Pastel Dreams || editing

twenty one - gratin dauphinois

There was no doubt our conversation will be broadcasted to all of his team in Chicago, because he had had a chance to converse with the heads of the company. I disliked the fact that's he was only congratulating me on my engagement, rather than the fact that I had just become the heiress of an empire.

Then again, judging from the thin woman standing next to him, Mr. Gallagher was somewhat of a prick.

"Congratulations again! Have you set a date yet?" He asked enthusiastically, clumsily fishing his pockets for a handkerchief. I tried not to wrinkle my nose at the sight of his, bright red and slightly runny.

"Not yet, no, but we have an appointment with our wedding planner in three days," I revealed, willing this conversation to end soon.

"Well, I'm sure it'll be wonderful," he patted my back gently, before looking back to my father. "It's been lovely talking to you, Ms. Greyson. I wish you all the best on for your wedding."

"The pleasure's all mine," I politely answered, before my father took over and I discreetly escaped.

The next few hours were a blur. I shook hands and talked to so many different people that I hardly remembered their names, but I did enjoy talking to the head of Japan's branch's wife, Fumi, who was seated next to me during lunch.

When I finally settled down on my hotel room's couch, it was already five, and I was exhausted. Unceremoniously, I kick off my heels, took down my French twist, unclasp my bra, before shaking my hair loose.

I decided to order in and ran myself a sweet-swelling bath, and realized that I should probably ask Edith to join me for dinner. The poor girl had been working non-stop, and I couldn't help but think she needed a breather just as much as I did.

It was strange to think I was considering this now, when months before, the idea wouldn't even have occurred to me. Instead of repressing my emotions constantly, I now tried to listen to them and allowed myself to feel more.

The weight on my shoulders felt lighter, and Edith helped me delegate, to distribute the workload instead of handling it myself. My head didn't feel as clouded and bursting with unspoken thoughts as it used to, and I, without a doubt, attributed this to my therapist.

I didn't want to see one people saw in movies, where you lied down for an hour, and told your thoughts to someone that didn't care about them and doodles in a notepad instead.

Sheridan had all sorts of things in her "office", which included a kitchen, yoga balls, mats, a bed, pillows you can scream into, art supplies, and even a bracelet-making station. She liked to tell me that she was always evolving.

Last time, we baked cookies while talking about ways to not keep everything inside. I told her about the Incident spread - eagle on a futon mat.

She didn't allow me to wallow in self-pity, but somehow, asked me questions that help me understand myself better.

She was like a common-sense filter in a way, finding loopholes for difficult situations. I told her I didn't like looking at people in the eyes, and she told me to look between their eyebrows, instead. (It worked.) And she really liked Lucca, too.

The water felt nice on my skin, and I shut my eyes, breathing in the soothing smell of lavender. Glancing at my fingers, I saw that they had practically become prunes.

When I was little and took baths with Daphne, she used to tell me that my whole body would turn into a prune if I stayed in the bath for too long. Of course, being four and a half, I believed her every word and still now, as if she was still here, I glanced at my fingers ever so often, not wanting to turn into a wrinkled fruit.