Twenty-Three #2
“I can’t just change my path because something new and exciting comes along.”
“Why not?” Daphne pushed. “It’s something you want. You’re the boss of your own life.”
“I’m also the boss of my practice. I don’t get to do what I want,” Gillian snapped.
“It has to make sense in the long term for everyone. I’m not someone who can jump ship into deep water.
Maybe you can. Maybe it’s easier for you or the stakes are lower.
You seem to do fine following your gut or acting on impulse or whims, but I’m not comfortable with mess. ”
“And you think I am?”
Gillian stammered a bit. “Yes. And I’m not judging that.”
“You are.” Daphne shot back. “You’re absolutely judging it, and you’re a hypocrite for it. What happened to the woman last night who told me I’d had a beautiful reset and bent the road to my will, and that’s life, something to be proud of?”
“It is.”
“For me. But not for you?” Daphne shook her head.
“What you meant is ‘that’s life’ for someone like me.
That’s ‘humanity’ for people like me. People with flaws, people who make mistakes, people who don’t have it all figured out.
But people like you must do better, they must never waver, they must never struggle to find the right answer.
They can’t switch gears in ways that let anyone else know they didn’t breeze through effortlessly. ”
“I’m not saying I breeze through life. I’m saying I work through it in order, with thought for how it affects other people, not just today, but five years from now, ten years from now.
It doesn’t make me better than you, but it makes us different.
It’s not just me. I have friends, colleagues, a mentor all depending on me to be the steady, dependable one.
” Gillian lifted her hands and let them fall to the table in exasperation.
“And no, I don’t think you understand that.
I don’t think someone who flies by the seat of her pants can possibly fathom the weight of responsibility that comes with having other people look to you to provide a sense of safety, security, and steady income, or a place to thrive for them.
It’s a lot of pressure, and you haven’t lived with that the way I do—”
The door to the apartment flew open with a bang against the wall. “Hey Mom, I left my backpack up here last night and … oh.”
The entire world slowed as Izzy skidded to a stop, her head turning from Daphne to Gillian and then cocking it to the side as if trying to process. “Um, what’re you two doing?”
Gillian froze. All her training in remaining neutral, all her practice sitting in vulnerable situations, all her coping skills processing emotional elevation failed her completely.
Nothing in her schooling or life had prepared her for this moment.
How did one even begin to possibly explain to an eleven-year-old why she’d spent the night with their mother?
She felt relatively certain she shouldn’t share any of the details, not if Izzy had any hope of ever eating at this table again, and she had a vague sense she shouldn’t craft some outrageous lie to justify her presence, but beyond that she had nothing, so she froze.
“Good morning to you, too, Love of My Life.” Daphne sprang into action and pulled her daughter into a hug before shooting Gillian an indecipherable look over the top of her head.
What did it mean? Was she being told to run? No, that couldn’t be anything more than wishful thinking. Did Daphne want her to come up with some excuse, or was she asking her to be cool? She hoped it was the latter, though even that felt like a tall order.
“Gillian and I are having a morning tea,” Daphne said evenly as she released Izzy. “I’d invite you to join us, but you don’t drink tea, and more importantly, you’d be late for school if you aren’t already.”
Izzy frowned at the explanation, then turned to Gillian with a furrowed brow and said, “I guess you had to leave your car here last night?”
Gillian nodded, feeling like she should say more, but for the life of her she couldn’t think what.
“I invited her to have an English muffin before she heads to work, but she hasn’t touched hers,” Daphne continued breezily. “I think maybe she’s not as big a fan of my cooking as she was Papa’s last night.”
Izzy laughed. “I mean, you’re good at other things, Mom.”
“Oh, I see how it is,” Daphne said dramatically. “It’s not enough to give you life. You want me to feed you, too?”
Izzy rolled her eyes, seeming so much like her mother some of the ice in Gillian’s chest began to thaw. Daphne had done that. She’d used calm, then grace, then humor to completely diffuse the situation without lying or stigmatizing or freaking out at what her daughter might figure out.
Have you tried just not?
Daphne’s words from a few days ago came back to her in a rush.
Is that what Daphne had done? Simply refused to see this conversation as a crisis?
Had she tried not freaking out? Gillian had tried to pretend like her brain hadn’t short-circuited, but Daphne had actually done all the things to suggest she genuinely was fine, despite having much more at stake.
A hint of shame warmed Gillian’s face, and she worried her cheeks had colored enough for the others to notice, but everyone’s attention shifted toward the sound of footsteps thundering up the stairs.
Hugh burst through the open door, wide-eyed and breathing hard as he scanned the room, before blurting out, “Izzy, you didn’t tell me you were coming up here.”
He turned to Daphne almost frantically. “I didn’t know she was coming up here.”
Gillian took small solace in knowing she wasn’t the only one who’d missed the mark on the just not chaos policy around here.
Daphne smiled softly and shook her head at him. “She’s fine. I know you don’t like her to wake me up on mornings when I get the chance to sleep in, but Gillian was already here. She’s going to take her car to work this morning.”
“Ah.” Hugh nodded, rather unconvincingly. “Good morning, Gillian. I did notice your car in the driveway. I’m glad you’re safe and in from the … snow.”
“So much snow.” Izzy twirled around gleefully. “I think we got more last night. I wish we had another snow day, but I gotta go to school.”
“Yes, you do,” Daphne said emphatically. “You have to get a stellar education so you can become successful enough to provide for me in my old age. Off you go.”
Izzy bent over, checking under the table and then behind a chair, causing Gillian to tense again in fear she’d seen some indicator of what had taken place here last night, but instead she snagged a backpack from the floor and slung it over her shoulder.
“Okay.” She sighed heavily enough to make her seem more put upon than the average eleven-year-old. “I’ll go.”
Izzy shuffled over to Daphne and hugged her tightly around the waist. Then, in a surprise nearly as sharp as her arrival, she turned to Gillian and threw her arms around her as well.
This time when the air left her lungs unexpectedly, Gillian didn’t hate it.
The girl’s smaller frame stretched to wrap tightly around hers, then squeezed.
Gillian closed her eyes for a second, enjoying the simplicity of the embrace, but when she opened them again, she found Daphne watching her with more concern than she’d showcased at any other point in this emotional roller coaster.
“Bye.” Izzy let go as abruptly as she’d taken hold, then without a backward glance bolted down the stairs.
“I’m so sorry,” Hugh whispered as he backed toward the stairs. “Holy hell.”
Gillian shared his sentiment as the adrenaline that had surged through her began to wane. Her limbs felt leaden as she sagged deeper into her chair and tried not to slide all the way to the floor. “That was close.”
“Hmm.” Daphne gave a light little hum of a noise.
“Are you okay?” Gillian finally looked at her in full once more. Her posture hadn’t loosened. In fact, she seemed more tense than before. Her eyes were harder, too, as Daphne folded her arms across her chest.
The hair on the back of Gillian’s neck stood on end, and she got the distinct sense she wouldn’t enjoy what came next, so she offered a preemptive bout of genuine praise.
“Daphne, you were amazing. You handled that so beautifully and calmly and authentically. I had no idea what to tell her. When she asked what I was doing here, I panicked.”
“Uh-huh.” Daphne stared at her. “I caught that. Maybe now you’d like to return to the conversation we were having before she arrived. Please tell me again how I don’t understand the responsibility or the weight of having another person depend on me.”
Gillian grimaced. “I am so sorry.”
“Oh no,” Daphne pushed. “You were on quite a roll. Something about me living on my whims and not thinking about how my decisions might affect someone five or ten years down the road. That’s what you said, right?”
“I did,” she admitted, “and I was the one who wasn’t thinking.
I’m the one who didn’t understand until Izzy was right here asking me about the exact kind of conversation I feared she’d share in detail with her own therapist someday.
” Daphne didn’t laugh. She didn’t even smile at the irony.
“You handled it beautifully, though. I don’t even know how you did it.
You didn’t lie or quite redirect …” Gillian tried to replay the parts of the discussion she could remember.
“I answered the questions she asked,” Daphne said plainly, “all while you were stuck trying to figure out how to answer the questions you were afraid she was going to ask.”
Gillian struggled to make sense of that, and it must’ve shown on her face.