Compartmentalizing—was that all anyone could talk about this week? But she nodded. It was a fair point, and she couldn’t risk telling Justin any more than she already had. Plus he was right. They might be bad, but they were just potential problems.
“Gabby, I gotta be honest with you. This is a personal assistant job with a jerk boss. And you are in a childcare transition. That’s stressful, but none of that is unusual. You can handle it.”
He was sort of right.
“Gabby, I love you, but I’ve watched you start and quit almost everything you’ve tried. You sold Avon for a day.”
And she had the closetful of makeup to prove it.
“Scrapbooking.”
She had ordered all the books and fancy papers. Except for the first page, they were almost entirely empty.
“Knitting. SoulCycle.”
It’s too bad SoulCycle hadn’t stuck.
“Bird-watching. Bird feeding. Gardening.”
Maybe those binoculars would come in handy…
“Don’t quit. You can do this.”
“You’re right. I should stick something out, but it’s more than that this time.” At least she thought so. “This job is scary.”
“Gabby, don’t be dramatic. That’s my role in this relationship.”
She laughed and he continued. “I don’t really understand why you’re scared, but if you focus on what you’re scared of, that’s all you’ll see. Focus on tasks you can accomplish, one at a time. How do you think I got through my last celebrity wedding?”
Gabby shut her eyes and tried to calm down, but he must have felt the small-dog energy radiating off her, pink skin peeking through curly white fur and trembling. She was more of a small dog than Bubbles was.
“Do you know how I judge a good queen?” he asked.
“Lip-synching and makeup?” she guessed.
“Well, that,” he said, “but there is more. There are four qualities that a queen should have: one, charisma; two, uniqueness; three, nerve; and four, style.” Just in case she didn’t take him seriously, he said, “That is straight from RuPaul.”
He waited for her to show she was listening.
“If you’ve watchedDrag Race, you’ll see there isn’t one standard to shoot for. Not one body type, not one style, not one anything. Success comes from embracing your own unique talents and maximizing.” After a drink, he said, “It’s like they say in the Army, ‘Be the best queen you can be.’”
She stared back flatly.
“Walk the runway, make a dress, check your email, whatever. Do them one at a time, and Gabby Greene the shit out of them.”
That was a truth punch she couldn’t ignore. She couldn’t besexy like Valentina. She couldn’t martial arts her way out of situations like Markus. She couldn’t be anyone but her.
Justin continued. “You are a mama bear who will do anything for her kids. You are a MILF, especially now that you got that makeover last week. Honey! And you are sort of good at almost everything.”
She laughed.
“That’s just a fact, and you might as well use it. You can half-ass the shit out of almost anything. That’s called makin’ it work. Same as MacGyver.”
Loud as fuck he said, “You, my dear, are Gabby motherfucking Greene.”
He was right. She could half-ass things as good as anyone—make a recipe with half the ingredients, get the kids to school every day sort of on time, plan half a trip to an Irish castle and sell it to a guy from Pasadena. Maybe she couldn’t find the codes, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t keep her family alive. She needed to stop trying to be a superspy and solve the problem Gabby Greene–style. An idea started to take shape in her mind. It was probably a bad idea, but it was a start—a little bit reckless, a little bit half-assed, and all her.
“Thank you, Justin.” She squeezed his hand. He might have just saved her ass.
