Eight
“Why the fuck did it have to be Gillian?” Daphne muttered to herself, not for the first time.
Three other therapists worked in that office, and surely plenty of clients came and went, too, but to hear Izzy tell it last night, Gillian had been the only person for miles, or maybe the only person Izzy deemed worth talking to, and damned if that didn’t annoy Daphne to no end.
It wasn’t like this was the first time she’d had to listen to someone gush about the woman who set her own teeth on edge, but it was the first time she’d had to face her own daughter extolling Gillian’s many virtues.
To date, Izzy had expressed her admiration for Gillian’s intelligence, her wit, her ability to help with algebra, and her generosity to do so.
And if that wasn’t enough, Gillian had also managed to look flawless while doing so, because Izzy mentioned her suit, heels, and hair several times.
Apparently, being able to explain the nuances of the distributive property without looking even slightly mussed was quite an accomplishment.
“I’ve heard of the distributive property,” Daphne mumbled as she pulled a wad of clean sheets out of the back of her car. She’d been in the same algebra class as Gillian, even if she hadn’t retained the information at the same level of recall the valedictorian obviously possessed.
Straightening up, she blew an errant curl out of her eyes and kicked the door shut behind her as the self-recriminations tried to push in.
What kind of horrible mother wouldn’t be grateful that such a supposedly stellar human had freely given her time and vast expertise to help her kid when she couldn’t?
Why was she giving voice to such a silly internal monologue when she’d gotten Izzy to fencing last night, then fed, then to bed and up again before sending her off to school in a good mood?
So what if Gillian’s involvement had been partially responsible for the shift?
That should’ve engendered positive emotions instead of dread at the prospect of running into the woman who’d undoubtedly already been at the office for two hours.
She fumbled with the outer door, both because her hands were full, and because of the fall breeze barreling between buildings in downtown Buffalo, but as soon as she was safely inside, she shook the negativity from her system.
She maintained a policy of good vibes only once she entered her office.
Energy work was often as important as physical labor, and she didn’t want to defile her sanctuary with pettiness, so she paused at the door and took a few deep breaths before movement across the hall caught her eye.
Glancing through the window of the waiting room door, her gaze landed on Gillian standing at the coffee maker with a tablet in her hand and her chin tilted down as she studied the screen.
Daphne allowed herself the rare chance to observe her unguarded for a moment.
She was dressed to the nines in off-white slacks and a matching blazer over a navy blue silk shell as she stood casually with one hip cocked slightly to the side, looking every bit like a woman who’d always been comfortable in her own body.
Daphne had to admit, if only to herself, she envied Gillian that.
What it must be like to move through the world so sure of your place in it?
Not that she didn’t have her own confidence, but she’d worked hard for it, and at times still struggled to maintain it amid all the forces conspiring to shake her.
Especially in moments when she struggled to keep up with work and life and parenthood, only to have her high school archnemesis swoop in and wow her kid while she wasn’t looking.
Ugh. She shook her head and told herself she’d feel entirely different if it had been anyone but Gillian.
It was bad enough that every teacher and student through all their years in school was so taken with her, and now twenty years later, the collection of amazing colleagues at her new business were also enamored the same way.
Was it too much to ask that her own flesh and blood not jump headfirst into the cult of Gillian DeGarmo?
As if sensing her own name being taken in vain, Gillian looked up.
Whoops, caught.
Daphne froze as Gillian pushed open the door.
“Can I help you?”
She didn’t want to admit she’d been struck by the sight of her, so Daphne blurted, “I was hoping for some coffee.”
It wasn’t a total lie. She did need to caffeinate, but as Gillian glanced down at the bedding clutched to Daphne’s chest, she felt a little silly for not doing things in a different order. “I can come back later, after I drop these off, so I don’t interrupt you.”
“Might be easier to handle hot liquids with two free hands, but it’s no interruption. This is a communal space. Feel free to come and go as you please.”
“Thanks.” It wasn’t exactly a warm welcome, but still an improvement on their earlier interactions, a turn Daphne felt a grudging need to reciprocate. “And thanks for helping Izzy with her homework last night. I’m sorry if she was an imposition.”
“Not at all.” The hint of a smile played at Gillian’s lips. “You may remember I quite enjoy math problems.”
“And getting to be the smartest kid in class,” Daphne said, without her usual annoyance. “Honestly, Izzy’s the same way.”
“She mentioned.”
“I can only imagine.” Daphne sighed. “She has strong opinions, and she’s not afraid to share them.”
“A good quality in women,” Gillian mused. “Must run in the family.”
“Maybe.” Daphne smiled at the bank-shot compliment. “But the opinions are all hers, and she takes great joy in the ways they differ from mine.”
“Differentiation from parents is a benchmark in early adolescence.”
Daphne arched an eyebrow at the formality of the assessment.
“I can’t imagine it’s fun to parent through.” Gillian softened slightly. “But doesn’t hitting the milestones on time at least affirm you’re on track, developmentally?”
“I guess I hadn’t thought of it that way. I suppose cold solace is better than no solace at all. I’ll try to remember that the next time she stomps up to her room reciting a long litany of my shortcomings.”
Gillian grimaced. “Obviously, my knowledge of preteens is largely based on theory and my own limited lived experience.”
Daphne chuckled. “And your lived experience as an exceptional specimen likely exceeds the limits of what most people consider standard.”
Gillian shrugged. “Still, to return to your original point, Izzy’s presence was no imposition. I don’t mind having her here studying quietly, or even discussing the foundational concepts of algebraic thinking. I imagine it’s hard to juggle opening a new business with single parenthood.”
“Thank you, though I’m not a single parent. Not in the conventional sense.”
Gillian’s eyebrows went up quickly before she had a chance to school her expression. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume.”
“It’s okay. Our family is unconventional, but it works for us.
” Daphne gave the standard line she often shared with strangers but briefly found herself debating whether to say more.
She’d long ago decided no one was owed the details of her personal relationships, but a part of her did want to tell Gillian more, to explain that while she wasn’t a single parent, she was single, but she wasn’t sure why.
In her pause to examine the impulse, Gillian effectively waved it off with a return to her formal tone. “Of course. And no matter the details, I only meant to say her presence is welcome. With or without math equations for me to consider.”
“Thank you.” Daphne smiled. “But be honest, you’d prefer there be homework involved.”
“Obviously,” Gillian said sardonically, “preferably the kind—”
She came up short as her phone buzzed, and Daphne suffered a pang of disappointment at not getting to hear the end of the sentence as Gillian glanced at the screen.
“It’s crisis services. I have to take this in private.”
“Go ahead.” Daphne lifted up the pile of sheets she still held. “I have to go make a bed.”
It sounded stupid the minute it left her mouth, but she left before Gillian could see the color rising in her cheeks. I have to go make a bed? As if that was as essential as caring for a person in a mental health crisis. Way to put things in perspective.
She was still kicking herself a bit as she crossed the hall and unlocked her own office. Tossing the laundry onto the bed, she fell on top of it and tried not to hear the echo of Izzy asking why she couldn’t be a normal mom.
Still, the longer she lay there, the more she played back the exchange, not just the parting salvo.
It had likely been the most civil five minutes she and Gillian had spent together, which led her to wonder if it wasn’t the way the conversation had ended that brought down her mood, but rather the fact that it had ended at all.
Gillian disconnected the phone call, which turned out not to have been a crisis at all, but rather a mundane recordkeeping question.
Normally, the interruption would’ve annoyed her, but this morning she felt only gratitude for the reset.
The previous conversation had her head spinning, as so little of it made sense.
Conversations with Daphne rarely did. Still, she’d spent much of last night marveling at the fact that Daphne had a daughter, she hadn’t had time to ponder the details of how said daughter came into existence.
Izzy had mentioned a “papa,” who was British and away, but Gillian hadn’t considered how any of that worked.
Why had she assumed Daphne was a single mom?
Because it fit the image she held of her?
She wasn’t sure what else that image entailed, but it certainly didn’t involve her being married to a man.