25. Benji #2
We make our way through the first portion of the aquarium, and while I love watching sea life as much as anyone, my attention keeps slipping from the colorful fish to Lisa’s expressions.
Her blue eyes are wide and excited, darting every which way to take in the creatures.
Every now and then, she drops my hand to explore something, but to my immense delight, she keeps returning to slide her hand into mine, intertwining her fingers with mine.
She even pauses at each sign, absorbing the information, her lips moving as she reads. Her excitement is palpable and contagious. As we make our way to the tunnel, I can’t help but ask, “Have you been to an aquarium before?”
She studies me for a moment and, seeing no judgement in my question, shakes her head. “Never been to the coast, either. Maybe as a baby,” she amends. “But nothing I can remember. My mom did her best, but she was a single mom without much extra income. There wasn’t much left over for vacations.”
I turn my head away to hide a frown, feigning extra interest in a passing fish as we enter the tunnel.
The thought of her being robbed of a childhood experience like this, paired with what I know of her recent experiences, unsettles me.
I don’t like the thought of her being unhappy at any point in her life.
But the second she grabs my arm, inhaling sharply and whispering “Oh my god,” all I can feel is selfish gratitude.
She tracks a shark as it swims overhead, lips slightly parted in awe.
I simply watch her until we’re parted by a kid bursting through the tunnel to get to what’s on the other side.
I’m just stupidly happy to be giving her this new adventure.
There’s a pond in the next room, and kids and adults alike surround the edge, dipping their fingers into the water as small stingrays glide around. We’re ushered to a station where we’re instructed to wash our hands and given guidance on how to gently touch the rays.
“And it isn’t stressful for them? They don’t mind it?” Lyssa asks the employee, her brows furrowed in concern.
“They’re swapped so that they don’t spend too much time in the tank, and they have enough space in there and places to hide.
That way, if they don’t like it, they can avoid being touched,” he assures her.
When she still doesn’t look convinced, he adds, “There’s research to suggest they actually enjoy the stimulation and being petted.
See for yourself – go put your hand in the water and don’t seek them out; just wait for one to rise up to meet it. ”
We both follow his instructions, placing our pointer and middle fingers in the water and waiting. Sure enough, one of the next rays swims up our edge of the pond and surges up to the surface, its back grazing against our palms. Lyssa stiffens in surprise next to me.
“It’s like a cat!” she shrieks. “But it feels…I don’t even know!”
I grin. “Weird, huh?”
“It’s like…slick sandpaper.” Her voice is filled with wonder.
“Be careful you don’t touch them where they’re sensitive,” she cautions as another passes by, and I chuckle but oblige. It’s endearing how she cares for these creatures, but not surprising, given how she is with Winny. We stay like that for a few minutes, waiting for a couple more rays to glide by.
I thought it would be the highlight of the trip. What Lyssa ends up loving the most, however, is the seahorse exhibit. She traces her fingertips along the glass as she moves along, marveling at all the different colors and species of seahorses.
“I had no idea they were so tiny!” she whisper-shouts, peering at the small creatures. “Look at them, curling their tails around the seagrass.”
“It looks like that’s how they sleep,” I reply, peering at a sign on the wall stating fun facts about seahorses. Lyssa sidles up next to me, her lips moving with the words again as she scans the sign.
“They’re one of few fish species that mate for life,” she reads out loud, and smiles. “Look – they do little courtship dances with their tails! That’s too freaking adorable.”
We continue through the tanks of seahorses, Lyssa excitedly calling out every fact she finds interesting.
Apparently, seahorses are awful swimmers, but they’re fantastic at eating, even though they lack teeth.
Once we’ve seen every inch of the exhibit, I know more about sea life than ever before, but more importantly, I’ve witnessed another new side of Lyssa, one that I desperately want to see more of.
As we come to the end of the aquarium – which, naturally, dumped us into a gift shop packed with stuffed sea creatures, t-shirts, and keychains – I can’t help the question that’s burning at the tip of my tongue. “So, was this an acceptable date?”
She pauses her perusal of the shelf laden with seahorses and gives me a genuine smile, one so bright and wide my heart swells with victory.
“It was,” she replies, and picks up a tiny orange seahorse plushie, stroking it absentmindedly.
She begins to walk around the rest of the store, still holding it.
I watch her for a moment, then follow. When she’s done a full lap around the gift store, still holding the seahorse, I hold out my hand, and ask, “Does this mean we’ll have a second date?”
When she looks at me, I gesture to the stuffed animal.
After a moment, she tentatively places it in my hand.
I carefully bring it up to the cash register, keeping an eye on her.
When she doesn’t argue, I relax, pulling out cash to pay for it.
She watches, not stopping me, but not replying to my question, either.
When I finally place the seahorse back in her hands, she does something that knocks me completely off kilter.
She reaches up, winds her free hand around my neck, and kisses me.
The feel of her soft lips pressing against mine is enough to knock the air from my lungs.
It’s all I can do to reciprocate and wrap my head around the moment as we explore each other’s mouths.
On the outside, it’s chaste – we are in a kid-friendly aquarium, after all – but it’s also slow, sensual, and intimate.
By the time I regain enough air to want more, she’s pulling away, but the look in her eyes tells me she’s restraining herself, too.
As we create distance, we both seem to recall where we are.
I clear my throat, attempting to break the heated moment for both our sakes. Because fuck, I’ve had a taste. Twice, now.
I want to devour the dish and lick the spoon.
“So… is that a yes?”
Her laugh is soft, breathy, telling me she's just as affected by our kiss as I am. “Yes.”
We head up the escalator to the exit, and she fiddles with the orange plushie as we ascend. After a minute, she glances up at me, a question in her eyes. When I tilt my head in encouragement, she blurts out, “Why this? Why did you take me here?”
I lift my eyes to the levels above us, filled with families making memories, and smile warmly.
“I wanted to take you somewhere different, but still show you something that’s a piece of Minnesota.
A piece of my upbringing.” At her raised brows, I continue.
“This is where a lot of our fun family outings happened. Shopping for important moments, shoving our faces with cinnamon rolls, whipping around on rides until the cinnamon rolls nearly came back up.”
“That sounds…nauseating, but also wonderful.” She smiles, but it wavers after a moment. I can’t help but wonder if she’s thinking of her childhood, of her own parents.
I bump her lightly, hoping to shake any unpleasant memory away. “Plus, I know you’re not quite used to a northern winter yet. Didn’t want to freeze you out before I got to show you all this place has to offer.”
“I don’t know,” she muses, leaning against me. “With you here to keep me warm, it doesn’t feel all that bad.”