Twelve
Daphne tugged on the fitted sheet and huffed in frustration when the upper corner didn’t come loose.
It was such a little thing, but this late in a long day, she would’ve preferred it if the sheets would jump into her laundry basket so she could go home.
It was weird to spend the better part of one’s day in bed and still long to get back to her own, and, not for the first time, she briefly considered sleeping here.
It was Hugh’s night with Izzy, so there was no logistical issue, but over the years she’d learned the hard way what havoc could come from not drawing sufficient boundaries between work and home, so she walked around the mattress and pulled the sheet free.
She’d done such a good job of transitioning into her new life, new office, and new work relationships, and she didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that when she finally felt like she’d hit her stride.
Then, as if the universe had heard the little shot of bravado flit through her brain, it sent a warning shot in the form of Gillian striding down the hallway. Daphne recognized the sound of her heels hitting with purpose. No one else walked like Gillian.
The thought made her smile, which in turn reminded her of Gillian dancing in the waiting room earlier, and her smile widened.
Acting entirely on a whim, Daphne called out, “Hey, Gilly Bean.”
The footfall stopped short, and she shook off a little shiver of anticipation.
“Yes?” Gillian stuck her head in the door, and Daphne wondered if she’d ever quite get used to the sight of her, all put together and using her professional register.
“I wanted to say thanks for being a good sport earlier.”
That seemed to catch Gillian off guard, and her business face flickered to reveal something more fatigued. She hitched her leather workbag higher on her shoulder, as if wanting to hold the trappings of her profession closer.
“I know I pushed you out of your comfort zone.”
“Is that an apology?”
Daphne laughed. “Not hardly. It was good for both of us.”
“You presume quite a lot to declare something good for me simply because you enjoyed it.” And there was the erudite side of her back again.
“Maybe,” Daphne said, “but it was good for me to see everyone being freely human together for a few minutes. I suppose you can be responsible for crafting your own narratives.”
“It doesn’t feel that way around you,” Gillian said softly. It wasn’t an argument so much as a statement made in bewilderment, a rare flash of vulnerability showing through the thin sheen of exasperation.
“Sounds like another ‘you problem,’” Daphne said without the same level of amusement she usually felt when tying this woman in knots.
“If you can’t make sense of human moments with your closest people, that might be something for you to examine, but my opinion of you goes up every time I see you with your posse. ”
Gillian lifted her eyes to search Daphne’s, as if waiting for the punch line.
“I’m serious. You’re different around them, softer, more playful, and they adore you. Those women, they’d march into Hell if you told them to.”
Gillian’s lips curled up slightly, but the smile carried a hint of sadness. “They have. I mean, I didn’t tell them to, but I didn’t know how to stop it. Or I wasn’t strong enough as a boss or a friend, or maybe I was too busy trying to be both.”
“Hey,” Daphne whispered, “come in for a second.”
“No. It’s been a long day, or a long two years, but I’m good.”
Daphne regarded her closely, for the first time looking past her perfectly pressed clothes and her never-mussed hair to weariness shimmering behind the ice in her eyes.
Had it been there this whole time? What about the slight slope of her shoulders or the crease between her brows?
Had Daphne made them worse? Kicking someone in need of comfort was the antithesis of every natural impulse she possessed. “Are you really okay?”
“Yeah,” Gillian said it so quickly it couldn’t have been anything other than reflex.
“Gilly Bean,” she said softly, and ignored the grimace she got in response, likely a baser instinct for self-protection. “There’s so much affection available to you if you can lower your deflector shield or professional facade enough to accept it.”
“I’m aware of the benefits of self-reflection and authenticity. I’m simply not comfortable doing either in this context.”
“Fair.” Daphne hadn’t earned the right to be that person for Gillian. “I’m sure you can talk to Brooke or Robin or Sawyer about whatever you alluded to, the sending-them-into-Hell part.”
Gillian glanced up and away, signaling Daphne’d struck a chord. “Oh Gillian, do you seriously work with a cadre of therapist/best-friend combos and not talk to any of them about the deep stuff weighing on those proud shoulders of yours?”
“It’s complicated for me.”
“It’s complicated for everyone. Doesn’t mean it’s not worth it.”
“There have been consequences,” Gillian started, then caught herself. Daphne had noticed her doing that more lately. “You know what? You can’t understand. I’m not even sure I understand. I don’t know why I came in here.”
“Because I asked you to.”
“Did you?” Gillian frowned. “It’s been a long day.”
“So you mentioned. And also a long two years.”
Gillian blinked a few times as if finding it hard to focus. “Did I tell you that, too?”
Daphne nodded. “Can I help?”
“I can’t see how.” Gillian shook her head. “I should get going.”
“Because you’re super tough and you do everything by yourself?”
“Because I don’t need help, and if I did, I’m sure there’s nothing you could do for me. Why can’t you ever just let me go?”
“I don’t know,” Daphne admitted honestly enough.
“Most of the time it’s probably because I get some perverse pleasure out of pushing your buttons.
Like there’s this thrill in ruffling someone the world sees as unreachable.
Or sometimes it makes me feel better to prove nothing is as serious as you want to make it.
Nothing is ever so bad it can’t be laughed about. ”
The old irritation sparked in Gillian’s eyes, but Daphne was still pondering the question on her own terms. “Maybe sometimes I do needle because I still don’t trust this facade you’ve cultivated.
I find it hard to believe any person could be this put together all the time, like it has to be a front, and part of me hopes if I poke the right brick, it’ll crack long enough for me to see the real you underneath. ”
“You want to break me?”
“Sometimes, but not in a malicious way. It’s more like a mischievous curiosity.
I’m dying to know if the woman behind the fortress is soft or snarky, kind or biting.
” Daphne picked up speed and animation. “Or perhaps she’s coiled up behind that wall, primed to lose her ever-loving shit if given the right opportunity to do so without mussing up her nails or her reputation in the process. ”
Gillian stared at her, a rare moment of speechlessness settling over them both, and their eyes locked. Daphne worried the last bit had been too honest even for her.
“Which is it tonight?” Gillian finally asked.
“Believe it or not, tonight I just wanted to say I like working here, and I know you don’t like me working here, but I see you putting the good of the office ahead of your own dislike of me.
That’s cooler of you than I thought you were capable of being, but when I saw you, I mean really saw you, I worried maybe always being the one to concede gracefully had taken too heavy a toll on you. ”
Gillian lifted both hands and let them fall to her side again.
“Hey,” Daphne whispered, “would you like a hug?”
Gillian snorted. “I don’t know. How much would that cost?”
Daphne winced as the barb landed right in her chest. She’d left herself open to attack, and Gillian had lunged for a soft spot, but before she had a chance to decide if she wanted to scream or cry, Gillian jumped forward.
“I’m sorry.”
Daphne held up a hand.
“I’m sorry.” Gillian said again, almost breathless, as if the comment had hit her as hard as it had Daphne. “That was shitty.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not,” Gillian said emphatically.
“It’s what you think of me.”
“It’s not.” Gillian dropped her bag to the floor and stepped closer. “It’s what I want to think of you, but it was … I don’t know. I guess you’re not the only one pushing buttons.”
“You found quite a tender one.”
“I’m sorry.” Gillian hung her head. “I guess you got your answer to what happens if you push me hard enough to crack, but it’s not a reflection of what I think of you.
Not really. I can’t figure out what to think, and if we’re being honest, I hate that.
I hate how reasonable you sound sometimes.
I hate how you make things I find uncomfortable seem almost logical.
I hate that sometimes you’re serious about things I find laughable, and then you laugh at things I find serious.
And I never know which way is up with you, so when you said something serious, I didn’t trust it to be real, and I lashed out because I don’t trust you to be real, either. ”
“You don’t trust me to be real?” Daphne used her hands to vaguely gesture to her unruly hair and comfy clothes and the unmade bed. “This? Me?”
“Yes, you,” Gillian nearly shouted, then gritted her teeth so hard Daphne could hear them grinding.
“You show up here, laughing and throwing around mattresses one second, then talk about the fundamental human need for touch and cite cardiac studies the next. You act like you’re over here doing the Lord’s work to ease pain and stigma, but then you’re having dance parties and alluding to prom night while you interweave logical arguments with potshots at me personally. ”
Daphne wanted to argue, to defend herself, but against what she wasn’t quite sure. She had done all those things, but she didn’t think any of them constituted a crime.