First Time: Penny's Story (First Time (Penny) Book 1) (25 page)

I squeaked out a “sorry” and turned to my
father. “Dad.”

He stuck out his hand, and I shook it.

I came out a perfect mix of both of my
parents. I got my father’s eye color, but my mother’s eye shape.
Her nose, his much fuller, wider mouth. His flawless skin, but her
hair color. If a movie director were casting a family, we would be
the actors he would pick, if we had better chemistry.

“
Oh, darling, what
have
you done with your
hair?” Mother had short hair, herself, but it was her opinion that
men found longer hair attractive. Since she was already married and
“of a certain age”, she didn’t want to hassle with the upkeep
anymore. She wore it in a sort of side-swept, layered cut, suitable
for any yacht club wife.

I reached up and self-consciously tucked one
side behind my ear. “It’s just something I’m trying out.”

“
It’s very…modern.” My
father rolled the word out like a morgue gurney.

“
Thanks, Dad.” I mumbled
under my breath.

“
Your boyfriend didn’t come
with you?” Mother asked, in a tone that said,
here we go again
.

I took a deep breath. “He’s meeting us at the
restaurant. I wanted to kind of…prepare you first.”

My father paled. “He’s not…”
he lowered his voice to say the dreaded word, “
urban
?”

Was there time to get a drink? “No, Dad. Ian
is white.”

“
That wasn’t what your
father was asking,” Mother reassured me with a raised voice. All
three of us knew damned well what he’d been asking, but heaven
forbid anyone in the immediate vicinity take his racist comment as
the racist comment it was.

I knew better than to call them on it and
just forged ahead. “Mom, I told you Ian was older than me. But I
didn’t want it to come as a shock to you when you met him. He’s
fifty-three.”

The outraged pursing of my mother’s lips that
I had been expecting never came. In fact, it was my father—who
never seemed to notice the presence of my boyfriends in the
past—who frowned and said, “Kitten…”

“
I know. And I know that you
probably have some misgivings, and that’s totally understandable.”
I looked my mother pleadingly. “But when you meet him, you’ll get
it. He’s funny and he’s sweet, and he really l—” I stopped myself
and looked back at my father. “Likes me. He’s good for
me.”

“
I’m not sure you know
what’s good for you,” Mother said, lifting her eyebrows. It was
then that I noticed the nearly empty martini glass in her hand.
Which was a great way to start off the freaking evening. Then she
sighed and said, “But finding a man who’s interested in you and who
has a stable income is a small victory, nonetheless.”

My father remained silent.

We rode to the restaurant in a hotel car, and
on the way, my mother made passive-aggressive “jokes” about the
myriad restaurants in Manhattan that we’d gone to in the past that
weren’t good enough. I’d always had to walk a fine line between too
cheap and too expensive for my bank account. My parents liked
places that I couldn’t generally afford, but I would rather die
than have to tell them I couldn’t pay for something. Trying to
impress them with hip but frugal restaurants had never worked;
they’d seen right through that trick.

I would have to dip into my savings to pay
for my meal tonight.

The place I’d picked was as intimate as it
was expensive, which also made it exclusive by reputation. There
was no way my parents could object to that. There were a whole
twenty-four tables in the place, and they served old world Italian
food at modern capitalist prices. The lighting was low, the music
soft and instrumental, rather than the old Italian restaurant
standby of Sinatra and Bennett, and the gentle murmur of
conversation and clinking glasses added a more relaxed ambiance
than a traditionally stuffy place.

We’d just reached our table, and I hadn’t
even sat down yet, when I spotted Ian. He crossed the floor toward
us, led by the hostess. My stomach clenched. Usually, when I saw
him, another part clenched. Tonight, instead of being excited to
see him, I was nervous and braced for disaster.

He did a double take when he saw me. “Penny,
I didn’t recognize you!” He beamed at me as he reached my side. He
put an arm around my waist to pull me in briefly and kissed my
cheek. “You got your hair cut. It looks beautiful.”

“
Thanks.” I shouldn’t have
been able to smile, as riddled with anxiety as I was. But when I
was around Ian, I couldn’t help it. I remembered that my parents
were sitting there. There was a testament to how totally lost I was
in Ian that I could forget something
that
unpleasant.

I faced their judgmental expressions, Mother
trying to size up Ian’s bank account on appearance, Father
surprisingly uncomfortable. I’d never realized my father cared
enough about me to worry about my boyfriends. He stood, but Mother
stayed in her seat.

“
Mother, Father, this is Ian
Pratchett, my boyfriend,” I said, and as Ian reached out to shake
my father’s hand, I added, “Ian, this is my father, James Parker,
and my mother, Deborah Smythe-Parker.”

“
James, Deborah. Very nice
to meet you.” Until I’d seen it in contrast with my parents’ fake
ones, I’d never realized how warm Ian’s smile was.

We sat, and Ian said, “Your daughter is one
of my favorite people,” and winked at me.

Mother laughed, a sharp bark of disbelief
that made me cringe. “How kind of you to say.”

“
Not kind, at all,” he
insisted, and I sent him a mental
shut up,
shut up, or she’ll put me down worse
vibe.

“
I notice your accent,”
Father said, as though it were a condemnation. “Where are you
from?”

“
Scotland.”

Silence fell on the conversation, until my
mother jumped in with, “How did the two of you meet?”

“
My boss fixed us up.” It
was a relief to be talking again.

“
I went to college with her
husband,” Ian elaborated. “Sophie was adamant that we would like
each other.”

“
And we do,” I said, unable
to help the smile that wrinkled my nose.

“
That we do.” Ian returned
my smile. And when I looked across the table, my heart fell. My
parents weren’t happy for me. They were looking for ways to be
critical of me, and of Ian, and of the idea of both of us
together.

“
What do you think of this
haircut?” Mother asked, laughing derisively. “Penny is always going
through a rebellious stage.”

“
I said I thought it was
beautiful,” Ian reminded her. “Are haircuts considered particularly
rebellious these days?”

“
It is when Penny does it.
She’s always been a bit of a problem child.”

A problem child, for getting my hair cut
without consulting them? My face flamed. Why should I be ashamed? I
was twenty-two years old, for god’s sake.

The worst part was Ian’s response to all of
this, which was no reaction at all. I couldn’t tell if he was
oblivious or forcing himself to ignore their pleasant-on-the-
surface, yet wholly unfriendly manner, so maybe Rosa’s idea of
using the evening as a test wasn’t going to work out as well as I’d
hoped.

The waiter came by with menus and a wine list
and suggestions for pairings. When we’d ordered drinks and were
left alone again, Ian tried to nudge things along. “So, James,
Penny says you’re in town for a symposium?”

“
Yes, that’s correct.”
Father nodded and didn’t say anything else.

“
My dad is a surgeon,” I
told Ian, hoping my parents weren’t going to do the monosyllabic
conversation thing all night.

“
Really?” Ian sat back as
the bus boy came to fill our water glasses. “What kind?”

“
A hand surgeon.” Again,
nothing but the most perfunctory answer.

“
And you’re an architect?”
Mother jumped in, raising her eyebrows in interest.

Ian nodded and drummed his fingers on the
tabletop. He was so…animated. My parents could have been statues,
if you didn’t look at them to be sure they were breathing. “Yes.
I’m a partner at my firm. Pratchett and Baker. We work on
commercial properties, mostly office and medical buildings.”

“
The occasional hotel,
right?” I asked to prompt him to mention the resort thing. World
travel would definitely validate him some in my mother’s
eyes.

“
Not too many, but I am
looking at a potential project in the Bahamas, soon.” He gestured
to my mother. “And you, what do you do?”

“
I’m an anesthesiologist.”
She paused for a moment. “So, you’re a partner? Does that mean you
own the firm?”

“
Yes. I founded it with an
associate I’ve worked with for some time.” Ian paused. “It’s
challenging, but I enjoy it.”

“
It sounds like a lot of
work. Long hours?” Mother was tapping away on her mental adding
machine.

“
I have a strict policy of
staying under sixty hours,” Ian explained. “There are too many
health risks for a man my age if I try to work all the time. Burt,
my business partner, he’s already had a heart attack. I’d like to
avoid that for the rest of my life.”

He’d never mentioned any of that to me. While
I was alarmed at the reality that it was something he had to worry
about, I was grateful that he took care of himself that way. I
thought of Deja and Sophie, and how they worked at the office, then
went home and worked all night. I wasn’t sure I would ever be
passionate enough about a job that I would want to work around the
clock and have to set limits on myself. I envied Ian that he liked
his job that much.

“
Working so little, you must
be salaried?” Mother asked, only to have my father barrel over the
top of her.

“
That must be hard on your
personal relationships,” my father began, and I knew the gloves
were coming off. “Have you ever been married?”

“
I have,” Ian admitted, but
he didn’t make any apologies for it. “Recently
divorced.”

“
Mm-hmm,” Dad grunted. I was
strangely conflicted over his sudden protectiveness. My whole life,
he’d barely shown any interest in me. Now, he was worried about the
guy I was dating? I didn’t know if I should be pleased or insulted,
so I was a little of both. I didn’t like the way it
felt.

“
I’m sorry to hear that,”
Mother jumped in. “I’ve heard spousal support is quite costly in
this state.”

There was a long silence. Ian’s smile no
longer reached his eyes. “Why don’t you just ask me how much money
I have?”

I laughed, like it was a joke, even though I
knew it wasn’t.

Oh god. He was never going to talk to me ever
again after this.

Luckily, the waiter arrived to take our
orders. I agonized over the menu. The place was way more than I
could force myself to afford, but I couldn’t bear the shame if my
parents suspected that. They always seemed to be in “gotcha” mode,
just looking for things to criticize.

When we were finished ordering, before the
waiter left the table, Ian said, “Tonight is on me. As a gesture of
gratitude for having such a wonderful daughter.”

He looked my mother dead in the eyes as he
said it. He was mad. I’d thought he’d been angry over the Brad
thing, but I’d never seen Ian like this before. He was controlled
and chilly, in contrast to when I got angry and started snapping at
everyone and shouting. It was kind of sexy to have him act that way
on my behalf, but when we had our first fight, it would be a huge
blowup, because our anger styles were not the same.

“
Hey, here’s something fun,”
I said, barreling through the awkwardness. “Ian comes from a really
large family. Isn’t that interesting?”

“
Oh? How large?” Mother
reached for her water glass.

“
I’ve got two brothers and
four sisters,” he replied, and my brain screeched to a halt. He’d
told me he was from a family of nine. Four boys, five girls. Adding
him into the total he’d just given, that would still only add up to
seven.

“
Do they all live in
America?” Father asked.

Ian shook his head. “Just one sister. She and
her husband live in Brooklyn, not far from me.”

“
Such a large family,”
Mother chuckled.

“
Yes, well, we’re Catholic,
so it’s to be expected.”

Oh.

Oh no.

I wish you wouldn’t have
said that,
I thought as I stared at him in
horror.

Mother’s face froze. “Really? And are
you…religious?”

Ian bristled at the question, or perhaps just
the tone it was presented with. “I would say I am, yes. I attend
church regularly. And you? Are you religious?”

“
No,” Mother said, quietly
insulted. “I don’t have a taste for it.”

“
A bunch of superstitious
nonsense.” Father’s answer was far more aggressive than anyone ever
needed to be about another person’s religion.

“
Well, I’m pretty
superstitious,” I reminded him, willing to throw myself on the pyre
in Ian’s place.

“
Against our best efforts.”
Mother rolled her eyes. “Believe me, darling, we haven’t
forgotten.”

Though I wasn’t looking at Ian, I felt him
tense beside me, even without touching him.