Five
Daphne hadn’t been eavesdropping, not really. She’d honestly needed to move her car, but perhaps more importantly, she’d wanted the chance to compose herself.
She’d come to the office deliberately late, hoping to miss Gillian. If the woman arrived at work at seven in the morning, surely she’d leave by seven at night. She should’ve known the valedictorian wouldn’t blink at twelve-hour days. Still, Daphne’d been even less prepared for the others.
Robin was a whirlwind in the best way. Brooke’s kind eyes gave the sense she could see below even the thickest armor, and Tegan’s sweet smile could disarm a person completely.
But none of those things compared to the emotions sparked by hearing all these immediately likable women interact with Gillian.
Easy, energetic, and affectionate, they talked to her and about her like she was cherished.
Even Robin’s attempt at introducing “The Boss” had been laced with admiration, while Gillian, in slacks and a silk blouse under a sharp blazer, leaned long and languid against the doorway.
Daphne wasn’t sure what about the posture struck her most, maybe the hint of fatigue or her comfort in this space with these people.
For some reason, it made her chippy, and she did exactly what Hugh had accused her of.
She’d needled, hoping to ruffle that flawless facade.
She had to give herself credit for progress on the self-awareness front and for excusing herself because while it was fun to yank Gillian’s chain, that wasn’t the tone she wanted to set with her new officemates.
Or at least that’s what she told herself as she approached the waiting room door and heard the low din of chatter halt abruptly at her laugh.
“That wasn’t suspicious at all.” She stuck her head around the corner. “Should I go back out and let you finish talking about me?”
“And miss all the fun?” Robin joked. “Come join the chorus. Hell, take a solo.”
“Not literally,” Gillian deadpanned, “though I do recall you carrying a musical number or two in school.”
Tegan perked up. “Oh, a new addition to karaoke nights?”
She was almost ridiculously pretty, but Daphne could only hazard a quick glance in her direction as she tried to process the new information. Had Gillian complimented her? And did she do karaoke with these women?
Before she could decide which tangent to follow, Brooke spoke up. “Can we let our new friend through the door before we plan her musical debut?”
“Thanks.” Daphne sat in a cozy chair where she could see everyone, but her eyes were drawn to Gillian behind the desk, leaning back as far as the office chair would allow and enough to show she’d crossed one leg over the other with her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
Was the tension in her posture merely a side effect of Daphne’s proximity, or had the conversation already exceeded her normal limits?
She’d heard enough of Robin’s speculation about their past to tell which path the questioning had taken, but before Daphne had time to process her own amusement, Gillian had cut in the way Gillian always did, leaving no room for innuendo.
Daphne couldn’t even find it in her to be overly offended at the “especially not Daphne” addendum, as she was inclined to feel the same way.
“It sounded like the conversation I interrupted may’ve landed on the one topic Gillian and I consistently agree on,” she started carefully. “No matter how our classmates tried to play sapphic matchmaker, neither of us ever piqued the other’s budding fantasies.”
“Boring.” Robin frowned. “I wanted to hear tawdry tales of our unflappable leader when those high school hormone surges kicked down her closet door.”
“Sorry to disappoint.” Daphne shrugged, then with a nod to Gillian’s blazer and tightly pressed slacks, added, “She was every bit as uptight then as her current wardrobe suggests.”
“Did she rock a pencil skirt back then, too?” Tegan pressed.
Daphne flipped through memories like a high school yearbook.
She remembered Gillian in tight jeans and fuzzy sweaters, her basketball uniform with the shorts and tank top showing thinly muscled limbs, or V-necks under a leather-sleeved letterman’s jacket.
She couldn’t remember any skirts in particular, but glancing at Gillian’s blazer once more sparked an image of her dressed to the nines, pushing open the back door of a crowded room, spilling noise and dancing light into the quiet night.
Daphne had been sitting on the hood of a car, and in the moment she glanced up, Gillian had been backlit for a few glorious seconds.
She shivered slightly before meeting the eyes watching her both then and now. “She wore a suit to prom.”
Everyone seemed to wait for more. Daphne could feel them watching her, but the slight part in Gillian’s lips said more than all their combined anticipation. Had she just remembered that night as well? Or had she thought of it sooner? Was that why her earlier rebuttal had been so adamant?
Daphne’s smile spread slowly as she watched tension climb the muscles in that slender neck. “Oh Gillian, did you ever tell them about prom night?”
“What about it?” Robin asked, almost breathless, but Daphne couldn’t turn to look at her. She was entirely captivated by Gillian’s slow blink and steady exhale.
She was steeling herself. The realization hit Daphne hard.
The great Gillian DeGarmo was bracing to have her cool blown, and she’d accepted Daphne’s power to do so.
Her mind wandered back to the night when she’d seen a similar look on the younger version of that face, and she waited for the sense of superiority to come.
Only it didn’t.
She felt nothing but grace for the girl this woman had once been, and maybe for the girl Daphne still was inside. “She cut quite an imposing figure … Anyway, you’re all therapists?”
Gillian quirked her head slightly to the side as if she couldn’t quite process the segue or fully believe she’d been let off whatever hook she’d believed herself to be on, but she accepted the reprieve quickly.
“Yes, Brooke, our relationship expert, has been with me almost since I opened the practice. Robin came along a few years later and specializes in young adult identity development. Tegan joined the team about eighteen months ago—”
“—and rocked the boat in all sorts of ways.” Tegan cast a smile toward Brooke, making it clear there was a story there. “But enough about us. Welcome to our newly shared waiting room.”
“We get boring magazines and basic coffee.” Robin jumped in. “But there’s NARCAN in the lowest desk drawer, condoms and tampons in the shared bathroom, and sometimes we lend the space to community organizations like Planned Parenthood or Queer Health Services.”
Daphne relaxed deeper into the cushions. “I love every bit of that. Our values are very much aligned. As I mentioned to Gillian yesterday, I see my work as super-intersectional with yours.”
“Speaking of which …” Gillian sat forward slightly. Everyone turned toward her, and, for a second, it looked like she might stand to make a presentation or argue a court case. Instead, she closed her eyes and steepled her fingers in front of pressed lips.
“Uh-oh,” Robin said playfully, “Mommy’s struggling to maintain her gentle parenting mindset.”
One corner of Gillian’s mouth twitched up, and some of the tension left her brow. Daphne wondered what kind of magic Robin possessed to tease like that without triggering Gillian’s ire.
“Actually, that’s a great reminder.” Gillian’s green eyes opened slowly and focused once more on Daphne. “I was trying to decide how to broach complex conversations about expectations and boundaries. Perhaps my best course would be to let someone else speak.”
Daphne’s eyes narrowed as she inspected this woman for signs of body snatching, or perhaps a stroke, but no one else seemed surprised by Gillian’s ability to summon such calm or offer such grace. If anything, their attentive expressions suggested they found the occurrence completely expected.
“Did you have someone specific in mind?” Tegan asked.
“I suspect Daphne should bring everyone up to speed, as several incorrect guesses were made about the nature of her business venture.”
There it was. Gillian had worked around to the elephant no one else knew was in the room, and she’d sounded centered, even if she was freaking out behind her polished veneer.
She could pawn the entire conversation off on Daphne and leave the interrogation to her team of disciples while she watched from her perch atop the high ground without owning any of her own discomfort.
And it wasn’t that Daphne couldn’t handle it.
She relished the chance to discuss her passion with good, kind, thoughtful people, only she wasn’t sure she was ready to put Gillian in that category.
Her defenses rebounded. “Should we bring them up to speed about the assumption we already cleared off the table?”
Gillian arched an eyebrow.
“The fear you could barely verbalize after bouncing off my new bed.”
“Oh.” Gillian managed a smile. “You can thank Robin for putting that one in the back of my head, though I suppose landing on a mattress may’ve sparked something similar on its own.”
“Wait, did you think she was a sex worker?” Robin’s voice dripped with laughter. “I mean … actually, fair. Why do you have a bed over there, if not for, you know, bedding people? No judgment—we’re super sex positive.”
“Hence the condoms in the bathroom,” Tegan added.
“And the Planned Parenthood events,” Robin piled on.
Brooke cleared her throat. “I’d love to return to the initial question. If all our guesses were incorrect, instead of fixating on one wrong answer, perhaps you could give us the right one.”
Daphne sighed. “Probably, but only if you promise to tell me the fun guesses later.”
“Totally swear to it.” Robin leaned forward. “Now spill. Delayed gratification is not my strong suit.”