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“I take it the hairdressing business is going well?” I asked.
“Girl, I got that shit on lock. I’ve almost got enough to start my own little place!”
“Wait, that’s awesome,” I said. “When the hell were you gonna tell me this?”
“I just did, bitch! By the end of this year, my Christmas present to myself will be signing the lease o
n the store for my own business.”
“Holy hell, Gwen, I’m so proud of you. Have you started looking at places? You need someone to look over rental contracts?”
“Girl, that law degree of yours does not relegate you to go reading over my legal paperwork,” she said. “I got this.”
“I just want to help,” I said. “Gwen, this is exciting. You’ve been talking about owning your own salon ever since we were in grade school.”
“Yep. I knew what I wanted then, and I know what I want now. The question is, do you?”
Her question hit me like a ton of bricks. We were sitting at our favorite restaurant in Memphis, waiting for the best barbecue while we sipped on the best sweet tea in the South, but all I could do was sigh. It felt like my best friend’s life was falling into all the right places. She graduated from high school and went straight to beauty school. She learned how to cut hair before jetting off to L.A. to learn all the new and funky coloring styles. Then, she kept getting certification after certification on how to do everything from neck massages to people’s toenails. She was a one-stop shop for everything spa-oriented, and it had all culminated to her opening up her own salon.
Me? I was a twenty-eight-year-old lawyer working in a corporate law firm that defended institutions from getting sued for shady practices they engaged in. We defended everything from sexual harassment lawsuits to companies that were skirting health regulations in their own damn factories. My firm defended embezzlement cases and even assisted one or two people into getting by with their Ponzi-scheme-like business setups.
It made me sick, and I was tired of defending the guilty just because it paid me a decent sum of money.
“No, Gwen, I don’t know what I want to do,” I said.
“What’s going on with work?” she asked. “Obviously, the paycheck isn’t worth it anymore.”
“No, it isn’t. Had I known what I was getting into from the beginning, I wouldn't have taken the job. I became a lawyer to defend those who need it; to prosecute and put away the very same men I’m defending every day. These men and these companies should have been thrown in jail and had everything stripped from them. I’ve watched them drag women who’ve been sexually harassed through the fucking mud for a measly settlement so they wouldn’t have to go to court. Work is hell, Gwen. This isn’t what I signed up for.”
“So fucking quit,” she said. “That’s absolute bullshit. Can you quit and go after those assholes?”
“Their cases are closed,” I said. “You can’t reopen them unless another woman comes forward. But I can’t just quit, can I? What in the world would I do?”
“Look, Whitney. That job pays you over six fucking figures a year, yet whenever I see you, you look like you make less than five. You’re cheap, so I know you’re stowing away that money. What are you doing? Investing it? Giving it away? Letting it sit in a raggedy show box for some rainy day?”
“I’m investing it,” I said. “I started hating my job so much that I figured I could invest in high-risk accounts and retire by the time I’m forty or some shit.”
“So, you’ve got money in the bank. You worked all through law school, even though you didn’t need to, and your full fucking ride paid for everything. You’ve got money for days, Whitney. Use a little of it.”
“To live without a job?” I asked.
“You could go wherever you want. You like the beach, right?”
“Not really,” I said. “Too crowded in the summer.”
“Then get yourself a little rented condo this winter. Get away. Remember when I went to the mountains last summer, after my breakup, and came back a new fucking woman? Clear your head. Getting away from all this bullshit will help you figure out what you want to do.”
Her words sat heavily in my head just as our food was set in front of us. The barbecue smelled delicious, and the hushpuppies were to die for. Gwen was already digging into her macaroni and cheese, but all I could think about was saving room for their blackberry cobbler.
Holy hell, this place had the best cobbler.
“Well, I still can’t just quit,” I said.
“Yes, you can,” Gwen said. “You’re just telling yourself you can’t.”
“No, I can’t,” I said. “I’ve already been given a new case by my boss.”
“So turn that shit down.”
