I’m in the room for a little more than an hour and a half. It feels crazy fast and painfully slow at the same time, and when I’m done, that’s it.

I’m done.

My thesis has been submitted to the university.

I’ve completed a robust oral defence in front of the dissertation committee.

I’m. Done.

A PhD that I applied for on a lark, in an attempt to buy five more years before getting sucked into the family business, that taught me so much about myself and the world and women and business, is now one beat away from being complete.

The rest of my life stretches in front of me, and it feels very weird.

Also, wonderful.

I take a deep breath as I step out of the small lecture room we used for my defence. On the door is a paper sign.

I pace across the hall and wait in front of the window while the committee deliberates.

It takes ten minutes. Dr. Turnbull pushes the door open and gestures for me to re-enter.

“On behalf of the committee, I am pleased to inform you that we consider your thesis and the defence you have just presented to be of top quality. Congratulations, you have unanimously passed this oral exam.”

There’s some paperwork to sign, then handshakes all around.

When I step out of the room again, Tate is waiting at the end of the hall.

“You sneak,” I whisper when I reach him. “Where have you been hiding?”

“Ellie introduced me to the graduate program coordinator. She’s a fan.”

“I’m aware.” I take his hand and squeeze his fingers. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

“So…”

He raises his eyebrows. “Yes?”

“I passed.”

“I never had any doubt you would.”

I exhale and do the world’s fastest happy dance before I settle down again. “Now, to dinner.”

“Don’t make that face. We’re going to the best steakhouse in the city.”

“Yes, but we won’t be alone.”

“Do I look worried about that?”

I shake my head. “I love you. But your optimism is entirely out of place in the Brewster family.”

We’re the first to arrive at the restaurant. My parents arrive next.

“Well,” my father booms a little too loudly. “How did it go?”

“I got a gold star on my popsicle-stick art project,” I say because I can’t help myself.

Tate snorts and my mother sighs.

“It went well. I’ll graduate next month.”

“And then you’re off to Iceland?” My dad says that like we’re moving to a hippie commune.

“For a much-deserved vacation, yes we are. Midnight sun and all that.” Naked hot springs, too, but I remember to keep that part to myself.

The door to restaurant swings open, and in walk Tate’s parents. His mom gives me a reassuring smile. We’ve only met once, and she guessed that I was the person who ate most of her Christmas dinner leftovers.

I’m really not sure how tonight is going to go.

Introductions are made, then we’re seated before the conversation can resume or turns sideways. Tate asks my father what he would like to drink—“How do you feel about sharing a bottle of wine, sir?”—and then we look at our menus.

So far, so good.

This is the third shared meal we’ve had with my parents.

The first was frosty and awkward, and went on far too long.

The second was deliberately short, a workday lunch in Toronto where my father could only drop by for thirty minutes.

Tonight, though, we’ve got hours ahead of us. And the Nilssons are such ardent Tate-fans, which I understand, but I’m worried my parents might bristle at.

It takes twelve minutes for my father to get to his favourite concern. “When do you go back to Vancouver again, Tate? Middle of the summer?”

“End of, sir.”

“A lot of time to spend away from my daughter.”

Oh, it’s so tempting to point out that any time we do spend together is occupied by orgasms, so really, I’m not sure he should protest us being on opposite sides of the country.

But I don’t.

I busy myself with squeezing my lemon into my water.

Tate squeezes my knee under the table. “It’s almost three months apart over the year, that’s right. But between travel that we can coincide—a week together in New York, the time she’d want to spend in Los Angeles anyway, and of course, any time she wants to be in Vancouver—it’s more family time than you might think. And as you know…” He gestures towards his own parents. “Family is the most important thing to me.” He looks at me. “And Sasha is my family.”

“We’d love to see you set a wedding date,” Tate’s mom says. She turns to my mother. “Will you want to have the wedding in Toronto?”

Hey. My wedding, my location.

Tate squeezes my knee again.

My mom looks at me, then looks at my father, then lifts her wine glass. “That’s up to Sasha, but I think she’d probably rather have it here.”

Well, knock me over with a feather. “Probably, yes. It’s easier to plan with a home base, too.”

“On the other hand,” my mother says. “Your apartment is awfully small. At home, we’d have more room for you and your bridesmaids to get ready.”

I bite my lip. Totally walked into that trap. “Well…”

My father raises his eyebrow.

“The thing is…”

Tate clears his throat. “Sasha’s giving up her apartment. We have a big house here that has more than enough room for everyone to get ready for any event, including a wedding.”

“Tate’s house is lovely,” his mother says, trying to help.

“Not just my house anymore, Mom,” he corrects her. “Sasha will put her stamp on it while I’m away, too.”

The second spare room is going to be all about shoes. I haven’t told him that, though. “I’ll move in July, once we’re back from our trip.”

“How…modern,” my father says, and I give up on the lemon water. That’s for people with patience.

I grab my wine glass and lift it in the air. “Yep. That’s me. Unrepentantly twenty-first century. Sin and—”

“It’s high time for a toast, don’t you think?” Tate gives me a fully amused look that promises he’ll be calling me a brat later. “To my fiancée. Soon-to-be Dr. Brewster, who will be buying all of us dinner tonight because she’s building a business empire. Sasha, I am your biggest fan, and I can’t wait to see what the next year brings for you.”

“She’s not buying dinner,” my father thunders, and I start laughing.

“It’s a joke, Dad,” I say, but I’m looking at Tate. His eyes are twinkling.

Love you, I mouth.

Love you more, he mouths back. And as much as I do love him, with every inch of my being, I believe that he just might.