32. Bryn

32

brYN

As I leave my apartment, I call Teagan. “Can you meet me at the coffee shop before work? It’s a friend-mergency.”

“Does that mean I can order anything I want?”

“Obviously.”

I walk toward the office, soaking in the sunshine, absorbing the sounds of the city, drinking in all that Manhattan has to offer. As my shoes click-clack on the sidewalk, I think of my mother’s advice in all its myriad forms.

Her sassy little sayings, like If looks could kill, women wouldn’t need frying pans. The more straightforward ones, like Go big or go home. The adages delivered at a roadside diner, like Don’t let anyone stand in the way of your dreams, your dream jobs, or your sweet dreams.

There were others as well—anthemic ones about not needing a man.

She was right there too. As I walk through the city on my way to work—to a job I earned, a job I love—I realize something powerful.

Something true.

I don’t need a man.

I absolutely don’t.

But I want one.

I want one man.

And I want to be under that man at night, in the kitchen or in his bedroom.

But I don’t want to be a woman who works under that man.

That’s not because of him. And it’s not because I’m worried that others will see me as less powerful, or that my identity is tied up in what my team thinks of me.

This choice is mine. It’s about what I want.

I don’t want to work under any man, or any woman, or anyone.

I don’t want to do that anymore.

When I see Teagan waiting in the coffee shop with two lattes, I march up to her, grin, and say, “I have this crazy idea that I need to run past my best friend in the whole world.”

“All ideas must receive the friendship stamp of approval. So lay it on me.”

As I drink the latte, I tell her, and she practically shakes pom-poms and does cartwheels.

Then, I go into the office and straight to see Isaac, giving him my two weeks’ notice.