Page 11 of Time for You

If Daphne thought Henry’s high regard for manners would make him a slightly easier person to live with while they tried to figure out how to get him back in time, she was wrong.

Fortunately, she had sort of suspected he would be terrible. He was constantly questioning everything she did, down to whether it was safe for her and Ellie to live alone.

“Why? Because we might bring home a stray man who time-traveled from two centuries ago?” she asked to that one, thoroughly fed up.

“Well, yes.”

“Should we kick you out, then? To preserve our virtue?”

“I was simply saying that I find it surprising that no male relative objected to your living situation.”

“And as I’ve said, that’s not a thing anymore.”

“Still, they’ve severely neglected their duties. Vibol may be an excellent fellow, but there’s four unmarried women in your group of friends, which is a lot of responsibility.”

Daphne leaned her head back against the couch, reminding herself to breathe, even while trying not to laugh at the idea of Vibol thinking they were his responsibility .

“Yes, I’ll be sure to tell my younger brother he should have negotiated for someone to take my hand in marriage.

Didn’t you learn anything from Brittany’s lesson the other day? ”

“Assuming your father is alive, that would be his responsibility,” Henry replied dryly. “And it’s not that I didn’t follow. I just don’t see why it changed so drastically. Things worked fine as it was.”

“Do you honestly think that the women in your life appreciate you making all the decisions for them?”

“It’s my duty to look out for their welfare.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Daphne countered. “Do your mom and sisters like that you run their lives?”

“They appreciate my concern. I handle worldly issues, while they’re allowed to immerse themselves in the home.”

“Okay, but you said one of your sisters would have wanted to be a doctor, right?”

“Anne has a sharp and inquisitive mind and an interest in healing, yes.”

“But you wouldn’t let her go to med school, even if she could?”

“It’s irrelevant. She can’t.”

Daphne swallowed a screech. “Humor me. Pretend she could. Would she?”

“I would be concerned that it might be too much for her,” Henry replied.

“That’s not an answer.”

Henry fixed her with a look. “You’re going to argue with me about my answer.”

“Meaning no, you wouldn’t let her.”

“Correct,” he sighed, apparently giving in to the argument.

“I would not allow her to go to medical school. There are things that, no matter how different your time is, I think are simply too difficult for women to handle. Not intellectually,” he said, clearly foreseeing her next argument.

“Simply that a woman is built for nurturing, not cutting people open.”

“That’s just offensive.”

“I’m sorry, my lady. I am simply explaining the truth as I see it.”

“For one thing, I don’t care if it’s the truth as you see it—you’re wrong. Your mother and sisters might be used to you running their lives, but I promise you they don’t enjoy it.”

“I know them, however,” Henry countered. “You have never met them.”

“True, but I know people . And no one likes having their brother or son run their life, okay? They might be used to it, but I promise, if they had another option, they’d take it.”

Henry looked at her, blinking. “You seem very certain.”

“I am. I might not know a ton about history, but I do know that life for women was pretty shitty until relatively recently.”

He sat quietly on the couch for a moment, the silence stretching long enough that she got uncomfortable. “What’s wrong?”

“You’ve given me a lot to consider,” Henry said.

“Okay, you know what? We should wash your other set of clothes,” Daphne said, mostly to get herself out of the conversation.

It was easier if Henry was deliberately being a misogynist, rather than simply not knowing any better.

She didn’t want him to learn ; she wanted—well, she wasn’t sure what she wanted.

“And if you’re going to be here, you should learn how to use the washing machine. ”

“You have a device that washes machines?”

Daphne glared at him, annoyed when she almost cracked a grin as he looked at her evenly.

He was fucking with her, she knew, but that didn’t make him any less frustrating overall.

“Laundry, motherfucker,” she said, going extra vulgar just to startle him and prove he wasn’t getting the better of her. “It does laundry.”

“Your century really does have a machine to replace every servant, don’t you?”

“Mostly, yeah.”

Henry picked up his bundle of clothes from near the door.

Daphne pulled open the closet door that led to their washer and dryer, and watched him eye it warily.

It was interesting, which technology interested and delighted him (plumbing, the toaster, everything to do with the kitchen) and which he found suspicious (cars mostly, but apparently also washers and dryers).

“If you’re going to be here for a while, it’s time you learned how to wash your clothes more often. And the ones Vibol loaned you, too.”

“You realize that’s entirely unnecessary?”

“I’m not going to be your servant, so yes, you have to learn.”

“I meant, laundering your clothes that often feels excessive.”

Daphne decided she didn’t want to know how often he was used to his clothes being “laundered.” He seemed to have adapted to daily showers very easily, and he hadn’t been particularly filthy the day he arrived, so maybe his time period wasn’t as gross as she thought, but she still didn’t really want to think too hard about what unwashed clothes smelled like in the era of horse shit everywhere.

She picked up a basket of underwear and socks that she’d been meaning to wash for several days, and Henry blushed, averting his eyes.

“We’ll be washing our things together?”

“I can’t imagine your servants washed everyone’s clothes separately.”

“Likely not, but there’s a difference when it’s your mother and sisters and when it’s you.”

“A single woman, you mean?”

“A single woman whom I barely know and whom I find—”

“You probably don’t want to finish that sentence,” she said, and his mouth snapped shut, but there was an odd look on his face, like he was about to start blushing again.

“Put them in here,” she told him, and opened the door to the washing machine. He did as instructed, and she tossed her things in and pulled down the jug of detergent. “Pour about this much into the cap,” she said, holding her thumb and forefinger apart.

“What is this?” he asked instead.

“Soap.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Soap isn’t liquid.”

“You know we’re able to access entire libraries from our phones, but liquid soap is unbelievable?”

“I’ve simply never heard of it, that’s all.”

“You’d never heard of a fucking car, either. Pour the soap, Henry.”

He threw her a look but did as she told him, and watched closely as she set the cycle. “I wonder what’s happened to the washerwomen,” he said. “If these contraptions have put them out of business.”

“Um, no idea?” she said. “There’s still like, dry cleaners, but that switch would have happened a long time ago. Why do you care?”

He shrugged. “Simple curiosity, I guess. Your world is really—a whole different world for me.”

Daphne had another stab of guilt about how cranky she was being with him.

“It’s not improper here to wash your clothes together.

And really, fathers and brothers have like, no say over our lives.

Or only do in really fucked-up situations.

I get that it’s normal for you and your family seems fine with it, but it’s not how it is here.

” Part of her wanted to add keep that in mind if you ever get back home , but she didn’t want to bring up the fact that, so far, they hadn’t even figured out how he’d gotten to the twenty-first century, much less how to get him home.

“My apologies. I meant no offense.”

“None taken,” Daphne replied. Her shift started in just over an hour, and she was glad she would have a reason to escape from this confusing, confounding man, at least for a little bit.

Daphne hoisted the grocery bag higher on her shoulder and opened the door.

Henry was on the couch, as was his usual routine these days when one of them was home.

He was dressed casually, and other than the fact that he jumped to his feet the moment she walked in, he looked like any other guy she might see on a dating app—relaxed and comfortable.

“Let me help you with that, Miss Griffin,” he said, rushing forward to take the bag she had in her hand.

“It’s not that heavy,” she protested.

Henry stopped trying to take it from her and crossed his arms. “I’m not doing it because I think you’re incapable,” he snapped.

Daphne sighed, piling the bags onto the counter. “Then why?”

“Because it’s impolite to simply wait around while someone struggles with something.”

“I was not struggling.”

Henry lifted an eyebrow. “You were grunting.”

The bags had been heavy, but she hadn’t realized her effort was literally showing. “Maybe I just do that, did you ever think of that?”

“You don’t.”

“How do you know?”

Henry leveled his eyes at her, and suddenly her lungs felt tight. “I notice things about you, my lady.”

“Oh, yeah, well,” she said inarticulately. She searched in vain for a topic that might make her feel a little less like squirming in the intensity of his gaze. “Any chance you feel like you know me well enough to stop with the ‘Miss Griffin’ and ‘my lady’ shit yet?”

Henry huffed out a noise that might have been a laugh and started unpacking the groceries. “No.”

“Then how about Dr. Griffin? As a compromise?”

Henry nodded to himself and considered a carton of eggs.

“Dr. Griffin,” he repeated, and—oh no, that was a bad idea.

His Scottish lilt wrapped a little too nicely around those words, and now she wished she could take it back.

Miss Griffin was annoying as hell, but Dr. Griffin , even though people called her that every day, felt somewhat different coming from Henry.

Fortunately, he was too engrossed in studying the eggs to notice her meltdown. “How did you learn how to cook?”

“I don’t really know. I guess I didn’t, or at least not really. My mom taught me the basics the summer before I went to college, and then I just sort of muddled along. Why?”

“It’s not something I ever gave much thought to.

Food generally just appears at mealtimes for me at home, and yes, I know how that sounds,” he added before she could.

“My mother handled menu planning with the cook and the other servants, but other than having some particular favorite dishes, I never really considered it and the effort it takes.”

Daphne wasn’t sure how to respond to that, as yes, it did sound incredibly entitled, but at least he seemed to get that. “Would you want to learn?”

“To cook? You just said you don’t really know how.”

“I mean, I do know some stuff, but it isn’t something I really enjoy. Except—hey, have you tried watching TV?”

Henry shot a wary glance at their television. “No, it feels like too much.”

“Okay, I have an idea,” she said, and walked over, turning it on and clicking through the apps. “This show is on PBS, which is—god, I don’t know how to explain it, but it means it will be a little less intense than other shows. Calmer, less interested in selling you stuff. Educational.”

“That sounds interesting,” he said cautiously.

Daphne picked a show at random and hit “Play.” “Here, this will teach you about cooking better than I can. I promise,” she said as the host began the cheerful introduction to the topics for the episode.

Henry sat down, his attention already off her and fully on the show, which was what she’d wanted, although that also felt weird.

She couldn’t wait for him to get back to his time and stop throwing her so goddamn off balance. Daphne returned to putting the groceries away, and just when she was sure he’d forgotten she was even there, Henry turned her way. “Miss—Dr. Griffin?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” he said, so sincerely she wasn’t sure how to respond. Instead she just bit her lower lip to keep from smiling and nodded.