A/N: Hello. And welcome to the next part of our little AU tale. Most of you are leaving reviews along the lines of wanting to know what happened to Gillian in the past- suffice it to say that we WILL get there eventually. This expository stuff is necessary; it's not some attempt to drag it out and keep y'all on the edge of your seats, I promise. Just trust me. This might end up being a looooong journey, though.
As soon as he was out of earshot, September scooted to the edge of her seat and leaned across the table—"Oh my God, Gillian," She said—"He is just… yummy." She said. Gillian cringed. Had September not been so utterly self-absorbed, she would have seen it. September raised her eyebrows suggestively—"So…" She said, her tone adopting a sing-song quality, "Are you guys… you know?"
Despite the juvenile way September was going about it, Gillian felt herself flush—"No," Gillian answered emphatically—"We're just business partners." She explained—at September's look, "We're friends." She said, and as she watched September's face, she realized her protestations were falling upon deaf ears. There was no way that September knew what it meant to have a male friend without benefits.
September shook her head as she leaned back in the chair—"What a shame." She said—"I bet he's amazing in bed." September never did have a filter, Gillian remembered wryly. "So." September looked at her—"How have you been? You know, I mean… besides the… divorce." September whispered the last word as though it were a state secret—as though it were covered in shame.
Gillian made a mental note to throttle Cal later—after all, it was entirely his fault that she was sitting at this table in this room being forced to converse with a woman like they were old friends—as if what happened twenty years ago never actually happened. Gillian felt a pain in her stomach and she thought that it quite resembled the dagger September had jammed in her back twenty years prior.
Gillian tried to concentrate on the question at hand—how was she doing. "I've been wonderful," Gillian lied, and she was thankful Cal wasn't there to see it. She turned her head over her shoulder and saw him making his way through the crowd carrying two drinks in his hand. As he slid into the seat beside her and placed the alcohol in front of her, she sent him a look that said nothing short of 'bless you,' "But, enough about me, September," Gillian said sweetly as she picked up her drink and took the first sip—"Tell me what's been going on with you." She said, doing her best to feign genuine curiosity.
September sighed—and her eyes lit up in the way of those who are truly self-absorbed—"Oh, I've just been marvelous!" She said, stirring her cocktail—"Gene and I are still going strong," She said, smiling, "In fact, we'll be celebrating our fourteenth anniversary next month," She said—"We have two kids, Jack and Diane—Jack's eight, Diane is twelve, and they're just the sweetest kids a parent could ask for." September finished.
Cal did not miss the way September watched Gillian's face closely as she closed her tale—looking for signs she wouldn't be able to see because Gillian was a wonderful liar. Cal saw, however, the way Gillian's body tensed—the way her muscles contracted—her oblique eyebrows—she reigned them all in quickly, however, and smiled—"That's wonderful."
September nodded her agreement. "It is." She sighed reverently, "I just don't know what I'd do without my family." September seemed to realize her mistake, and she turned her attention to Cal—"What about you, Cal?" She queried.
Cal offered her a smile—and Gillian was relieved to see that it was a fake one—"I, too, am divorced." He said—"Happily." He added.
September grinned at him—"Any children?"
Cal cleared his throat and nodded, "A daughter. Emily. 17." He explained in as few words as possible—trying to make it clear to even the densest of humans that he was not interested in the flirty glances she was giving him.
September received the message—but she did not take it well—nor did she consider it final. She simply pressed her back into the chair and smiled—"I'm so glad you came, Gillian," She said, "Really." Her tone was heavy and one look at Gillian's face told Cal that she knew precisely why.
Cal furrowed his brow—"Dance with me, darling?" He asked, and he saw Gillian weigh her options—she nodded, accepting the lesser of two evils (being alone with September and being alone with Cal) and leading him to the dance floor, leaving September behind at the table.
A slow song was playing, and Cal wrapped his left hand around her waist and took her right hand in his—they danced closer than business partners would but not as close as lovers—Gillian averted her gaze as they swayed to the music—Cal wouldn't stop looking at her.
Finally, he spoke—"Pleasant woman."
That earned him a laugh, and Gillian rolled her eyes—"Yeah." She said, sighing.
"Friend of yours?" He questioned.
Gillian shook her head before she spoke—"Used to be."
Cal nodded, and he watched emotions flicker over her face. "What did she mean by it?"
Gillian considered deflecting—she considered pretending that she had no idea what Cal as talking about, if only so she could stall for a moment. Gillian shook her head instead. "Nothing."
Cal sighed, "Something." He locked eyes with her, his gaze tender and searching.
Gillian shook her head and laid her hand on his chest briefly before returning it to his shoulder. "Cal…" Her tone was warning, and he shrugged as if to say 'can't help it.' But he remained silent. Gillian sighed heavily. "Something." Her eyes glossed slightly, and her grip tightened on his hand, "But, Cal, I have to ask you—and I really mean it—please don't read me—not about this, okay? At least, not until I'm ready." She said, and there was something in her tone—a certain sadness that made him pull her a little closer to him.
He enjoyed the feel of her body close to his. "Okay." He whispered, "But I'm here, yeah?"
Gillian smiled and nodded, "Yeah." She agreed, and they lapsed into silence, swaying to the gentle music, the lull of conversation and the sound of the past enveloping them.
TBC
