Page 151 of Any Port in a Storm

Nick’s face flashes through my mind. “Maybe I’m not like you. Maybe…I don’t need that.”

“Laurel.” My mom’s voice is halfway to amusement, like I’m missing something that’s excruciatingly obvious to her. “You’ve worked so hard to get where you are. But it’s okay to admit to yourself that maybe your career isn’t all you need. That your priorities have changed. Feminism is about deciding for yourself what you want—not allowing society or the patriarchy or anyone else to dictate what your future looks like. But empowerment also means figuring out what you need and chasing it.” She slides into a gentler tone. “Even if that means needing Nick, too.”

“I don’t need Nick,” I say quickly, but the words feel hollow.

“You may not,” she agrees. “And I certainly can’t make that decision for you. All I’m saying is you should take some time to figure out for yourself what you want. All of the things that you want.”

“Yeah.” My mind is racing with my mother’s words, with Nick’s face. With the job offers printed out on my desk, with the hazy image of my future that I haven’t managed to render into something sharper. Something vibrant; something beautiful precisely because it’s real.

“Just think it over, okay?” Mom says. “And I’m here, whenever you need to talk.”

“I will. Thanks, Mom.”

“I love you, sweetheart.”

Tears prick my eyelids. “I love you, too.”

I retreat to the balcony after that, Nick’s last assignment in hand. I stare at it in the sunshine, then watch the shadows of the cherry blossom tree lengthen across it as afternoon turns to twilight. It isn’t until the moon peeks out, casting clarity my way, that I pick up a pen and begin to write.

I find Nick on the Esplanade the next morning. He’s sitting in our usual spot, reading a book.

Something inside me melts.

I take a step closer. “I’m ready to hand in my assignment.”

He looks up in surprise, then shakes his head. “We don’t have to do this, Laurel.”

“No,” I say, pushing the paper toward him. “I want to.”

He opens his mouth, then shuts it again. “Okay.”

My voice is heavy with the weight of the moment. “Could you…could you read it now?”

Nick considers me carefully. “As long as it’s what you want.”

“It’s what I want.”

I sit in the grass beside him, staring out at the Charles. The river’s full of boats today, and the sun is glimmering on the water like a laser pointer directing them toward the ocean. The cherry blossoms are in full bloom all around us, and I see a few families walking dogs and having picnics, dotting the Esplanade with joy.

It feels like the world is coming back to life.

I don’t read over Nick’s shoulder, but I can hear the words in my head as he reads them, starting with the “Dear Nicholas” and all the way up to the most important part.

I can tell when he’s reached it, because his breathing gets heavier beside me.

You’re right: this job would make me happy. But it isn’t all I need.

I may not have all the answers, but I know this: that being with you is right for me. That I’ve been in love with you far longer than I’ve been willing to admit. That my career matters, but you give everything else I do meaning. And that I can’t imagine my life without your light.

I’m going to love you for the rest of my life.

Nick finishes reading in silence, then folds the paper and looks up at the river. He draws two measured breaths, then turns toward me.

“So, what should we do?”

I look into his eyes, and my entire future comes into focus.

FORTY-FOUR