Page 10 of In For a Penny
Oliver pats Josh on the shoulder once with a smirk. “That I am, my boy,” he replies proudly. “That. I. Am.”
“Why are they called unicorns?” Jane asks. “Wait!” she holds up her hands. “No, don’t tell me! Because they don’t exist?”
The boys nod and start laughing.
Evidently, they do. “Huh,” I say more clearly. “That’s wild. I would never do something like that.”
“You don’t seem to be the type of girl who would, Penny,” Oliver says calmly.
Understatement of the century.
“No,” I reply. “I most certainly am not.” I can confidently admit that I am too insecure. An oxymoron, I know. But hey, it is what it is.
But, no, not possible. No woman I know would be okay with that type of situation—not even my old college roommate, a lover of all genders and their interpretations, who is relatively free with her body. When she had a significant other, she made sure that they were very much exclusive and even almost broke up when the mention of an open relationship came up with her latest boyfriend.
Is this a normal thing people do? Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m fucking boring. Perhaps I’m just not mature enough or experienced enough to understand. Is that why Austin left me? Is that why we are in this bullshit breakup? Because finding things like open relationships impossible is something someoneimmaturewould do? I wince at my new trigger word.
Do all men really want this? Is that why it’s so hard to accept?
Everyone goes back to making conversation while I stare at my hands on the table. I catch Oliver looking at me, and he grimaces. He looks anxious.
“What are you thinking?” he asks quietly. Everyone else has moved on to another subject, not paying attention to us.
“Oliver, I’m not judging—not at all,” I say as I see the hesitancy on his face. “I just don’t understand it. And I wish that I weren’t so uptight. Not that I would ever be okay with an open relationship, but maybe things would be different with—” I clear my throat. “Things would be different for me if I were just a little more chill sometimes. If I were more relaxed and less controlling…I don’t know.” I shrug. I don’t know why I’m saying this to him. “Some people” —AKA Austin— “have told me that I live in a bubble. That I’m too sheltered, too immature. I guess coming here is a way to prove that I can truly live on my own in a new city.”
He turns in his seat to better look at me and holds my gaze without saying anything. He studies me, and it makes me feel uncomfortable. I’m usually the one sizing people up. I’m just less obvious about it.
“I’m going outside for a smoke,” I mutter to no one in particular. Oliver is the only one paying attention to me.
I almost jog out of the damned pub. Thinking about Austin and our relationship is making it somewhat difficult to breathe. I feel the pressure in my chest constrict to an almost painful level.
When the fuck will this end? When will the pain end?
“You left your cigarettes on the table.” I spin quickly around at the sound of Oliver’s voice. “I figured if you’re about to have a breakdown outside like you seem to be about to, you better have the props to back up your excuse to leave the pub for a bit.” He half-smirks sympathetically. He hands me my pack of cigarettes and pink lighter with a smile. We both lean against the outside wall of the bar and quietly gaze at the drunks singing what I can only assume by the lyrics is an Arsenal team song, neither of us saying anything for a few minutes.
“So, how recent was your breakup?” he asks finally.
“How did you—”
He holds up a hand. “I can smell heartbreak a mile away—one of my talents for when I’m looking for women on the rebound.” Oliver smiles half-heartedly. “So, who was he?”
I take a deep breath. “Someone who was quite possibly the love of my life and who ripped my heart out and tore it to shreds.”
Oliver snorts, and I turn to look at him angrily.
“The love of your life?” he asks incredulously. “God, if you wanted to make me vomit, you could have fed me some of your horrible-looking chicken goujons. How old even are you?”
“I’m twenty-two, but that doesn’t invalidate how we felt about each other,” I say defensively. “Plus, he was six years older than me.”
Oliver smiles patronizingly at me. “You really think you found the love of your life at twenty-two?”
“Excuse me, but I did not invite you out here to talk about this. If you’re going to ask and pretend like you care, at least be nice and friendly about it. If you don’t give a fuck, then why bother asking?”
He’s quiet. He waits until I calm down and my breathing slows. He can tell that I’m not playing around and am upset.
“Penny, I’m sorry,” he says seriously now, all humor gone from his eyes. “Tell me about it.”
I look away and sigh.
