Page 86 of Not Your Basic Love Story

There was no time to waste. Best to jump back in, to find someone who would erase the memory of Dev’s body on mine, the feel of his beard on my cheeks as he kissed me, the touch of his hands on my body. His smell. God, his smell. The way he breathed on my neck, the sounds he made when he was close, the sounds he made when he knew I was close, the satisfied look in his eye when he brought me pleasure—

Those memories had to be overwritten. I had to move on. I had to stop thinking about him with me, about him with Sonja, about him altogether.

I began swiping. I swiped right on everything. Guy holding a fish? Right. Guy flexing in the gym? Right. Guy making a duck face in the mirror? Right. Guy complaining about his baby momma? Fuck it. Right.

Then, a familiar face popped up, and I nearly choked on my saliva.

Graham.

He was on Tinder. No doubt doing the same thing I was, trying to move on. Trying to find someone so he wouldn’t die alone. Looking at him like this, with only a picture and a short caption outlining his job and height, it made him look so innocent. If I hadn’t already known him, I would have swiped right in an instant. He was good-looking. He seemed responsible. He looked like the type of guy I wouldn’t mind dating, wouldn’t mind looking at forever, wouldn’t mind the eventual bored repetition of long-term marriage with. He looked like he might make a good dad, help with the diapers and the homework, and teach the kids to ride their bikes.

But I did know him. I knew the sex would quickly devolve from decent to dull. I knew his cooking repertoire rotated between chicken with rice and spaghetti. I knew he was a good liar.

Grouped amongst these other Tinderers, were all those traits that bad? The qualities of all the other men unknown, yet to be discovered, could be much worse. Drugs, possibly. Gambling habits. Abusive tendencies. My mind circled back to the same idea; with Graham, at least I knew what I was getting into.

And here he was, on Tinder, staring back at me. He’d found a way to reach me, despite being blocked on my phone.

Was it a sign?

I didn’t believe in signs.

… Maybe I should start.

My thumb hovered between the swipe buttons. Right or left. Right or left.

What would my parents think? They’d liked Graham well enough, didn’t they? If I forgave him, they could, too.

What would Miranda think? I shook my head. Who cares what Miranda thought. She was already married, pregnant, and living her happily ever after. I could settle for slightly less. Even a fraction of what she had would be better than my current situation. As a feminist, I knew I didn’t need a man to complete me, but dammit, I didn’t want to end up alone, either.

His explanation from ourrendezvousswirled within my mind. I understood why he did it. It made sense. He wasn’t ready to let go of other possibilities, of closing a door to a side of his sexuality he hadn’t had a chance to explore yet.

My stomach soured, recalling our last fight. I’d found out about Victor, how they’d been sleeping together behind my back for months, how Graham had been lying about it the whole time, and how everyone seemed to know except me. If he’d just told me, instead of lying, instead of hiding, things could have been different.

If he’d chosen me, when I’d given him the ultimatum, instead of Victor...

Things would be different.

But he’d lied to me. And he'd chosen someone else.

And I never wanted to be someone’s second choice.

My thumb hovered over the icon. I’d told myself I would swipe right on everyone, as Miranda had instructed when Graham and I had broken up months ago. But this wasn’t right. It wasn’t what I needed. Not being with Dev didn’t mean I had to reduce myself to going back to someone who held so little respect for me. If it meant being alone for a while, to eventually taking a risk and opening up to someone else, then it was what I would do. If it meant waiting for my happily ever after, perhaps indefinitely, then that’s what I’d do.

My plans of getting married by thirty, having babies alongside my best friend, they were just plans. They were arbitrary. Real life was different, and it didn’t care about my plans, or the ridiculous timeline I’d set for myself. Life existed after thirty. Love existed after thirty. And even if it took me my whole life to find it, I wouldn’t give up.

I swiped left, and Graham’s face disappeared. The oxymoronic sensation of relief and anxiety washed over me as a stranger’s face took his place. I inhaled a steadying breath, feeling that sense of closure I’d been looking for.

After all this time, it wasn’t Graham who needed to give me closure.

It was myself.

As I settled in to continue swiping, the buzzer sounded at my door.

Grunting, I got up from the couch and pressed the button to let the delivery person up before shrugging on my robe to hide my exposed nipples under my threadbare and heavily stained tank top. A moment later, there was a knock at the door. I opened it, expecting pizza and wine, to see my dad instead.

“Dad! What are you doing here?” I pulled my robe a little tighter. I’d completely forgotten they were still in town. He’d probably tried to text and call me. I dropped my gaze, feeling guilty for ignoring him.

He looked at me with doe eyes, his mouth pressed into a firm line. “On our way back to the ferry. You weren’t answering your phone. Thought I’d drop this off.”

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