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

by Abigail Barnette

  “That’s a little creepy, don’t you think?” She knew what I thought. Just like I knew what she thought. But if I dwelled on it, I would just be more rattled than I already was.

  “Maybe, but at least it’s convenient. If I thought this would be some huge drama, I would be a wreck.”

  Rosa snorted. “Well, thank god you’re not.”

  I dressed carefully. Something conservative-ish, but not too stuffy. I didn’t want to get the lecture about dressing appropriately in public or the lecture about never attracting a man if I looked like a librarian. I chose a black wrap dress with three-quarter length sleeves and a low neckline that showed just a little cleavage. Dressing to please my parents as well as my boyfriend was a land mine of “can’t win”.

  I paid an Uber driver to zip me over to the Pierre, where my parents always stayed when they were in town. The Plaza was too predictable, so they told me. As I crossed the checkered floor of the lobby, I touched my hair, straightened my necklace, and hoped for the best.

  We were meeting in the bar, an art deco style space that could have come right out of Mad Men. Which was basically in keeping with my parents’ entire philosophy, really.

  “Penny,” Mother called from a table near the steps that led down into the room. My father stood, but she didn’t; when I came over, I had to lean down to hug her. “Careful of my earrings, dear.”

  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 s
hould 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.

  “You can’t really plead innocence yourself,” I said, laughing to keep my tone light. “You believe in the family curse.”

  “The family curse?” Mother frowned. “There isn’t any family curse.”

  “I’m intrigued.” Ian turned to me with a small smile. Finally, he looked like he wasn’t having the worst time of his life. Probably because I’d caught my mother being hypocritical. “What’s the family curse?”

  “I’m dying to hear it, myself,” Mother said, and I glanced at Father. His brow was crumpled and serious, as though he were trying to remember.

  “You know, the curse where if a woman in your family sleeps with a guy, that means he’s her true love, and if you do anything to mess it up, you’ll…never…” I hadn’t spoken it aloud very often, not recently enough it rolled out of my mouth without examination. As I said it, I heard how stupid it was.

  “Oh…” Mother made a “tch” sound with her tongue as she remembered. “That story? Darling, that was years ago.”

  “I know, but—” Story?

  “We made that all up,” Mother said, clearly disappointed that I hadn’t figured it out by now.

  “After what happened with Ashley, we couldn’t be too cautious,” Dad chimed in.

  “You…” I swallowed a sudden lump in my throat. “You lied?”

  “Outright forbidding you from mooning over boys wouldn’t have worked.” Mother was right; they’d tried, and it hadn’t worked. But lying to me, warning me that my life would be ruined by even one sexual experience? They couldn’t have actually done that.

  Had they?

  Panic breached a wall in my heart, flooding me with every painful memory of all the times I’d been called a cocktease, every time a guy had broken up with me because I wa
s “frigid” or “stuck up”, every time I’d truly wanted to have sex with a man I had feelings for but didn’t because I’d been too afraid…

  She went on. “You were so obsessed with tarot cards and horoscopes, so we exploited that a little.”

  “We didn’t think you’d keep on believing it,” Father said, taking another sip of his wine. “It was like the Tooth Fairy, or Santa Claus.”

  “The Tooth Fairy,” Ian echoed quietly.

  “But for years… You guys, I’ve been afraid my entire adult life—”

  “We told you that you took all that superstitious nonsense too seriously,” Mother reminded me.

  “But you actively encouraged this superstition, didn’t you?” Ian asked, and my already roiling guts cramped harder. Was he actually confronting my parents? Oh god, they would make a scene. And then they would make it my fault.

  “Penny…developed early,” my father said, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “And she was never the brightest bulb when it came to people. Animals, yes, science…but she didn’t exercise the best judgment.”

  Mother nodded sagely. “We were sure she was going to be an unwed teenage mother, and we did not have the patience for that, at all.”

  “This has affected Penny her entire adult life, you realize,” Ian pressed. “You don’t feel even a little guilty about that?”

  Mother laughed pleasantly. “Try parenting a disappointing child, Mr. Pratchett. Then, you’ll understand that desperate measures must sometimes be taken.”

  Hot tears sprang to my eyes. It was one thing to be so thoroughly demoralized by my parents; I was used to that. But to have it happen in front of Ian? God, it was so humiliating. It wasn’t just that he was finding out about my flaws. He was finding out that I was completely worthless and unlovable. And if my parents knew that, how would I hide it from anyone else?

  I balled my hands into fists beneath the tabletop and squeezed so hard my nails dug into my palms. I wouldn’t let myself start crying in front of all of them.

  Ian pushed his chair back so suddenly, my mother and I both jumped.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, standing. “But I can’t sit here and listen to this, anymore.”