Gratefully, Thursday is quiet for me. I adore Lainey and her friends, and that they’ve welcomed me into their fold without reservation, but they are a lot of energy constantly moving at the speed of light, and I’m kind of worn out from their go-go-go routine. And as much as I enjoyed the Natural History Museum with Millie yesterday, I think I would have liked the museum on my own, so I could read the placards instead of hearing Millie talk incessantly. Again, I like her, but sometimes a girl likes quiet, too.

As I head out of the building on my own today, Benjamin asks, “Venturing out solo today, miss?”

“I am,” I answer with a smile. “I’m going to the aquarium.”

“A right peaceful place. Enjoy,” he says as he swings the door open into the warm early June day.

The Shedd Aquarium. I’m excited to see this one. I remember my classmates talk about feeding time in a big tank with a mix of fish.

It’s a quick walk to the museum campus from my apartment. The aquarium is busy with families pushing strollers and young kids and groups of school kids on field trips as indicated by their t-shirts with their teachers and chaperones. I note that it’s interesting that kids are still in school. The schools down in Harton got out the last week before Memorial Day so that the kids could help their families in the fields. I wonder when the last day of school is for the kids here in Chicago.

Once I get past the throngs of families and field trips, I am instantly drawn to the center of the facility with its enormous circular tank that you can walk around to see things from every angle. It’s called the Caribbean Reef. It’s amazing. I slowly walk around the tank taking it all in. I find the placard and read about all the creatures and plants that are housed inside. I spot a stingray, a giant turtle, an eel, and even a shark! I see the schedule for the feeding and plan to come back at that time.

I stroll over to the right of the entrance and take in the ‘Amazon’ exhibit and marvel at each cube containing fish and corals, reading the information. I watch the children, many of whom just mock the fish in the tanks, although I note a few who are genuinely interested in the creatures. I can just imagine my class here years ago as they probably did the same thing, although they were older than the kids I am watching now.

Sitting on a bench and watching everything around me, I feel a little like a fish myself—a fish out of water. How different things are from just a couple of weeks ago. I’m no longer taking care of my mother on bad nights, even if I do wonder how she’s doing almost every hour of every day. I’m no longer working a job that I don’t like. I’m no longer living in a run-down home with horrible insulation, no air conditioning, and—the Schwarzkopfs aside—a number of terrible neighbors. I have freedom. I get to make decisions for myself. I have peace. I have a great neighbor and a wonderful bunch of new friends.

Although I really enjoy Lainey, Millie, and the others, I do miss Heather. I smile and think of how she would be exploring the city. She would be out finding a new club every night. She’d talk to anyone and everyone, sort of like Lainey. I even miss Austin a bit and wonder what he would make of the Windy City.

Again, I shake off my homesickness telling myself that I’m in a better place. I’m moving forward.

I make my way over to the ‘Oceans’ tank. As I watch the eel and hammerhead shark, from the corner of my eye I notice a guy looking at me. But as soon as we make eye contact, he looks away. As he’s looking at some of the other patrons, I conclude he wasn’t looking at me exactly.

I move on to the ‘At Home on the Great Lakes’ tanks, and I’m aware that the same guy is looking at me again. Again, he diverts his attention when I catch his gaze on me. I take an extra moment to take him in. He’s not creepy in any way. In fact, he looks kind, and nice to look at and sharply dressed in what looks like a very expensive suit. Did I say ‘nice to look at?’ No. He’s downright gorgeous, and I’m sure I’ve never seen someone so handsome in my life. Tanned with loose waves of sandy blond hair hanging longer than one would expect on a man like him, but it works. What also ‘works’ is the light layer of growth gracing his chiseled jawline.

And he was looking at me. Me!

Or maybe there was another reason he was looking my way. I try and stuff my self-consciousness into its place—far away from my consciousness—and only think positive thoughts.

I really want to look at that man’s eyes to see what color they are, but I don’t dare risk another glance his way. What if he’s looking at me again? Or what if he’s not looking anymore. Either way, I wouldn't know what to do.

I try to shake the feeling that he’s still looking at me and focus on the exhibits, but I’m finding it hard to read anything, so I just stare at the fish in the tanks, spending an appropriate amount of time at each window before moving on. I’m working so hard at focusing that I almost miss the announcement that the twelve o’clock aquatic show will be starting in a few minutes and that I should make my way to the Abbott Oceanarium. I turn to find a sign to guide me and quickly scan the corner where I had seen the man, but he’s gone. I shake it off as just an odd thing. Maybe I reminded him of someone he knows, and he realized I wasn’t her, I surmise.

I have been to this aquarium a few hundred times in my thirty-three years. Often, I come to lose myself in the hypnotic tanks of swimming fish and relax. But today, I’m here on business. I’ve just finished speaking with the board about an exhibit they would like to add and for which they are seeking benefactors. My family, of course, is at the top of the list to ask for funds. The meeting is a productive one, and once I speak to the rest of the Waterston Board, a project we’re likely to move forward with.

I check the time as I’m leaving and see that it’s almost time for the mid-day aquatic show. I love those dolphins with their permanent smiles—they make me smile. But before I head down to the Oceanarium, a delicate woman catches my eye, and I can’t bring myself to look away. Maybe it’s because I’ve seen her before. It’s the Book Girl from the restaurant while I was on that awful date with Vivian, or whatever her name was. Has it really been two weeks since then? I’ve thought about the mysterious reading redhead from the restaurant so much, wondering who she is and if she lives in the city or is just visiting that it feels as though I saw her just yesterday.

But today, now, I’m not on a date with another woman. I’m at the aquarium on my time.

I watch her as she studies each tank, reads the placard next to the glass, and then goes back to observing the creatures she read about. She doesn’t race through the exhibit, she makes an analysis of what she sees and reads. Her smile is soft and warm, and I find myself wanting her to smile at me instead of the lake sturgeon she’s currently admiring.

She’s not flashy like the women I’ve always dated—she’s understated and elegant. She tucks her long, straight chestnut colored hair behind her ear, and my fingers itch with the urge to touch that hair to see if it’s as soft as it looks or that delicate ear.

When she suddenly looks up and catches me staring at her, she looks away quickly and walks to another window ignoring me completely. Typically, I’m recognized and met with a bold smile. I’m used to girls approaching me or playing coy. But this girl doesn’t seem to recognize me. Perhaps she’s not from the Chicago area. Maybe she’s European.

“David! So good to see you again,” I hear a familiar voice behind me. It’s a voice that makes my skin crawl. It’s Angelique. She’s the special events coordinator here at the aquarium. And my ex-wife.

I turn and greet her. “Angelique, good to see you as well,” I lie.

I’m aware that if my redhead over at the ‘At Home on the Great Lakes’ exhibit sees me with Angelique, she may think that Angelique and I are an item, especially the way Angelique is looking at me. I guide us toward the gift store and out of the line of sight from the Great Lakes exhibit.

“How are you?” she oozes. “You look well,” she continues as she brushes her hand over my shoulder and pretends to brush away lint or whatever. I step back, plastering a fake grin on my face before I tell her off, and before I know it, she’s trying to straighten my tie. I know it’s so she can touch me. However, her touch makes me cringe. “I read all about your family’s generous donation to the Chicago Symphony last month.”

I take another half step back, out of her reach, and respond. “Thank you. I’m well. Yes, you know Mother. She loves a good symphony season. How is Tristan?” I ask, calculatingly reminding her of the reason we are no longer married. Her son. Conceived while we were married. Yet, I’d had a vasectomy when I was eighteen, so the child clearly wasn’t mine, only further confirmed when my samples came up sperm free, and the DNA test of the offspring clearly showed he wasn’t mine. I had never been more grateful for the prenup my parents insisted upon.

“Tristan, yes… oh, he’s doing great. Growing tall. I can’t believe he’s going to be five in just a few months. Very smart. The top of his kindergarten class. Hoping that he’ll test well enough for entrance to The Lab. You know The Lab at the University of Chicago? Of course, his getting in is only half the challenge. Hoping that the financial aid will come through. Unless…”

And there it is… her never-ending attempt to get money from me. Brandt, her current husband and father of the child, quietly resigned from my family’s company when their affair came to light. Ironically, I hired him as a personal favor for Angelique. She had grown up with Brandt and ‘wanted to help him out.’ I later learned that they were high school sweethearts and had rekindled their relationship shortly after Angelique and I got married. To learn of their affair made me feel like a chump. And it was due to her and her infidelity that I’d remained single for the past five years, never even really dating, much to my mother’s chagrin. Yes, I’d been voted one of Chicago’s 20 Most Eligible Singles last month, but it was far from the first time I’d been in the public eye. When everyone knows your family’s net worth, and you’d already been taken for a fool by someone who supposedly loved you, trusting that someone loves you for who you are rather than the size of your bank account or what your family can do for her career, is a tough pill to swallow. So, I love ‘em and leave ‘em now. And while I’m not exactly happy, I’m at least protected.

I’ve heard that Brandt has not been very successful in landing another job that paid as well as his employment with Waterston Enterprises, and I’m okay with that. When I first learned that Angelique had landed this job here at the aquarium, I was furious that she’d had the audacity to get a job at one of my favorite places in the city, amongst all the places she could have found work, but then I found a twisted sort of solace in the fact that she had to work. That her gold-digging ways had backfired, and the life she could have had shopping and going to charity functions was gone, and she had to clock in from nine to five, Monday through Friday, and even put in overtime. Now she’s organizing the charity functions, and her attendance isn’t exactly on the glamorous side of things. It might not make me a good person to feel those things about the person I’d vowed to love ‘until death do us part,’ but at least I don’t let the anger control my life any longer. If I could have sent anyone in my stead to the aquarium today to avoid running into Angelique, I would have, unfortunately somethings have to be handled personally.

“Well, I wish you luck with the school and the financial aid,” I say coolly and decide to head over to the Oceanarium to take in the dolphin show. “Take care.”

I walk by the Great Lakes tanks to see if I can spot the beguiling woman who’d held my attention in a way that left me vulnerable to Angelique’s ‘pleasantries,’ but she’s gone. Shit!

I step into the Oceanarium, and the aquatic show is already underway. Right now, the trainers are talking about the sea lions and their behaviors. I’ve heard the spiel a hundred times and could probably run the show myself. I watch the groups of school kids as they sit entranced by the information. Sometimes I find myself wishing I’d not decided to ‘get fixed’ when I was eighteen, and I consider a reversal surgery, but knowing my genetic makeup and the likelihood of any child I create to have the devastating illness I am a carrier for, I know I did the right thing. For me anyway.

Before I know it, the show is winding down, and the big finale where the sea lions, dolphins, and beluga whale all say their goodbyes, splashing as much of the audience as they can, and the entire crowd erupting in laughter, squeals, and cheers.

The auditorium starts to empty as groups of field trips and families file out. As the crowd thins, a woman stands out from all the rest. I hold my breath. It’s her. She’d not left the aquarium. She’s here. This is the third time our paths are crossing.

I stand from my seat in the back row feeling like a salmon swimming upstream and swiftly make my way down to the front row where she is. She is using the back of her hand to wipe away some of the water that had been splashed by the mammals. As I approach her, I reach into my coat pocket producing a handkerchief. I’d always rolled my eyes when my mother insisted I carry one, now I’m happy that her years of training have paid off.

“Looks like you got the royal treatment,” I say, handing her the white cotton square. I notice how delicate her features are now that I’m so close. And her height is perfect, yet she’s so dainty she seems petite.

She looks at me shyly and says softly, “Thank you.” The pink on her cheeks intensifies, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone blush so intensely before. She carefully blots at her face, and I’m not shy in taking in her features. I notice that she’s not wearing any makeup and her natural beauty stuns me.

“I hear it’s very good luck to be splashed by the dolphins,” I say, making up something to say to her.

“Oh,” she answers quietly.

Again, she looks at me briefly, but there’s not the flash of recognition that usually happens, a downside of having had my face plastered across magazines and local newspapers when the most recent Most Eligible list was published last month. As she focuses her gaze on my chest, avoiding my face, she looks alarmed. And somewhat suspicious. Like she is afraid of me. Maybe I startled her when she caught me staring upstairs. Or does she know who I am? And maybe what happened with Angelique?

“Did you enjoy the show?” I ask.

She nods a tiny nod, her eyes still fixed on my necktie but doesn’t say a word. “Well, I have to get going. Thanks again,” she says, handing my handkerchief back to me.

And just like that, she leaves. I start after her, but we are separated by the last group of kids leaving the Oceanarium. By the time I make my way around the pint-sized and boisterous visitors, she’s gone. I’m kicking myself for not getting her phone number let alone her name. And now she’s gone.

Winning the lottery would be easier.

That said, I’ve crossed paths with her three times already. God willing, I’ll get a fourth opportunity. And hopefully sooner than later.