big, important decision, without even talking to us first. What were you thinking? You didn’t even consult the family! Decisions like that involve everyone, not just you acting on a whim.’ The son, your boyfriend, says, ‘It’s not a whim. I’ve put a lot of thought into it. And I’m talking to you about it now.’ The dad says, ‘that’s not the same thing, and you know it.’”

“The mother’s chiming in: ‘People have been gossiping. They know all about your sneaking around. It is ruining your reputation. And not only yours, but your whole family’s. Do you not care about your family?’”

I gulped. I should have been more careful when speaking to Dev’s cousins at his birthday.

Jagmeet continued. “The son says, ‘of course, he cares about the family.’ The mom’s back at it saying: ‘We’ve tried to give you space, to let you come to your senses, but you can’t keep behaving this way. Sleeping over at a woman’s house, both of you unmarried? It’s completely disrespectful, and it’s gone on long enough.’”

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