Page 69 of Touch of Class

Gillian sat back. “A sizable sample.”

“And the results were compellingly conclusive. Statistically meaningful improvements on a wide range of physical and mental health conditions. Everything from weight stabilization in infants to lowered blood pressure in adults, and positive reductions in depression, negative self-conception, and anxiety as a trait across all age ranges.”

Gillian clenched her jaw at how familiar the summary sounded. Daphne had told her all of this, but she hadn’t believed her. Or maybe she’d believed her on some abstract level, but when the practice landed right across the hall, it didn’t feel quite so academic or intellectual.

“I get it.” Lynn seemed to read her mind. “It’s one thing to know the science. It’s another to make yourself the guinea pig, but the study that broke it open for me was one where researchers compared the benefits of platonic touch between people the subject was close to and strangers who’d been professionally trained in touch therapies.”

“Clearly, there had to be a statistically significant difference.”

“You’d think so, and in children, the health benefits of being touched by a parent or close family member far overshot that of a trained professional. However, in adults, the difference was negligible.”

Gillian shook her head. “And you believed that?”

Lynn laughed again and just as heartily as before. “Absolutely not! I thought it was total horseshit. This was about two years after my wife had died, and I was so seethingly angry reading those findings, I could barely see straight. I think I’d been angry underneath it all for a long time, and that study brought it roaring to the surface. I walked around in a storm of emotions for a week. Angry at the world, angry at everyone who got to be happy when I was hurting, and downright livid at the authors of a study who dared to suggest I could get even a sliver of the comfort and peace she’d offered me with a stranger who charged by the hour.”

Gillian nodded but couldn’t escape the fact that this woman was here to see Daphne. “And yet here you are.”

“Right. Those findings went against everything we know to be true, so I did what scientists do when that happens.”

“You set out to disprove the study,” Gillian supplied.

“And I failed.” Lynn gave her a wry grin. “I mean, I maintain I was right on some level. No professional cuddler will ever replace my wife, not emotionally and not in a lot of physical ways, but that wasn’t what the study asserted. The study claimed I would see improvements in my mental and physical health, and I have. Across the board.”

Gillian’s hands twitched at the veracity of the statement and fought to stay open as the critic in her rose. “How’d you structure the experiment?”

“I found a professional cuddler, collected her informed consent, and committed to one hour a week for three months while having an independent physician monitor various blood and biomarkers. Another friend in psychology monitored my mental health largely via self-reporting and surveys.”

“I suppose the fact that you’re still here tells me everything I need to know about the results,” Gillian said drolly.

“And I can tell you’re as thrilled to hear them as I was,” Lynn teased, “but yes, my blood pressure went down, my cortisol went down, my depression screenings shifted for the better about five weeks in. My anxiety showed the biggest shift though, with self-reported symptoms cut in half, and observed symptoms being cut by nearly two-thirds. Clinical markers like variable heart rate and inflammatory cytokines all improved, too.”

Gillian had never been so displeased to hear someone’s mental health improved, and she was aware enough to feel kind of guilty. “What’d you do?”

“I dropped the study and became a reluctant acolyte for platonic touch.” Lynn grinned as if she still found the answer mystifying. “It wasn’t easy to tell people a hardened scientist drank the ‘cuddle Kool-Aid.’ Then again, Galileo didn’t have it easy when he bucked conventional wisdom either, and I have less at stake than he did. I lost the respect of a few colleagues, but I sleep well at night knowing I did what our field trains us to do. I set aside my biases in favor of quantifiable and reproducible evidence. The world is round, it revolves around the sun, and cuddle intervention has both mental and physical health benefits.”

“What the hell, Gillian! Are you grilling my clients?”

Both of them jumped up to see Daphne standing in the doorway.

“She went to Cornell,” Gillian said, as if that made any sense at all.

Daphne rolled her eyes. “Which makes it okay to ask personal questions in the room where you gave me the third degree about respecting confidentiality?”

“It’s fine.” Lynn laughed. “You know I had as much to do with this as she did. I’m a willing disciple for your ministry. Besides, we honestly did start off talking about our alma mater, which led to science, which led to me talking about my research into platonic touch interventions. I do love talking about my cortisol levels and surveys.”

Daphne turned to Gillian, who merely shrugged. “I swear I didn’t press. She volunteered all her findings.”

“And you were captivated by her retelling even though I’ve shared all the same research multiple times?”

“You have,” Gillian admitted. “I should’ve listened. I should’ve been curious instead of judgmental. I let my own discomfort with professional touch, and, honestly, with you as a person, get in the way of the science I was able to hear from Lynn’s research.”

Daphne’s lips twisted in a sardonic smile. “Yes, I’m familiar with your propensity for research.”

Gillian’s face warmed, but not with shame. She’d waited for that to come up ever since their kiss, but much to her surprise, it hadn’t. Even looking at Daphne standing in the doorway, one hand perched on the lush curve of her hip, eyes full of mirth, Gillian couldn’t summon any of the old irritation, much less new embarrassment. As she searched her feelings, she couldn’t quite make sense of anything other than a new kind of affection, or maybe a sense of connection. “Maybe Lynn isn’t the only one who can make new meaning from new information.”

Daphne arched her eyebrows, and Gillian gave her another once-over, enjoying the little thrill of leaving Daphne off-kilter for once. Pressing her lips together to keep from smiling, she waited a beat, then said, “I won’t keep you two from your appointment. Have a good session … whatever that means for each of you in your own context.”

Daphne opened her mouth as if she intended to argue, but Lynn cut her off by saying, “Thank you, Gillian.”