Eleven #3
Gillian bit her tongue. Normally, she would’ve argued about including anyone else in a work tradition, but she needed not to right now.
She didn’t have the bandwidth. She needed to extract herself as painlessly as possible.
Besides, she had not won her last argument with Daphne, which still bothered her on several levels, and she wasn’t in any place to process or repeat the experience.
“Thank you, but I can’t,” Daphne said mercifully. “I have a client in fifteen minutes, and I never eat anything heavy before a session.”
“Probably smart,” Robin said. “You’re very close to your clients. I only have to worry about my peeps seeing all the barbecue I’ll definitely be wearing down the front of my shirt for my last few sessions of the day.”
“’Tis true,” Tegan said with great affection. “No one rocks an edible fashion accessory like Robin.”
“Yeah, I gotta be careful,” Daphne said. “Neutral smells, nothing sticky, soft clothing, sensitive-skin laundry products. My time between sessions has to be carefully controlled, though I’m known to rock a five-minute dance party to keep myself loose.”
“Love that idea.” Robin bounced with excitement. “Let’s go.”
“Let’s go to dinner.” Gillian tried a not-so-subtle redirect. “And let Daphne dance in peace.”
“I want to dance, too.” Tegan jumped right in the wrong direction. “We can spare five minutes.”
“I don’t know.” Brooke wavered and Gillian could’ve kissed her again, or at least have Tegan do it.
“Babe, we hardly ever get to dance together.” Tegan took the remaining bag out of her arms and set it on the couch. “Come here.”
Brooke melted. She had an arm around Tegan’s waist and rested her head on her shoulder before they’d even picked a song.
Gillian shook her head. It had never been a fair fight, not with those two so deeply in love, which left her, once again, standing alone. At least she was at the office this time, so she had her old standby to fall back on. “I’m not sure this is professional.”
“No one’s coming in for an hour.” Robin waved her off. “We need to play. Dancing would be good for you.”
“No. I don’t dance.”
“Not true!” several people declared at once, causing Daphne to laugh.
“We all saw you dance at prom,” Robin reminded her.
Daphne’s eyes narrowed. “They saw you at prom?”
Robin flushed a lovely shade of pink. “Sawyer recreated prom last summer. It was epic. Gillian rocked a suit, and as the only person who’d actually been out in high school, she showed us how to do the damn thing with all her suave.”
Daphne turned to her, expressive eyes full of memories and questions.
“Robin has a flair for hyperbole,” Gillian said, her voice not quite as dismissive as she’d intended.
“I keep forgetting you two actually knew each other at prom,” Tegan mused. “Daphne, you confirmed she rocked a suit.”
“She did. Even I was impressed.”
Gillian snorted. It was too much, and she’d used all her restraint. Daphne had not been impressed, and while she didn’t want to relive that memory or share it with anyone else, she didn’t need to be patronized, either.
“It’s true. You were a better dancer than I expected.
I chalked it up to your athleticism,” Daphne said.
Then with a sweetness to her smile Gillian rarely got to be on the receiving end of, she added, “Everyone in the room has already seen you dance. Nothing left to hide, but in a show of good faith, I’ll let you pick the song. ”
“Come on Gilly Bean,” Robin cajoled. “Pick a good one.”
“Gilly Bean?” Daphne’s features lit up as her eyes sparked with amusement. “Do we call her ‘Gilly Bean’?”
“We do not,” Gillian said at the same time everyone else said, “Yes.”
Daphne laughed. “I don’t know what magic you all possess to be able to get away with that, but I pray it shields me, too, because it’s the most perfectly adorable thing I’ve ever heard.”
“And now you’ve given way to hyperbole.” Gillian pinched the bridge of her nose. How had she lost this battle … and so many others lately?
“Come on, Gilly Bean.” Daphne stepped unnervingly close and extended her phone. “You can play DJ. There has to be something that gets your feet tapping.”
Gillian shook her head again, though even she realized it would probably be easier to surrender so they could move on to dinner, but at some point, didn’t she have to maintain some sense of decorum?
“Britney!” Brooke finally called. “She loves Britney Spears.”
“Traitor,” Gillian muttered, but it was too late. Daphne had already pulled back the phone.
“If you don’t pick, I will. And I know how much you love ceding control,” Daphne needled, “especially to me of all people.”
Gillian was being baited. She knew it. They all knew it, but the idea of maintaining even a modicum of control did spark an idea.
Brooke noticed immediately. “Uh-oh, I know that look. Did you come up with a plan?”
She shook her head again, but mostly out of habit. This was game over, and she’d lost enough in her life to do so with grace, so she extended her hand. “Not a plan, just a fitting connection for how I feel about this situation.”
Daphne laughed and handed over the phone.
Gillian typed in a quick search and the first strains of music filled the room. She waited patiently for the recognition to play across her friends faces as Britney Spears launched into her version of “My Prerogative.”
It took another second for the others to get the point, and one by one they all began to laugh.
Then the dancing started until a laughing, happy, joking circle formed around her.
She wanted to be annoyed, and, honestly, a huge part of her was, but maybe she didn’t have the energy to sustain anger amid her other emotions. Then again, perhaps all the easy affection in the room softened her reaction.
Either way, she allowed herself one final eye roll before she did the only logical thing left to do, and joined in.