Eighteen #3
She sighed. “Maybe, but it all evened out in the end. Sometimes she zinged me, sometimes I pushed her buttons—”
He smirked.
“No. No button jokes. I’m trying to say that, thus far, the awkwardness has been evenly distributed.”
“Oh, I get it now.” He nodded. “When you two were at each other’s throats, things felt evenly matched, but the kiss, both of those kisses, made it clear she has the power to tip the dynamic in her favor.
You’re not afraid to make things awkward for both of you.
You’re afraid she holds the potential to make things disproportionately uncomfortable or vulnerable for you. ”
“Well …” Her chest constricted. “Yes.”
“Then get off it,” he scolded in full English accent.
“You’re not a coward. You’re one of the bravest women I know.
You broke away from your father’s crushing pressure and purse strings.
You took a chance on the most unconventional of parenting relationships and built the family structure that suits you, from nothing.
You chose a career path more likely to engender scorn than praise.
You have the strength to not only sit with the vulnerability of strangers, but to curl yourself around them like some emotionally absorbent shield.
You’ve bent the world to your will time and time again. ”
“And you and I both know that, because of that work, I’ve let people get too close. I’ve made bad assessments about people before. We’re all here, still paying the consequences.”
“Ugh. Self-flagellation mode is so last season,” Hugh groaned, “especially since you used even your worst moment to catapult you into something better.”
“Something that’s still tenuous.”
“Only in your mind. To everyone else, you’ve fully risen from the ashes.
You moved to a new city, created a client base, made way better friends than you had the last time.
Your daughter is thriving in a better school and social group, and you’ve finally found a woman worthy of challenging your preconceived notions about what you want and deserve.
How are you worse off than you were a year ago? ”
She thought about the question. “I have a lot less faith in myself to know what’s right for me, or anyone else for that matter.”
His expression softened. “Well, stop.”
She scoffed. “Just stop?”
“Sure.” He smiled. “I mean, have you even tried believing in yourself?”
She stared at him.
“What?” He laughed. “It’s not that complicated.
Say, ‘Hey, one time I made a bad choice, and it was shit, but before that I made a million great choices, from art school to parenting to building a family with the most charming and handsome man, not to mention building a successful business from scratch, twice.’”
“You mentioned all that before.”
“Did you hear it?” He nudged her. “Because we’re still standing in the bloody cold talking about you not trusting yourself.
It’s time to move on before we freeze our tits off, and, honestly, I’m looking out for you, because your tits are much larger than mine.
Also, I imagine Gillian would be fond of them if you’d stop wallowing and go talk with her. ”
Daphne tried to hide a smile. “And where would my tits come into a ‘talk’ with Gillian?”
He grimaced. “I don’t know. I have no idea what your people do with body parts I’m not interested in. I am, however, interested in you becoming yourself again. I like you. I like Gillian, too, for that matter.”
“But not as much as you like me.”
“Obviously.” He threw an arm around her shoulder. “I adore you most of all, and I didn’t fall for a tiny mouse of a woman. I fell for a loudmouth smart aleck who doesn’t shrink from any challenge or any person. For all our sakes, buck up and be you again.”
She snuggled into the warmth of him, soaking up a little of his faith in her. “You think I can?”
“You’d better, because this is tedious, and you know how I feel about tedium.”
“The same way you feel about physical and emotional discomfort?”
“Exactly.” He gave her a little shove. “Now sod off, and don’t come home until you’ve, at the very least, spoken to her.”
She nodded. “I supposed I can handle that.”
“Good. And I’ll take Izzy tonight in case you decide you can handle a lot more.”
The door to Daphne’s office was open, and Gillian froze.
It had been only four days, but the sight of it closed had become a sort of metaphor.
Daphne had seemed ever-present since her arrival in October, and then suddenly she wasn’t, at exactly the moment her presence had become most welcome.
And now, apparently, just when Gillian had let down her guard enough to walk the halls of her own business without expecting the emotional equivalent of a jump scare, she’d returned.
Of course she had. Gillian smiled. Two months ago an unanticipated meeting with Daphne would’ve sparked plenty of emotions, but gratitude, relief, and joy were not among them.
Today she experienced all of the above and more.
She didn’t hesitate to walk right past her own waiting room and instead turn purposefully in the opposite direction.
She stood in the doorway for a moment, allowing herself the luxury of watching Daphne make the bed.
It was such a simple task, mundane in its domesticity, and yet as soothing as any meditation.
Daphne stretched out her form to run a steady hand over the comforter, smoothing out any ridges or creases.
She was graceful, her body still as lithe as it had been in youth, though fuller, more supple.
A heat rose in Gillian’s core as she realized her observation had strayed from casual to sensual, but for the first time she didn’t stop herself. Allowing her gaze to travel along the curve of Daphne’s spine, her flexing shoulders under a thin shirt, the indent of her waist, the flare of her hips.
“Are you just going to watch me like some weird stalker, or did you intend to say something?” Daphne straightened up and turned to face her. “Maybe critique my form or explain the finer points of the hospital corner method of tucking sheets?”
Gillian leaned against the doorframe. “I only intended to check in, though now that you mention it, I would probably enjoy a bedmaking seminar. Seems rather orderly, which you know appeals to me on a deep level.”
One corner of Daphne’s mouth curled up. “Maybe you should talk to a therapist about that.”
“Probably. Know any good ones?”
Daphne shook her head. “What is happening right now?”
“I’d like to talk to you about what happened last week. Honestly, I wanted to talk about it before now.”
“You knew where to find me.”
“I wasn’t sure you wanted to be found. I would’ve tried harder. I would’ve stayed and talked that night, but I got the sense you were rushing me out the door after we got interrupted.”
“I certainly didn’t want to talk about it with your friends standing in the hallway, but you could’ve called.”
Gillian nodded. “As could you.”
“Why should I be the one to call after the requisite three days?”
“I don’t know. Why should I?” Gillian stepped forward.
“There’s no easy script here. I don’t even know who kissed who, and neither one of us asked the other out.
I mean, I’m not a fan of patriarchal dating practices, but you have to admit, the lack of cultural norms and roles can be both a pro and a con of lesbian dating.
Not that we’re dating, but I would like to know how to do the right thing here. ”
“Right for who?”
“For you.”
“What if the right thing for me isn’t what you want?”
Gillian heard the echo of Brooke asking, “What do you want?” and she gave the question as much gravity now as she had then. “I want to hold my values, Daphne. I want to be the person I know I am inside, thoughtful, considerate, mindful, and intentional.”
Daphne rolled her eyes. “Of course you do. Always the stoic, always mindful, always considerate. I used to think it was an act or a facade, and I wanted to see it crack, but now I think it’s real, which is somehow more maddening.”
“How so?”
“Because it exhausts me to watch. Even in your vulnerability you’re perfect and earnest, and very … you.”
“Thank you?”
“It wasn’t a compliment.” Daphne paused, and Gillian wondered if she were rethinking the statement. “I mean, I’ll give you points for genuineness, and I never thought I’d say that to you of all people, but doesn’t it get exhausting to have to be so good at everything all the time?”
“Yes,” Gillian admitted.
“But you keep doing it. When we mere mortals have bad days and make mistakes—”
“I have bad days, and I’ve made mistakes.”
“But you bear them with grace and poise and a stiff upper lip, while the rest of us throw fits and wallow and throw things. You get to sit above us, and I hate that. Always have. You make me want to scream, but I know I’ll feel worse about it later to lose my cool in front of such an impenetrable fortress of a woman. ”
Gillian grimaced at the characterization. She didn’t feel impenetrable. She felt the heat that she’d noticed earlier spreading in the most disconcerting way. The sight of Daphne unraveling was doing something similar to her own resolve.
“And the thing is, you’re not faking it or summoning some sort of bravado.
You’re genuinely fantastic at so many things, and it pisses me right off that kissing is one of them, because I feel like you shouldn’t be.
You’re uptight and kind of snobby, which should equate to cold, but then you knocked my socks off, but I think I was holding my own and maybe even leveling the playing field, but then you walked out of here with the perfect friend group, and waited the right amount of days while I’m in a tailspin, and, honestly, tell me, does that feel good? ”
“Daphne?” Gillian said softly.