But then, I wondered if Ian appreciated that spirit of adventure more than he would appreciate boring, cautious me. It was this never-ending cycle of self-doubt that was messing me up, big time.
“I’m worried,” I blurted, tears rising to humiliate me at the moment I most wanted to be the strong, confident one in the conversation. “I’m worried that Ian isn’t going to be interested in me when I’m not as ‘yay, fucking other couples!’ as you were and Gena was. I’m afraid I’m not going to be as good as you—”
“Penny, don’t do that to yourself. Besides, Ian isn’t like that.” Sophie’s brows drew together in a remorseful frown.
“Can you at least tell me why you thought we’d be good together? I mean, we are. I know it’s ridiculously soon to say that, but I was instantly attracted to him. His personality and mine mesh so well. And there was this fortune cookie—”
Sophie raised an eyebrow. I didn’t know if she had any superstitions of her own, but I know she thought mine were extremely silly.
I was going to tell her anyway. “Ian got a fortune cookie that said he would meet the love of his life this summer. And Labor Day is next Monday. Oh, and it was so awkward when he got that, but I got a fortune that said humor would help get through a moment of awkwardness. That’s not coincidence, Sophie. There’s no such thing as coincidence.”
“Well, it definitely sounds like you believe you’re the love of Ian’s life,” she said, stopping just short of “I told you so”.
The waiter returned with a seltzer water with two slices of lime for Sophie, a Coke for me. Sophie toyed with her glass as she spoke. “I know you had a really difficult time after you and Brad broke up. So I thought, well, her heart is wounded. Whoever she dates next is going to have to be someone who understands that. Ian and Gena split up… Really, she left him. And I realized that he was going to need someone who understood the need to go slow, too. Plus, you both said similar things about wanting a family. It seemed like the timing was…”
“Fate?” I suggested.
She nodded with a resigned smile. She hated being wrong. “Okay. You got me. I do believe in fate. Because I have to. It’s the reason why Neil and I are together. We met six years before we actually started dating. He didn’t even give me his real name at the time. We should have never seen each other again, but everything fell into place, and now, here we are.”
How was I supposed to argue with her, when she was saying basically the same thing I’d been saying for years? That fate brings people together, that there is someone out there, my true love, just waiting for me.
All the signs were pointing to Ian. And I was okay with that.
Still, what she’d done wasn’t right, and I wasn’t going to let her slide past that. “Maybe in the future, don’t set other people up with people you’ve slept with.”
“Fair enough.” She shook her head. “I am really sorry. But I’m not sorry you guys are getting along so well, even if it’s super fast.”
“I keep feeling like I should pump the brakes, but then, I really don’t want to.” I’d already heard some of Sophie’s embarrassing sex stories when I’d tagged along on her bachelorette weekend, so I didn’t feel too weird adding, “And I’m kind of thinking that maybe the whole virginity thing…”
Sophie tilted her head. “Are you thinking about having sex with Ian?”
My face got so hot they could have cooked our meal on it. “Am I considering it? Maybe. Am I thinking about it? All the time. But you don’t go for years and years being afraid of something, then suddenly go, oh, hey, I’ve been on two dates with you, let’s bone.”
“Lots of people think, oh hey, I’ve been on two dates with you, let’s bone,” she pointed out. “Look, if my impression of Ian is right—and having discussed this whole setting-you-up situation with Neil, I’m ninety-nine percent sure that it is—then he’ll be fine with waiting for you. On the other hand, he would probably be fine with having sex with you if you drove over to his place right now and got on him.”
“When you put it that way, it sounds so romantic,” I deadpanned.
Sophie pressed her hand over her heart. “My baby snarked me. You’re growing up so fast.”
* * * *
“Wow, someone’s jeans are tight,” Rosa said with a low whistle. “I would definitely hit on you, if you weren’t… You know. You.”
“Thanks, that really works wonders for my confidence.” I leaned closer to the mirror in our tiny bathroom to carefully draw on a wing of eyeliner. I had to leave the door open to do my hair and makeup, otherwise the leftover steam from my shower and the heat from my blow dryer would have made the room unbearable. It was so hot I skipped my curling iron in favor of just straightening everything with a round brush.
“Your middle-aged boyfriend is taking you bowling, huh?” she teased. “So, is he on a league?”
“Shut up.” I blinked and examined my handiwork. Both sides were nearly symmetrical in appearance. Nerves upped my makeup game like crazy. “I’ll have you know that the place we’re going looks very hip.”
“Of course it’s hip. It’s in a gentrified neighborhood. Hipsters live to force low-income residents out of the city and ironically appropriate their working class interests.” She shook her head.
She had a point there. “I really wish you would reserve judgment of Ian until you actually meet him.”
“Sorry,” she said, though I knew she wasn’t actually sorry about her gentrification comment, and she shouldn’t have been, anyway. “But I’m worried about you. Older guys go after younger women all the time, and it never works out.”
“He isn’t ‘going after’ me. We were set up on a blind date. And besides, sometimes, it works out. Look at Neil and Sophie.” I shouldn’t have brought them up as an example; I knew it the moment it came out of my mouth. Rosa had never met either of them, but she knew of them from the occasional mention in a magazine and had formed a pretty definite opinion of what made their marriage work. It involved dollar signs and the faint suggestion of midlife crises.
“I’m just saying, you’re planning on deciding on Monday if this guy is the love of your life. Doesn’t that strike you as kind of scary?”
“I’m not deciding anything. On Monday, I’m going to find out if I’m the love of Ian’s life. And yes, it’s very scary. Everything that I’m feeling about him is scary.” I shrugged. “It just makes it seem more…real.”
“Okay. It’s your life. I’m not going to interfere anymore,” she said, holding up her hands.
“Yes, you are.” I stepped back from the mirror and smoothed down my T-shirt. V-neck with a push-up bra, and I planned to do a lot of leaning over. Rosa was right. My jeans were really tight. With Ian, I felt comfortable looking sexy. Maybe because with Brad, anything I wore got criticized. I’d either been too hot and a “tease”, or too buttoned up and “frigid-looking”.
It’s amazing the kind of personal baggage you shed when you let go of someone super toxic.
“Okay, how do I look?” I asked, turning around and holding my breath.
Rosa considered. “Like Amanda.”
Amanda’s penchant for tight, low-cut apparel affected Rosa the way the light on a pilot fish attracts other fish. So I took it as a compliment.
I took the subway to Ian’s place, but I would lie and tell him I took a cab, because for some reason, men always seem think a woman is destined for rape and murder on the subway. When we’d met for lunch earlier in the week, he’d been appalled I’d braved the same line I took to and from work every day. I understood he cared about me not dying, but I did not like the overprotective vibe.
I rang the buzzer at his place, which, unlike the one at my building didn’t not give me a shock, and he met me downstairs. He wore jeans and a black button down with the sleeves rolled up, and I stared at his forearms the way he stared at my chest, so I guess we were even on the objectification front.
He put his arm around my waist briefly to lean in and kiss my che
ek. “You look lovely, as ever.”
“Thanks. I’m digging this scruffy thing you’ve got going on,” I said, pointing to his hair. Most of the times I’d seen him, with the exception of after our impromptu pool date, his hairstyle had been a very controlled, Cary Grant side part. Now he looked more fourth-date casual, and less like a guy you’d buy a casket from.
He reached up self-consciously and combed his fingers through his hair. “Scruffy?”
“Not in a bad way,” I hurried to assure him. “In a perfect-for-bowling way.”
“Ah, yes, bowling. About that,” he said with a grin. “There’s been a change of plans.”
I’m always on the fence about whether or not I like surprises, but if Ian had plans to whisk me off somewhere exciting, I was in. “I’m listening.”
As we walked to the small parking lot beside his building, he asked, “How do you feel about aquariums?”
“Um. Like they’re awesome.” I paused. “But also like they’re not open at eight o’clock on a Saturday night.”
“You’re right. They usually aren’t. But interestingly enough, I know someone who is a major donor to the New York Aquarium. And they have recently acquired a new Pacific octopus.” He let that just hang there, tantalizing me with the suspense.
“And?”
“And I thought you might like to meet him,” Ian said with a shrug. “I mean we could always go bowling—”
“No!” I shrieked. This could not be happening to me. I hadn’t had any time to prepare. How could I just go and meet an octopus? “I can’t… I mean, do I look all right?”
“Do you think an octopus is going to care what you’re wearing?” He laughed. Then he put both hands on my upper arms and leaned down to look me in the eye. “If octopods are attracted to people, and who knows, they very well might be, I’m sure he’ll find you just as sexy as I do.”
Ian thought I was sexy. Not that I hadn’t guessed before, after our make-out at the pool. But now my octopus feelings and my Ian feelings were getting all mixed up and combining into one giant ball of endorphins.
“Okay.” I rubbed my sweaty palms on my thighs. “Let’s do it. Let’s go meet the octopus.”
On the ride to Coney Island, I managed to maintain an actual conversation with Ian, somehow. I have no memory of what we talked about, so I hoped very much it wasn’t important. All I could see in my head was a line of octopus emoticons, stretching into eternity. When we arrived, we didn’t go through the front entrance, but a man with a wiry white mustache and a nylon windbreaker emblazoned with the aquarium logo met us at an employees-only door.
“You must be Burt’s friend,” the man said, thrusting his hand out to Ian. “And this is your—”
“Date,” Ian said quickly, probably to avoid the man guessing “daughter”. Ian cleared his throat. “Penny Parker. Octopod enthusiast.”
“Hi!” I grabbed the man’s hand between both of mine and shook it way too vigorously. “It is an honor to meet you.”
“I don’t actually work with the octopus,” he told me, looking as worried as I would have expected someone whose hand was being squeezed to a pulp by a stranger would be.
“This is Jim Bronner,” Ian explained to me. “He works on the money side.”
“Your friend here knows one of our extremely valued donors,” Jim explained. “Why don’t you guys come on in.”
One time, Rosa had described for me what it had felt like going backstage at an N’Sync concert. This felt exactly how she’d described it.
“He’s not in his exhibit, yet. You’ll be able to get up close,” Jim told us as he led us down a hallway that looked like it could have belonged in a hospital, a far cry from the decorated and themed visitor areas.
“Up close?” I looked nervously to Ian. He just smirked back at me, clearly pleased with himself. As he should have been; this was going to be in my top ten lifelong memories.
“She’s a wee bit nervous,” he said as we paused for Jim to slide his badge through a card reader.
“Why nervous?” he asked, as though it was just every day someone could wander up and meet an enteroctopus dofleini.
Before I could answer, Ian spoke for me. “She’s afraid the octopus is going to be wearing the same outfit, and she’ll have to go change.”
I laughed the loudest, dorkiest laugh anyone has ever laughed. Ian looked very pleased with himself.
The sign on the door said, “Fish Quarantine,” but the room beyond was a surprisingly calm environment. I would have expected a place that had an octopus to be more frantic with science. Instead, various tanks bubbled away against the walls, and two large ones ran down the center of the room. There was a long workstation with a computer and various papers and clipboards, and a coffee maker, the kind you’d see in a roadside diner, with the brown and orange tops on the pots. A gentle, but loud, hum filled the air, like the noise of a fish tank filter combined with the sound inside an airplane.
A middle-aged woman with dark brown skin and salt-and-pepper hair was leaning over one of the tanks, a gloved arm groping for something on the bottom.
“Vivian?” Jim called, and she startled.
“I didn’t even hear you come in.” She laughed. “The stupid cap fell off my marker, and I can’t reach it. And these little jerks are not helping.”
As we watched, two very bright yellow fish floated closer to her hand, then darted in to strike it before backing off, again.
“Gimme a hand. Or just your arm, that’s all I need.” She withdrew her dripping glove, peeled it off, and tossed it into the utility sink behind her. She smiled at Ian and I and said, “You’re here to see the new baby?”
“It’s a baby?” That was a bit disappointing. Not that babies weren’t cool. I was hoping to see a fully-grown one. At least, as fully grown as they get in captivity. But I would take what I could get.
“No, he’s about four feet long. But we’re as excited over him as a new baby,” she said, extending the hand that hadn’t just been digging around in a tank. We did our shakes as she introduced herself. “I’m Vivian Jackson, I’m the director of animal care here at the aquarium.”
“Wow, and you’re the one who’s going to be showing us the octopus?” This was so much better than meeting a member of a boy band. “I’m so honored!”
She had the grace to not look totally weirded out by that. “Well, thank you. When I found out Mr. Baker was sending over some guests, I had to be here to meet you.”
I had no idea what “Mr. Baker” had done to get Ian and me this kind of access, but I was totally digging it. “Thank you so much, Ms. Jackson—” I began.
She stopped me. “Just call me Vivian. I had to come down to give a tortoise an antibiotic, anyway.”
As Vivian led us to the back of the room, I reached for Ian’s hand. I don’t know why I was so nervous, or why I needed his touch to calm me, but he didn’t seem to mind. He threaded his fingers through mine and gave a squeeze, nudging me a little with his elbow.
There was so much I wanted to say to him, about this, about everything I’d been thinking of for the past week, but at least seventy percent of my need to pour emotion everywhere came from the fact that I was about to be overflowing with it.
Vivian took us to a large, square tank, surrounded by PVC pipe and netting. The lid of the tank itself was clamped down and weighted.
“That is a lot of security. Is this the Hannibal Lecter of octopods?” Ian asked, touching the plastic tubing.
“They escape like crazy,” I said then realized he was probably asking the actual expert. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re right. His eventual enclosure will be far more secure, but for right now, we have to prevent prison breaks.” She carefully unclipped the net, then unlatched the lid and pulled it back. “Let’s see if we can get him back here.”
She didn’t need to coax him. Though the tank was mostly barren, there was a pile of rocks and some foliage for him to hide in. Slowly, he emerged, detaching himse
lf from the rocks he’d been using as camouflage.
“Here comes Monty,” Vivian said, and I grabbed Ian’s arm with my free hand. Monty the octopus slid right up to the tank glass then rolled in a vertical surge to slap two tentacles over the rim.
“Jesus Christ!” Ian jumped back, startling me, Vivian, and Monty.
“Ian, you’re scaring him!” I turned back to Monty. I came close to the edge of the tank and leaned down. “I am so sorry, sir.”
“I don’t think you have to call him sir,” Ian said with a chuckle.
Poor Ian. He had no idea that the only male capturing my heart tonight was the beautiful, eight-tentacled one hauling himself up for a closer look at us.
Monty was a beautiful reddish brown, with lighter skin on the undersides of his tentacles. The giant Pacific octopus looks kind of like a big, squishy rock someone had painted, and the color had worn off his various protrusions.
“Look at him,” I breathed.
I didn’t realize my hand was hovering in the air until Vivian said, “You can touch him. It’s all right.”
I bent over beside the tank and looked into his eye through the glass. Despite their flat pupils, I’ve always found their eyes to be strangely human. Maybe I was anthropomorphizing Monty a bit, but he seemed as curious about me as I was about him.
That’s when I heard the sound of water blowing from his siphon and breaking the surface and felt a tap on my shoulder.
I straightened, and Monty followed, adhering his tentacle to my arm with surprising force. “Wow! They really are strong.”
“He’s not going to pull her in there, is he?” Ian asked nervously.
“You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?” I cooed, like Monty was a baby and not a grown octopus who probably didn’t appreciate my condescension.
Vivian shook her head. “He’d just tire himself out. But…” She reached over and gently pried up a few suckers on a section that had wrapped around my arm. “We don’t want him to get a real good grip on you, either, or he’ll use you as leverage to escape.”
First Time: Penny's Story (First Time (Penny) Book 1) Page 11