Eleven #2
“Universal bad behavior isn’t an argument for forgoing best practices. It’s a reason to codify and uphold them in the most formal and supportive ways.” Gillian rebounded, but her voice carried a hint of sadness. “You’re alone in here in a bed with the door shut with people you don’t know.”
“And you’re across the hall in a room with a couch with people you don’t know and the door shut.”
“It’s a concern,” Gillian admitted, once again sounding genuine in a way that worried Daphne.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” She shook her head, and a bit of focus came back into her green eyes. “I’m trained to de-escalate. I’ve been taught to handle unstable people. I’ve got policies in place. Thankfully, so do my people.”
“And so do I,” Daphne said, before adding, “now.”
Gillian caught it.
Daphne had known she would, and she pushed forward.
“I started in this business with very little training and support. I’ve spent the last ten years building a more solid foundation through workshops, classes, conferences, and reading everything I could get my hands on.
While there’s no single professional organization I can point to as the ultimate authority, there are certifications from places like Cuddle Professionals International, Tange Wellness, and Cuddlist.”
Gillian pinched the bridge of her nose as if trying to stem the pressure building there.
“Look, I hear it,” Daphne admitted. “Anything with the word ‘cuddle’ in it sounds unprofessional, but that’s a reflection of your own issues, not mine. Most of the educational pathways focus on things you’d very much approve of.”
“Such as?”
“Boundary setting and holding, clear communication, consent work, human psychology focusing on the psychology of touch and attachment, business management, and yes, safety issues like risk assessment and de-escalation.”
“And they’re backed by legitimate organizations, not some guy printing off diplomas in his garage like internet ordination into the Church of Kale, or paying $75 to become a Scottish laird?”
Daphne laughed, perhaps more than the joke warranted, but Gillian so rarely made jokes, this one caught her off guard.
“Yeah. The accreditation I received from Cuddle Professionals International is backed by both the Complementary Medical Association and the International Institute for Complementary Therapists.”
Gillian scrunched up her face as if trying to focus hard. “Complementary medicine and therapy?”
“Not your kind of therapy, but I bet you’ve got at least some passing experience with things like acupuncture, therapeutic massage, reflexology, aroma or light therapies, meditation, or yoga.
Actually, I know for a fact you did yoga back in high school.
I’d be willing to bet money you still have a mat rolled up in the corner of your house somewhere. ”
Gillian pursed her lips together, then lifted a shoulder.
“Ha.” Daphne pointed at her accusingly. “Can you imagine if your Pilates instructor and I both had our credentials backed by the same people?”
“No,” Gillian said gravely. “I cannot.”
“For that matter, have you ever once stopped before a massage to ask who certified your masseur?”
“No.”
“And if an acupuncturist or a chiropractor or someone teaching tai chi or meditation moved in across the hall, would you be in their office asking them what gives them the right to do their jobs?”
“I don’t know.”
Daphne sat there hoping her disbelief showed plainly on her face.
“I honestly don’t,” Gillian defended. “I guess it’s a continuum. A chiropractor, probably not. That feels like medicine, and massage is common enough. Acupuncture would’ve sparked curiosity.”
“And how far is platonic touch down on the scale?”
“Pretty far,” Gillian said, though she didn’t sound angry or even superior anymore.
“Then we may be back to this being a ‘you problem.’ I’m accredited the same way as the yoga teacher you love, and you recognize that massage requires a professional to touch you, while naked I might add.
We both accept payment for helping people, and I’m filling a basic human need.
And even though there are risks pretty much everywhere, I’m about as safe in my little room as you and your staff are in yours, due to possessing many of the same skills around boundaries and expectations.
I don’t know, Gillian, sounds like your objections stem less from how I go about my work and more about your general discomfort with things you find a little icky. ”
She shifted in her seat, uncrossing her legs before standing up. “Icky? Is that a clinical term in your world?”
Daphne snorted softly. “Maybe not the official one, but it doesn’t matter what you call it. I guarantee you know it when you feel it.”
Gillian sighed, staring at her for a second before saying, “I have considerable experience sitting with discomfort.”
“I bet you do, and that’s a good thing, because I’m going to stick around for a while. Who knows? Maybe it’ll be good for you. You might even learn to like it.”
“Okay, and we’re back to goading and innuendo. That’s my cue to leave.”
Daphne laughed. “Glad I could be so helpful.”
“Never a dull moment, I’ll give you that.” Gillian turned for the door, but Daphne wasn’t one to let her have the last word.
“Hey, Gillian.”
“Yes?”
“Good session.”
Gillian’s stomach growled, actually growled, in front of a client. Not like a little rumble, but like a lion in the distance, and Maria noticed it.
“I hope you get a break after me,” her longtime client offered sweetly.
“Me too,” Gillian said, then caught herself, “I mean, I do, and I’m good. Go on.”
“There’s not much to add,” Maria said. “Pretty easy week for me. I’m in the calm before the Thanksgiving rush.”
Gillian nodded, hoping her face stayed professionally polite without revealing that in addition to losing track of her meal schedule, she’d also somewhere lost track of the fact that they were roughly halfway through November. “The holidays are a great time to practice our boundary work.”
Maria laughed lightly. “Or to work so hard we ignore boundaries all together.”
“Plenty of people go that route,” Gillian admitted, “and I’ve been known to choose it myself from time to time, so no judgment here. I’d be remiss not to offer an alternative, though.”
“Can’t I just get a massage amid the chaos and call it self-care?”
“I think we can do better at addressing the issue systemically, but I’d also be in favor of scheduling the massage in advance,” Gillian offered easily enough, even as her last conversation with Daphne welled up in her memory.
You touch people for money.
It had been several days, and she didn’t care to admit how often the details floated through her mind unbidden.
A little alarm sounded on her smart watch, and she clicked it off without glancing at the screen.
“Saved by the bell.” Maria hopped up. “Maybe we can punt that both/and thing to next session?”
“I’ll be ready.”
“I appreciate that about you.” Maria slipped into her coat. “You’re always ready for everything.”
“I try.” She rose and opened the door, seeing Maria out, then closed it quickly behind her. She wasn’t ready to face another client yet. She needed every one of the next ten minutes to focus, before she met with … oh God, who was next?
Maria, then … why couldn’t she remember? It had been one appointment after another, and she’d spent her lunch break returning calls about new client inquiries, and there were two intakes, and—her stomach growled loudly again.
Dinner. She sighed. She didn’t have a client.
She had an hour, one glorious hour, and it was Brooke’s turn to cover Take-Out Tuesday.
Gillian didn’t have to do a damn thing except make her way down the hall to the conference room.
Surely she still had that in her. Only, as soon as she stepped out of her office door, she realized the task would take more from her than it should, when she bumped into Daphne. Literally.
“Oops.” Daphne turned around but didn’t take a step back, which put them flush against each other. For a second, Gillian’s brain dropped all the way into her body as soft curves butted against her sharp edges, and for a fraction of a second, she leaned forward.
“Easy there.” Daphne caught her arm, and the direct contact snapped Gillian back into herself.
“I’m fine.”
Daphne laughed. “Do you ever find that when someone says, ‘I’m fine’ unprompted, they usually aren’t.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Gillian muttered. She did, in fact, find that, but she didn’t want to think about it or anything other than getting out of this conversation.
Daphne burst out laughing.
“What’s funny?” Robin asked from across the room where she and Tegan were huddled over the same phone.
“Gillian said ‘fuck.’”
“Ah.” Robin nodded. “Does happen sometimes. The one you gotta get is Brooke.”
“Get me to what?” Brooke pushed through the door, loaded down with two big paper bags.
“Say ‘fuck.’”
Brooke wrinkled her nose slightly. “Okay, at anyone in particular?”
Tegan kissed her on the cheek before taking one of the bags. “I love you so much. And no. We’re all a little loopy here. Long day. Tuesdays always are.”
“Hence reinforcements.” Brooke nodded to the bag. “I got barbecue tonight. The cooler weather called for something heartier.”
“I love you, too,” Gillian blurted as gratitude washed over her. “In a different way, of course, but … Tegan, kiss her again.”
“Gladly.” This time Tegan planted a real kiss on her mouth, one that went on two seconds longer than necessary.
“I said kiss, not make out,” Gillian grumbled, but, honestly, if she could get some pulled pork right now, she wouldn’t split hairs.
“Romantic liberty.” Tegan shrugged. “Not sorry. What were we talking about?”
“Food?” Gillian asked hopefully.
“Right.” Tegan turned to Daphne. “Want to join us? We always get way more than we need. Take-Out Tuesdays are an office institution. We don’t have to talk about clients if you want to pop in.”