Page 150 of Any Port in a Storm

“What about the other job?”

I glance down at the assignment Nick left for me; run my thumb over the words “perfect day.” “The other job is here, in Boston,” I say. “It’s a little different. It’s actually not a teaching position at all.”

“Oh?” My mom sounds intrigued, which helps. I think some small part of me needed her to not immediately scoff at this idea. Even though it’s my decision, her opinion means a lot to me. If she seemed underwhelmed, it might be harder for me to get excited about it.

That’s probably something I should work on, too.

“Yeah. So, the other job is at the Massachusetts Literary Museum. They’re looking for someone with an academic background to step in as educational director. Interface with visitors and help plan educational programming.”

“Whoa. That is different.”

My heart skips a beat. “It is. And I’m not sure if it might be…too different.”

“I realize it’s not strictly a teaching position, but it sounds like you’d essentially be doing the same thing—interpreting literature for public consumption, no?”

“Pretty much.” The relief in my exhale clues me in to how badly I needed her validation. “And you know I love museums.”

I can hear her amusement. “I do. This sounds like it might be great for you, Laurel. Something fresh—a new challenge.”

“I think so, too,” I say before I can stop myself. “There’s just…one small complicating factor.”

“Oh?”

I steel myself for her reaction. “It’s Nick.”

To my surprise, she doesn’t seem upset at all. “Some new things on that front?”

“Yeah,” I hedge. “We’ve been discussing our future together.”

“So what’s the problem?” she asks. “If you take the museum job, you’ll still be in town, and then you and Nick can figure things out.”

“I just…” I rack my brain for the best way to explain my hesitation in a way she’ll understand. “It’s not what I’ve been working toward.”

The sink turns on in the background. I glance at the microwave clock—3:30. My mom’s probably washing an apple. She usually eats one after her run. “You’re allowed to change your mind, you know. And whatever you choose now, you’re not stuck with it for life.”

“No, of course not,” I agree quickly. “I’m just concerned I’d be making the decision for the wrong reasons.”

“Picking the museum job so you can stay in the city with Nick?”

I roll my pencil back and forth. “Exactly.”

Her chair scrapes back again. “But if it’s the job you want—where’s the harm in that?”

I force a small laugh. “It just doesn’t seem terribly feminist of me. You taught me better than that.”

“You don’t have to pick a job you don’t want simply to avoid the fringe benefit of living in the same city as the person you love,” my mother says slowly.

It’s like my brain is short-circuiting. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“I’m worried I’ve confused the issue for you, Laurel.”

“And which issue is that?”

My mother sighs. “That’s not what feminism is about, sweetie. Yes, you should make the decisions that are right for you. And it’s about empowerment, sure. But the goal isn’t to become so powerful you don’t need anyone else.”

“I need plenty of other people,” I tell her. “You and Dad. Ivy. Grace.”

“You’re allowed to want more than just a career,” she tries again. “You can need someone because they’re the air you breathe, too.”