“It’ll have plenty of warm, fuzzy memories of your butt to hold it over until I come back,” he said without really thinking about what he was saying. He held his hand out for her so she could lift herself up.
Gretchen laughed; God, she had so many different kinds of cute laughs. “Wow, I wasn’t even sure this was a date, but now that you’ve complimented my butt I think it might be.” She took his hand and lifted herself up.
Dave felt himself blush. Her hand was still cupped in his as they walked across the harbor toward the aquarium. He could feel her turquoise ring pressing against his fingers, the cool touch of metal standing out against the warmth of their palms. It was hard to think of anything to say, and Dave worried that he might just stare at their hands the rest of the walk, so he unclasped his fingers from hers and pointed out the bubble tea stand. “If you go there, never get the blackberry flavor. It tastes like licorice that’s been sitting in dirty laundry for a week.”
“You’ve tasted laundry-marinated licorice?”
“My dad likes to experiment in the kitchen,” Dave said, his eyes still on the bubble tea stand. Even as the feel of Gretchen’s hand lingered on his, Julia was in the back of his mind, all those times he’d shared bubble tea with her, the ease with which they reached for each other’s drinks, so comfortable in each other’s presence that they didn’t even have to acknowledge it was happening. He wondered if he’d ever reach that level of comfort with Gretchen, or with anyone else at all.
The aquarium was nearly empty. There was a young dad showing his daughter around, lifting her in his arms so she could press her nose against the glass and watch the sharks swim in their elegant way. A couple in their sixties sat on a bench eating sandwiches by the jellyfish. The bare lighting inside the aquarium made it seem like it was much later in the evening than it was, and in most of the rooms it was just Dave and Gretchen on their own, free to talk.
They talked about things that Dave imagined people on first (maybe?) dates always talked about, favorite this or that, a story here or there, following the conversations down their natural tangents. As they watched the fish and the sea otters, making jokes and interviewing each other, Dave learned the following: that she volunteered at a hospice one weekend a month solely because she wanted to live by the words she’d tattooed on her neck. That she always had to joke about death for weeks after she left or she wouldn’t have the heart to return. That she had an eight-year-old brother with Asperger’s. That she smelled like honey. That she had no idea what she wanted to study at school, and hadn’t even made a decision on where she was going yet. That she didn’t like apples, and didn’t understand why she’d never met anyone else that shared her distaste for them in all their varieties. That she made soft little moans of appreciation when faced with brightly colored fish, and that her eyes would never stray from one she found particularly appealing, not until the fish disappeared into a little cove in the coral or until Dave put a hand on her back and gently moved them along to the next room. That she loved driving, and sometimes when she couldn’t sleep, she’d drive around neighborhoods late at night, counting how many lights were left on, how many TVs still flashed bright and blue, how many other cars were on the road. That sometimes she did this without even listening to music, because she liked how the silence calmed her thoughts.
When Dave told her that he’d never learned to drive, she decided that it was the end of their aquarium tour. She grabbed his hand, effortlessly, as if it was the easiest thing in the world, and led him toward the exit.
They got into her car and drove to the mall’s parking lot, which was the largest one around. The stores were all closing by then, the last of the shoppers straggling to their cars holding their bags wearily, keys in hand reflecting the orange glow of parking-lot lights. Gretchen parked the car at the edge of the lot and they switched spots.