In six months, Gwen Johnston turns thirty, and when she does, she vows she'll have her life together. She'll no longer be jumping from one job to another, from one relationship to the next. A new, more mature, Gwen will have emerged. She's giving he...
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We're just outside St. Anthony after exploring Newfoundland on the drive. No maps were consulted—Blake just seemed to know all the nooks and crannies to explore on the way here, so much so that I'd say he took us on the long route to his hometown. Not that I can blame him after what he revealed to me the other night.
It's dark and too late for any visiting when the population sign of just over two thousand people comes into focus. We'll find our hotel and crash for the night.
For probably the first time in my life, I'm nervous to meet a boyfriend's family, and I wonder if this is what Blake feels inside about everyone—this intense protectiveness, as though he'd slay a dragon or banish a demon back to hell. Because I would do those things for him. Gladly. Repeatedly. For as long as he'd let me.
I've had boyfriends with fucked up family histories and relationships before, but I have never felt like I'd defend them with my dying breath or even take the weight of their problems onto my shoulders, so they didn't have to carry it anymore.
In the past, I enjoyed watching the conflicts play out, seeing how dysfunctional family members responded to each other. Will kookie Aunt Joan call out cheating Uncle Reg? Will the couple who got pregnant by accident be able to navigate toddler tantrums? Will Blake come out of this wedding the same man who went in? Less of a spectator sport when you're worried that someone lodged in your heart might be hurt by those events, and I never recognized there was a difference.
Sure, I'm protective of my own family members. I'd do anything for my sister, Paige and her family or my parents, but I've never extended that emotion to a boyfriend. Boyfriends, whether I said I loved them or not, were changeable. No roots were laid down. They were the layer of soil I turned over each season to plant something new.
Now, that thought is embarrassing because for the first time in my life, I truly understand how solid a relationship can be. Our roots are deep underground, intertwined in ways that make me think that if he died, I'd die. It's scary to realize that thought doesn't feel like an exaggeration.
The hotel is a quaint green sided two-story building that has all-suites as a point of pride on the sign.
When we enter the spacious but rustic lobby, there's a man standing behind the wide wooden desk, and a grin splits his face at the sight of us.
"Blake!" He comes around the desk to shake Blake's hand. "Ang is going to be thrilled you actually arrived a few days early."
Blake smiles in return, but it's not his real smile, the one that reaches his eyes. "Kellen, it's great to see you. Thanks for reserving a spot for us."
"And this is?" Kellen asks, turning to face me.
"Gwen," I say, jumping in. "We've been traveling together for months."
"Ang has told me all about Blake's American friend," Kellen says, a twinkle in his dark eyes. "This guy hasn't brought many people here. Maybe one other? Back when you were still in university out in BC, right?"
