Page 24 of Touch of Class

Izzy swung open the door and headed out, her own bag slung over her shoulder, but she was more than capable of walking and talking at the same time. “You’ve never gotten out of a session on time in my whole life.”

“Your whole life?” Daphne locked the door and headed for her car. “Not once?”

“Not that I can remember.” Izzy pouted as she tossed her stuff in the trunk and slammed it.

“Maybe because you only remember the times you’re with me. Maybe the common denominator in those situations is you.”

Izzy scoffed. “I don’t see how I could possibly slow you down.”

Daphne opened her door and gave her daughter a pointed glance. “You’re standing in the driveway arguing instead of getting in the car so I can arrive early and have myself centered before my client arrives.”

Izzy rolled her eyes, but the logic must’ve landed because she hopped in and fastened her seat belt.

Daphne checked the clock on the dash as they pulled out of the driveway. 3:40. It took her exactly ten minutes to get from her house to her office if she hit every light correctly. Once there, she’d need a few minutes to get Izzy settled and to calm herself so her heart wasn’t racing before she pulled another person close enough to feel her frantic energy.

If the client was on time, she could conceivably be present with them for forty-five minutes, and say a polite goodbye, then have exactly ten minutes to get to the Old First Ward, where Izzy’s fencing lessons took place. Her daughter’s concerns were not unfounded, but Daphne didn’t think admitting as much would help either of them. Instead, she said, “Let’s bring a can-do attitude here, kiddo.”

“I can’t do anything about when you schedule appointments. Didn’t Papa tell you I had fencing tonight?”

Daphne sighed as she hit her first stoplight right as it turned red. “Of course he did. And it was on the family schedule.”

“Then why didn’t you see it?”

“I did.” Or at least she was sure she’d seen it at some point. Maybe she had forgotten it when her first new client had called. Perhaps she’d been too excited, or maybe overwhelmed, by all the moving parts associated with her first single-parenting week in a new city. Or maybe the work of launching a new business took precedence over a quick chauffeur run to fencing lessons. Still, she didn’t say any of that to her displeased daughter as they started rolling again.

She didn’t want to defend herself against slights or shortcomings, real or perceived. She had to move forward, and while she couldn’t force Izzy to do the same, she could at least model the behavior she wanted to see. “Here’s the plan. We’ll get you set up in the waiting room while I get my work bed arranged.”

“Can you stop calling it your ‘work bed’ and say ‘office’? Everyone thinks you’re a sex worker.”

Daphne’s mind flashed back to Gillian turning multiple shades of red as she made that exact link. And she must’ve smiled because Izzy said, “It’s not funny. I know what you do is important, but can’t you be a normal mom for once?”

“Normal’s boring.” Daphne turned down Main Street. “Besides, if Papa and I got hung up on conventionality or what other people think, you wouldn’t be alive, so be careful what you wish for.”

Izzy rolled her eyes but allowed Daphne to continue. “You can do homework while I’m with my client, and then at exactly 4:48 be ready to walk out the door. I won’t change or make small talk. We’ll bolt, and the GPS says it’s a nine-minute drive.”

“That won’t even give me 5 minutes to change into my gear.”

“Then you’ll have to jump in with both feet. Consider it your warm-up, and I’ll make sure the coach knows it’s my fault. I’m sure she’ll understand that sometimes people have to make tough choices.”

“I don’t know.” Izzy stared out the window. “She’s married to an Olympic gold medalist. I think she’s made some good choices.”

Daphne ignored the little dig. No doubt Izzy felt this coach had made better choices than her hapless mother, and maybe she had, but Olympic medals seemed an unreasonable bar to judge someone against. “The easier you make this transition on me, the more likely it is to go smoothly.”

“Fine.” Izzy sighed. “What can I do?”

“Promise you’ll behave in the waiting room.”

“Oh, because I’m such a wild kid? Do you think I’ll blast music or have a party?”

Daphne smiled. “No. I only meant that I share the space with some therapists, and it’s of the utmost importance to honor privacy and decorum. Don’t try to make small talk or wander around or look in anyone’s desk.”

“Ew, who does that?”

“Curious kids. I’m not stigmatizing youthful behavior. I only meant respecting privacy is serious business.”

“Duh, I’ve known about consent and confidentiality since I was, like, three. You’re the one who gets weird about it. Maybe all those therapists can teach you something.”

“Maybe we could trade services.”