Chapter 6 June - Dr. Moore & Neve （Not That Way） #2
“She gave me Gabrielle. My goddaughter, my joy...” Helena let the words dangle, belatedly realizing that in her desperation to draw Neve’s attention away from her pain, she had unwittingly walked into sorrow.
Gabrielle… Ellie… A daughter she could never call her own.
A child she and Juliette never had. One that Katarina raised.
A woman now, one looking for her own path in life.
One who made Helena very happy when she chose LA over New York a few years ago.
Still, she wasn’t hers, and she could’ve been.
Coulda… Woulda… Shoulda…
Neve must’ve sensed her disquietude, because instead of asking questions or digging deeper, she simply uncapped the marker and wrote “Gabrielle” on one of the lightbulbs. Helena waited for an explanation that never came.
“She might not have been your Audrey, but Juliette stayed in your life, and you stayed in hers. And you managed to safeguard a friendship that endured. And she is happy. I’ll give the Russian that.”
“Estonian.” Helena amended automatically. “She is, and Katarina is why. It wasn’t meant to be for us. Still, we were…” Helena searched for the right word and no matter how much she wanted to avoid it, only one really fit. “Amazing. We were amazing together.”
Neve must’ve been offering lessons in restraint this evening because once again she added nothing, surely sensing how agonizing the moment was, and just scrawled “Juliette” on a bulb before reaching for her drink.
“Who else? Who else is or was amazing?”
This time, Helena didn’t have to deflect.
“Francesca Bianchi.” At Neve’s silent gasp, Helena nodded.
“Yes, very small world, Neve. It generally is, but for us queer people? Smaller still. To my credit she was my Cesca before he was your Gustavo, the two of you being so much younger.” Helena stood up and brought over a framed photo from the sideboard.
Cesca and her, New York, about fifteen years ago.
Smiling, mid-hug, their faces close and open.
“We were together for a decade. Perhaps nine years too many. We were so very different. But sometimes you simply fall into a relationship and we… Cesca and I should’ve stayed friends.
We’d have hurt each other less.” Neve said nothing, just listened, but the silence was filled now, with understanding, with memories.
People gained, people lost. Helena went on, “Maybe friends with benefits, because we were good that way. Very good. And I miss her every day. Her voice. Her raspy cigarette smoke-filled drawl, telling me how I did something wrong, or that I need to relax, to kick back, to let go. To let loose.”
“You do.” Neve spoke, and they both dissolved in laughter.
“I do, I really do. Cesca was so very accustomed to reminding me to have fun. To not let the seriousness of my profession consume me. She was all fun. A ball of energy, messy, and passionate. Kind and generous. A heart the size of Argentina. I really do miss her every day.”
A tear rolled down her cheek. Helena let it. It had been inevitable, after the day she’d had, after the memories Neve was bringing back. Francesca’s name was scrolled in that sharp handwriting on another bulb, and Helena closed her eyes.
They had gotten together out of a habit of sharing a bed too often for it to be casual anymore.
Cesca had awkwardly proposed they “go steady,” and Helena had scoffed at the wording.
They were steady. Both of them, separately they were extremely steady people, no matter how much chaos Cesca had brewing in her life.
The amount of said chaos, its very presence was the permanence, the steadiness of Cesca’s being.
You could always count on her to bring the zest, the joie de vivre, that essence of a good time.
And so they had gotten together despite Helena’s flourishing LA practice and Cesca still holding the directorship at the New York Ballet.
Why did it work better for them, the long distance, than it ever could for Juliette and her?
Still, it had worked until the push and pull of their too different personalities, too busy schedules, and too distinct needs got in the way. And all those things kept getting in the way for a decade.
But Helena never left. Not really. Not truly.
She would find herself in Cesca’s bed, time after time.
And Cesca would always take her back, no matter where else Helena had slept.
If anyone would’ve told her back in Paris, in the 80s, that she’d be the one to keep searching, and Cesca the one to keep waiting…
Well, bygones now.
Cesca had been gone for years, and while their intimate relationship had been all but pro forma at her dawn, as these things tend to go when two people fall into each other because they are tired of looking for other options, and the other had been there their entire life, Helena had been by her side all the way.
All the way till the end. Cesca had been surrounded by love and gentle nagging to go to doctors’ appointments and pills and flowers.
They even went to Paris, Juliette and Katarina facilitating the trip, making it all go as smoothly as it could’ve gone at that stage.
“I admit that having looked at Paris through her eyes made me question some of my choices.”
Neve nodded, not a trace of judgment on her serene features.
“You regret ballet?”
“I regret not being exceptional. You, of all people, are blessed with incredible talent, and so you can also tell when someone isn’t, shall we say, as blessed.
And I cannot abide dilettantism in anything.
Neither psychology nor ballet. There was simply never the same hunger in me for it, not the one that consumed Juliette or Katarina or Cesca.
They weren’t just exceptional. They were unbelievable. ”
“We both know talent alone gets you nowhere, Doctor.”
Helena waved at Neve and smirked at the insulted expression.
“I worked hard. But some things require a divine touch. I wasn’t… touched.”
“Well, you were touched, in more ways than one, by Lucian-Sorel and by Bianchi. Surely those Goddesses—” Helena’s cackle interrupted the joke, and Neve returned the mirth.
“I can’t believe you just said that. I can’t believe Neve Blackthorne of all people has just said that.”
And yet, she could believe it. Maybe not the rather silly joke, but the fact that Neve Blackthorne was in her living room, writing down her memories, making her laugh at ridiculous things.
It fit. It fit this woman, who despite appearing as uncaring, and unfeeling as one possibly could, cared and felt for so many.
“I appreciate you being here, you know.” Helena flinched and forced herself to settle when Neve reached out and held her hand.
“I appreciate you sharing your memories with me.” Neve extended her hand and offered Helena the fairy light string. “Audrey came up with this. Each lightbulb is a memory. I think you should put more names on these, Doctor.”
Helena took the glass bulbs and the marker and watched as Neve stood up and quietly made her way out of the room and out of the penthouse.
Her job was done here and yet Helena knew this evening had nothing to do with work.
They’d have to navigate some changes in their doctor-patient arrangement in therapy since technically they had crossed many of those professional lines tonight, but they’d manage.
Who’d have thought years ago—as Neve had walked out of her office for the first time after dropping the most explosive of introductions in her career as a psychologist, leaving her stunned and insulted and absolutely incredulous at having had Neve Blackthorne on her therapy couch—that they would end up here.
Helena’s hand was steady when she wrote Neve’s name and today’s date on a clear light bulb. Then, she reached for the photo album and began to lay down her life and her memories, like cards in solitaire, on the coffee table. There were so many names, so many fairy lights.