Page 77 of Touch of Class

Gillian turned to see a woman standing there in an outfit nearly identical to Izzy’s, though she filled it out in ways making her more intimidating than adorable. Her honeyed hair was pulled back, and the flecks of gold in her eyes reminded Gillian of Tegan. She had a helmet tucked casually under one arm, but she extended her free hand. “I’m Lauren. And that was a rather blunt summary of my life, deeply influenced by my wife’s flair for the dramatic.”

Gillian laughed. “I’m Gillian, and I cannot even begin to tell you how little that fazed me.”

“She’s a therapist,” Izzy supplied.

“Ah,” Lauren nodded sagely. “You’d fit right in here. Do you do sport psychology?”

Gillian shook her head. “Not recently, though I have some connections from my college days.”

“She was a … what’d my mom call it … an Ivy League all-something.”

Gillian stared at Izzy in surprise. “All-American.”

Lauren’s eyes lit up. “In fencing?”

“No, nothing that interesting. Basketball.”

“Lauren went to Princeton.” Izzy looked rather pleased with herself for supplying such proud information. “Gillian went to Cornell.”

“And I went to Columbia.” Another woman strode confidently into the room and conversation. She was a bit shorter than Gillian, but the shock of messy red hair and athletic build triggered an instant sense of kinship.

“Babe, it’s not a competition.”

“We’re not having an Ivy-off?”

“Don’t we always?” Gillian asked, immediately liking these two.

Lauren rolled her eyes. “Not all of us, but Gillian, this is Jess. She’s my wife and co-owner of the school here.”

“And the Olympic medalist.” Gillian nodded over her shoulder to the trophy case full of awards.

“I like you, Gillian.” Jess shook her hand. “No need for false modesty.”

“It’s anti-feminist,” Gillian said flatly, then turned back to Izzy. “And as I’ve told my young friend, women learning to wield swords seems the epitome of female agency and empowerment.”

“I might have to paint that on the sign out front,” Lauren said.

Jess shrugged. “Probably better than my ideas about the catharsis of repeatedly stabbing people.”

Gillian chuckled. “Don’t underestimate that psychological power but maybe pair it with some solid self-reflection.”

“Hey, did I mention Gillian’s a therapist?” Lauren asked. “She just happened to drop by.”

“Sure she did.” Jess frowned. “Did you?”

“I swear.” Gillian held up her hands. “I came to watch Izzy, but I’m willing to leave my card if it’d be helpful.”

Jess shook her head. “Lauren’s been on me about incorporating more sport psychology, both in my own training and in our upper-level academy programs.”

Gillian nodded. “Hate to side with a Princeton grad here, but I’d actually go a step further and say you could teach some foundational mental health practices at any age or level. Not everyone will become an Olympic fencer, but if you’re looking to build lifelong athletes, creating strong connections between good physical and mental health would emphasize the benefits of staying in the sport long after the dreams of standing atop a podium fade.”

“That’s it. There’s no way I’m not believing you’re a plant my wife hired to casually pop in.” Jess laughed. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, and she very rarely is. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Even if I could pull up a few studies to affirm your point about stabbing occasionally being a healthy outlet for pent-up tension as long as you’re in that full suit?”

“See?” Jess kissed Lauren on the cheek. “Sometimes I’m right, too. There are studies.”

Lauren gave her a playful shove. “I’d like to do some studies on you.”