Page 60 of Touch of Class

“Are you kidding?” Tegan smiled. “That was the greatest thing to ever happen to any Friendsgiving anywhere. Don’t apologize for showing up like that. I’m in awe.”

Sawyer laughed. “I’m not in awe, but I am sorry you two never got to make out on the hood of Daphne’s car.”

“It’s not too late,” Robin cut in. “She’s parked right downstairs.”

“Too far.” Brooke pushed back from the table. “I think everyone’s done enough reauthoring for one evening, but as is generally the case, I agree with Tegan. You two did something amazing tonight, and I’m grateful to have shared it. I suggest we all leave it at that and get some rest.”

“I think my option’s more fun,” Robin mumbled, “but I’ve got a big week of clients, clients, and more clients, and wrapping up with a dinner with Sawyer’s mother.”

Everyone grimaced as they began cleaning up the table, but Daphne stayed seated a second longer, watching Gillian across the table as she took a few more steadying breaths before meeting her eyes.

There were still questions there, plenty of emotions, too, but in grand Gillian fashion, she managed a small smile, only this time it wasn’t the usual, politely neutral version. This expression carried something Daphne had never seen there before, exhaustion, relief, gratitude, and perhaps a hint of lightness that hadn’t existed between them for twenty-two years.

Fourteen

The week of Thanksgiving had rolled by in a blur of work, travel, and family, giving Gillian little time to catch her breath. It didn’t help that Christmas decorations were already going up all over Buffalo by the time she rolled into work and her clients were in full-blown holiday stress mode.

“No,” she whispered. It was just another Tuesday, and Tuesdays were always busy. Voices down the hallway accentuated the point. It was after eight o’clock at night, and while Robin had left, Brooke and Tegan were still in the building. From the sound of people shuffling across the hall, Daphne must be around, too.

Daphne.

The tension crept back up Gillian’s shoulders. She wouldn’t have thought it possible to be even more aware of her, but in the week since Friendsgiving, she’d noticed her touches everywhere, from her “snuggle bug” mug near the coffee machine to the sound of her voice, always light and enthusiastic, to the lingering hint of her scent of coffee and clean laundry in the hallway. Even when Daphne wasn’t around, Gillian’s mind wandered to her in the rare, quiet moments between clients, on the treadmill, and, most disconcertingly, each time she woke up from a restful night’s sleep.

She hadn’t had the prom dream. She hadn’t had any dreams at all. It was as if she’d traded peaceful sleep for this woman occupying her mind in every waking hour.

She couldn’t stop fixating on their last conversation. Had she really gotten it so wrong for so long? She was reasonable enough to at least intellectually understand that communication was always bound to be imperfect, particularly in an emotional situation between two teenagers. Only she hadn’t relegated the experience entirely to adolescence. She’d carried it to college with her, first in fear, and then in an almost methodical kind of defiance. She’d dated several women early on to just to prove she could. And while she wasn’t proud of that, she felt even less comfortable with how the memory had affected her recently.

She’d had the dream multiple times since Daphne’s return, and it had no doubt informed her cold shoulder over recent months, not to mention the way she’d withheld things from her most trusted circle of friends. How could she allow herself to be so influenced by something she’d so fully misunderstood? She prided herself on being self-aware, clinically direct, unflinching in her assessments. If she’d missed the mark here, what else had she gotten wrong?

Someone cleared their throat, and Gillian about jumped out of her skin.

“Sorry,” Brooke said from the doorway. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Everything okay?”

Gillian forced a smile. “Of course. Mentally unpacking the day. You heading out?”

“Yeah, I’m done. You?”

“Not hardly.” Gillian noted the concern in her best friend’s eyes. Brooke would listen, she’d be there for her, she’d be great, if only Gillian would let her. “You got anything planned?”

“For when, tonight?”

Gillian nodded.

“Um, Tegan’s in the car. We were going to eat ice cream and watch some mindless TV. I could run her home and come back, or meet you somewhere. Or you could come over.”

“No.” Gillian waved off the suggestion and the reminder that Brooke’s life and schedule weren’t entirely her own anymore. “I need to get a few things sorted, then I’ll head out, too.”

“You sure?”

“Totally. Tell Tegan good night for me.”

Brooke hesitated for only a second. “Okay, Tegan has the keys. Would you mind locking the door behind me?”

“Sure.” She followed her friend to the door and gave another fleeting thought to saying something, but she didn’t know what. Besides, Tegan was waiting. She held the door for Brooke.

Her friend nodded to the keys in her hand. “Sorry we’re still on edge about this.”

“It’s not your fault. It was never your fault.”