Page 55 of Not Your Basic Love Story

He looked the same. Sandy brown hair cut close, face clean-shaven. He was dressed in a grey sweater with a black jacket over top. The bags under his eyes were a little darker, perhaps; his rounded baby-face a little pudgier.

As if in a dream, I walked forward and took a seat. We stared at one another for some time. I kept my expression in its standard resting bitch face and waited for him to make the first move.

“I got you a vanilla latte,” he said, his memory of my typical order accurate.

I flicked my gaze down to the cup and then back up to him. “Thank you.”

He fiddled with his cup, heel bouncing up and down under the table.

“Is there a reason you brought me here, or...?” I asked, glad my tone implied I was braver than how I truly felt. Miranda would be proud— after she got over being angry at me for meeting with him in the first place.

“Look, Becky. I made a terrible mistake,” he began.

I took a sip of my lukewarm latte and raised an eyebrow. “Obviously.”

“What I did to you, it was awful. I was an asshole. I see that now. Hell, I saw it then, too. What we had? It was amazing. I’ve never loved another person more than you. And that’s why I did what I did.”

I glared at him. “That makes zero sense.”

“I was scared, Becky. When I looked at you, I saw my future wife. The mother of my children.” He reached across the table and touched my hand.

I withdrew it, my throat tight.

He slid his hand back and took a deep breath. “I was turning thirty. I was starting to get fat. You know I have a complex about that. The kids at school? How they used to call me Chunkalunks? Now it’s all I see when I look in the mirror. I was going bald—am going bald, I mean. It all hit me at the same time, how my youth was behind me.”

“For the record, I never cared that you’re going bald or that you’re overweight.”

“I know, I know. It’s an insecurity thing, and I’ve been working on it with my therapist.”

“This isn’t about your insecurities or about your therapy—which, I’m glad you’re getting help—this is about the fact that you cheated on me.”

Graham sighed. “I know. I feel like such an idiot. I guess when Victor expressed interest... It was an opportunity I never had before. In high school, I didn’t want to consider the fact that I might be queer. I mean, you’ve met my parents. And now, as an adult, I know I’m bisexual, but I’d never had the... chance, you know? To see that side of myself? It’s hard even talking about it.”

He lowered his head as if ashamed. I reached over and took his hand, giving it a squeeze. I wish he hadn’t grown up in such a controlling household. No one should ever feel shame for their sexuality or gender or not adhering to society’s binary idea of what ‘normal’ is. If he’d been given the chance to embrace who he was at a young age, we wouldn’t be here right now.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I don’t care that you’re bisexual, Graham. In fact, I’m proud of you for admitting it and being true to yourself.”

Graham looked up, the dimples on his cheeks showing with his smile. “That’s why you’re so great, Becky.”

I withdrew my hand. “But it doesn’t change the fact that you cheated on me and hid it from me for months. You gaslit me and made me feel like I was crazy.”

He sighed and leaned back against his chair. “I know.”

I continued, anger building. “Then when I found out about Victor and confronted you, told you to stop cheating and just pick one of us... you chose him. Graham, you chose him.” A wave of nausea struck me, and I pushed my cup away.

He stared down at his hands, slouching in his seat. “I had to see it through. Everything with Victor was so new. I had to process those feelings, as well as my feelings for you. I’ve gone over it with my therapist, and I think deep down, I was scared. Scared of leaving my youth behind, scared of never exploring that side of my sexuality, and... scared of being a father. My family life was so fucked up. I didn’t want to repeat that.”

Graham looked up at me, his bright blue eyes misty. “But I’m not scared anymore. I want to settle down, and get married and have kids and... and I want to do it with you. I want to spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I love you, Rebecca.”

My chest ached. It was as if he’d read my diary, if I’d had one, of what I’d hoped he’d say. Now that he had said it, though, I didn’t feel any better. No sense of smug satisfaction, just the cold icy grip over my heart that said,‘Don’t you do it, Rebecca. Don’t let him back in.’

I cleared my throat, fighting to keep the tears at bay. My mind was a tornado of conflicting emotions, and I couldn’t listen to him anymore. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

My chair squealed as I pushed back and got up to leave. He stood, grabbing my wrist. I turned to look at him, my glare evident that his touch was uninvited, and I wasn’t worried about causing a scene.

He released me, his face reddening. “Rebecca. There are no words for how sorry I am. I know what I did is unforgivable, but I’m hoping with some time, perhaps we can start over. We could still have a future together. You know it as well as I do: there’s no one in the world who’s better for you than me. All I want is a chance to be the husband you deserve, to be the father of your children you need. I’m ready. And I know you are, too.”

I turned and left, the pressure of tears threatening to spill down my face as the pain he’d caused months ago resurfaced anew. The last thing I wanted was for him to see me cry.

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