Chapter 10: Start of a Tradition – Kate II .1 – Saturday

When I stirred that morning, I knew Daphne was already awake, likely bustling about in the kitchen as she usually did. Beside me, Janice began to rouse at the same moment, lying on her back. Without opening her eyes, she murmured, “Good morning.”

“Morning,” I replied. “How’d you sleep?”

“I love this mattress,” she said, her voice warm with contentment.

“You can go first again,” I told Janice.

From the doorway came, “Let the poor girl wake up before you make her —” I cut Daphne off, almost yelling, “I’m talking about the shower and you know it.” Janice laughed, patting my leg.

I knew Janice most likely felt well rested despite our late-night activities. She slept between Daphne and me. Whatever it was that flowed between Daphne and me — the thing that made me feel rested and supposedly stopped my aging — seemed to still flow through her to me. And vice versa to Daphne. I was guessing, some of whatever it was, had an effect on her. She probably felt quite energetic this morning like the first time she slept over.

That laughing pat on my leg she was giving me turned into a caress. The hand also started making its way up my leg. I wasn’t complaining. I too felt quite rested. Which was a good thing, because I quickly found myself between Janice and Daphne.

Not long after, when my voice hit a crescendo signaling my satisfaction, Daphne had again pinched my nipples to the point they were again sore. I can’t blame her completely. Me almost screaming “Harder!” was probably a mistake on my part.

As I lay there panting, Janice said dryly, “She really doesn’t have an off switch, does she?”

Daphne chuckled. “I’ve never found it. You’ve no idea what a relief it is when she heads off to work.”

“I can imagine,” Janice replied. She murmured to Daphne, “Think this’ll hold her long enough for us to grab breakfast?”

“If we’re lucky,” Daphne replied.

Still immobile, I rasped, “Bite me.” Daphne obliged with a playful nip to my breast, and Janice mirrored Daphne.

Echoing Janice from the night before, I deadpanned, “Never touch me again.”

They both laughed, and Daphne said, “I think we enjoyed this more than our Kate.”

“Does that make us bad people?” Janice inquired.

After a beat, I countered, “Shut up, you two.” I disentangled myself and announced, “I’m taking a shower.” As I padded toward the bathroom, Daphne stage-whispered to Janice — loud enough for me to hear — “We’d better eat while we can.”

“Funny,” I shot back.

In the bathroom, I turned on the shower and glanced in the mirror. My hair was a wild disaster. After finishing my shower, I thought I heard muffled sounds from the bedroom — Daphne and Janice joking about me, no doubt. Ignoring it, I dried off and tamed my hair. When I emerged, I found them locked in a bizarre wrestling match — a tangle of limbs, rolling across the bed every thirty seconds or so.

I strolled past, pretending not to notice. “Miss Pot, meet Miss Kettle,” I quipped.

Daphne must have started the coffee earlier, because a full pot sat steaming on the counter, accompanied by three mugs neatly lined up beside it. I poured myself a cup, figuring they’d be occupied for a while, grabbed my tablet, and settled in to browse some news sites.

Nearly an hour passed before they emerged from the bedroom, hair damp and robes loosely tied. Giggles followed them as they approached the kitchen. Daphne, mid-laugh, glanced at Janice and teased, “No stamina. When you hit a certain age...” She caught my stare, faltered, then leaned toward Janice and muttered, “Later.”

I shot them both a mock scowl. Daphne feigned ignorance while Janice let out a soft chuckle. Janice poured herself a coffee and slid into the seat beside me. Daphne, meanwhile, sauntered into the pantry, her short robe barely covering her. She emerged wearing nothing but an apron. Janice smirked and quipped, “I’ve heard of Iron Chef, but this is new — The Bare Butt Baker.” I jumped in, grinning, “A Netflix original in the making. Picture it: The Moon Over the Mixing Bowl.”

Daphne ignored our jabs, pulling ingredients from the fridge with theatrical focus. She glanced at Janice and asked, “Any plans today?” Janice arched a suspicious brow and replied pointedly, “Besides resting? No.” I stifled a laugh. Daphne, now mixing something in a bowl, grinned and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep her in line. And if that fails...” She brandished the kitchen sprayer, adding, “It’s got decent range. Just say the word if she misbehaves.” I groaned, and Janice chuckled.

As Daphne cooked, Janice and I chatted. I filled her in on work — my upcoming move to a bigger office with an adjoining conference room. She noted that only full partners got those perks, and I widened my eyes in mock surprise, confirming I knew. “We’re going to be busy,” I said, then added that she’d have a desk outside my new space — well, more like an open office. I’d scoped it out earlier that week and thought she’d love it, but I kept the details vague, wanting to surprise her on Monday.

We were so wrapped up in our conversation that Daphne’s sudden appearance with plates startled us. She set down a feast: poached eggs draped in hollandaise sauce, toasted English muffins, and crisp bacon. Janice and I exchanged a glance, then turned to Daphne. I leaned forward, pretending to peer past her, and asked, “Who else’ve you got back there helping you?” Janice, awestruck, added, “It looks incredible.”

We both agreed it was incredible. Daphne beamed at our praise. After we finished, we showered her with more compliments — deserved ones — but as she cleared our plates and carried them to the sink, she smirked. “You two were probably ravenous after burning all those calories last night and this morning. I could’ve served week-old meatloaf with ketchup, and you’d still be gushing about how good it tasted.”

Janice shot back, “Oh, please, I bet if you made the meatloaf it’d taste better than a filet from any restaurant in town.”

Daphne enjoyed the flattery, then turned serious. “All right, enough lounging. Get dressed — I’m putting you both to work.”

As Janice and I sat, I muttered, “You’d work us to the bone no matter what.” Daphne ignored me, calling out that our clothes were already laid out — mine in the master bedroom, Janice’s in the middle one. I frowned, asking when she’d managed that. “While you two were lost in your little chat,” she replied. “You get so absorbed, the world could end and you’d miss it.”

I headed to the master, and Janice veered toward the other room. Moments later, her voice rang out, incredulous: “You’ve got to be kidding!”

Daphne shouted back, “Just get dressed, Little Miss Prim and Proper!”

I called out, “Want to switch?”

Janice laughed. “No thanks — I’ve already seen how she dresses you.”

I tugged at the outfit and called out, “I don’t know — this feels so tight it might’ve been meant for you instead.”

Daphne’s voice rang from the kitchen, sharp and playful. “Quit whining and get dressed already!”

With a sigh, I complied. The outfit was a bold choice: an orange zip-front sports bra with a plunging V-neck that left little to the imagination, paired with low-rise yellow sweatpants that clung to my hips. I stepped out of the bedroom just as Janice emerged from hers. We locked eyes, shook our heads in unison, and stifled laughs. She wore a loose white tank top — low-cut didn’t even begin to describe it, with the neckline dipping scandalously close to her navel and armholes stretching halfway to her waist. The tight low-rise green yoga shorts she had on seemed downright prudish by comparison.

When we shuffled back to the kitchen, Daphne glanced up and chirped, “About time.” Janice leaned toward me and murmured, “She’s right. It’s not like we had much to put on.”

Daphne surveyed us with a smirk. “No one’s going to see you, and aren’t you comfortable?”

I muttered under my breath, “You dressed us like we’re auditioning for a biker calendar.”

Daphne, already strolling away, ignored me and tossed out an order. “Start cutting vegetables — chop them for dipping. They’re for our traditional Saturday brunch.” I raised an eyebrow and asked when this “tradition” had begun. “Today,” she replied, matter-of-factly. Curious, I pressed, “And where are you off to?” She grinned over her shoulder. “To get dressed, of course.” I shot Janice a look and remarked, “This ought to be good.” Janice, already slicing carrots, just shrugged.