Page 110 of Touch of Class

“Maura? Sawyer’s mother?”

“Correct. I’m supposed to take over her legacy of work.”

“I got the sense none of you liked her much.”

“Another thing that’s not so simple,” Gillian said. “She’s the most prolific and respected researcher in our field.”

“Ah. And I know you do love research.”

“I do.”

“How do you reconcile the woman and the work and whatever she did to your friend to make things so tense?”

Gillian hung her head. “I’ve not done well at all on that front. I think I kept a foot in both camps and tried to compartmentalize until last summer, when I just couldn’t. Since then I’ve focused on Sawyer, but I can’t ignore Maura forever. She was a terrible mother, but she’s a brilliant psychologist and scientist.”

Daphne’s own defense spiked at the last bit of blunt summary. “Those two things don’t cancel each other out. It’s not an even trade.”

“No.” Gillian made no attempt to argue. “Nothing about it has ever been even, as much as I tried to make it. I’ve struggled. We all have, but it doesn’t mean my life’s work is bad. The plan’s a good one, regardless of Maura’s shortcomings as a parent. It’s served me well, and it could serve a lot of people going forward.”

“Couldn’t sport psychology do the same thing without the baggage? You’d help a lot of young athletes. Seems like it could lead to interesting research, too.”

“But it’s not as serious, and the path isn’t nearly as clear. I’d have to start back from scratch, but if I follow Maura, I could be the heir to a thriving program that’s well respected and established. Plus, I know exactly how that would dovetail with my private practice. It’s clean and clear, and it would build all of our statuses in the community without risking anything I’ve worked so diligently to build.”

“But will it make you happy? Will you have to make the same trades Maura did? Will you wake up excited every day? Or will you just keep looking for the next crisis? Will it ever be your own, or will it always be Maura’s legacy you feel pressured to uphold?”

Gillian pushed back from the table without touching her breakfast. “You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“I’m trying, but you don’t get it.”

“What don’t I get?”

“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.