Page 1 of Something Forever

1

WHITNEY

Nothing good has ever come from a rash decision.

This is my mantra.

Structure, stability, and reliability. The simple tenants by which I live my life. So far, they have not let me down. I have never come to a conclusion without crafting a highly detailed and aesthetically pleasing pros and cons list. A pros and cons list is infallible, and it is the only way to be sure that every choice I make is the right one — that I’m not leading my life down the wrong path simply by making a spur-of-the-moment decision. I always consider every possible outcome before acting, which is why the words that just came out of my mouth are a shock to me more than anyone.

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?” Dan, my boss, asks, his graying hair slicked back in a greasy man-bun.

“I quit,” I repeat, an out-of-body sensation seeming to take hold of me. “I quit,” I say a third time, just because it feels so damn good.

Dan stutters, furrowing his brow. “You can’t quit!”

“I just did,” I grin, another laugh escaping me.

“But… why?”

There are many reasons I could give Dan for my departure. The not-so-subtle misogyny that I’ve dealt with as the office manager at the world’s dumbest tech start-up being high up on the list. Last week, Jeff — a serial sexual harasser and absolute menace — left a sticky note left on my computer with a crude drawing of a stick figure woman being bent over a desk. Also, no matter how many times I’ve reminded him that my name is Whitney, he still calls me Brittney. I’m 99% certain he does it on purpose to make me feel small.

Secondary to the inhospitable environment might be that BeanLife is everything that is wrong with the world, and I’ve been pushing pencils for their ridiculous agenda for the past three years. It’s an app to find the nearest coffee shop, like people don’t have the internet. Why would they need an app to tell them there’s a Starbucks around the corner? More importantly, why have I wasted so much of my life here?

I know why: the salary, benefits, and reliable routine that it has allowed me. Still, all the bright-siding in the world isn’t enough to make up for the fact that I am not meant to answer emails all day long.

“It’s just time,” I reply diplomatically to Dan. “I’m ready to move on to something else.”

“Oh, come on,” Dan scoffs. “Don’t feed me some line. Why are you really leaving?”

I should just leave it, but I’m already deep in my throwing-caution-to-the-wind moment, so I shrug and give Dan the truth: “Honestly? This workplace is toxic, the kitchen always smells like fish, I’m one of two women on the entire floor, and I couldn’t give less of a fuck about our mission. If someone wants a cup of coffee, it’s easy to find one. They don’t need a stupid app made by a bunch of frat bros to tell them where they can get a cold brew. It’s a bad idea, and the world doesn’t need it.”

With that, I walk out of Dan’s office. I pass by the desks of people staring at me, slack-jawed. Clearly my outburst wasn’t very quiet, but I don’t care.

I’m free.

It doesn’t take me long to pack up everything at my cubicle, but I do steal a box of tissues as a final petty gesture.

Sharon, the aforementioned other woman in the office, stares at me from across the office, as shocked as the rest of the staff must be, but her surprise morphs into an expression that almost looks like… satisfaction?

“Good for you, Whitney,” she says in a motherly tone.

“Thanks, Shar,” I say with a smile. “Good luck.”

Tucking my box under my arm, I strut down the hallway, hoping I can steal a bit of that luck for myself.

By the time my adrenaline subsides, I’m stumbling up the stairs to my apartment, clutching my box of belongings to my chest. Now that the rush has faded, I’m left with the painful reality that I am unemployed with no real plan. It took me three weeks to decide on a dress to wear to my college reunion, two of which were spent scouring the product review sections of multiple websites. I don’t normally surprise myself, so I have no idea what makes this day different than every day before it. It just felt… right. It was like my feet carried me into Dan’s office, like some alien had inhabited my body for those brief minutes in which I changed my life forever.

Now, the worry is settling in, my chest is tight, and my stomach feels twisted up in knots.

Trying to shake off my growing anxiety, I push the door to my apartment open to find my roommate, Olivia, standing in the living room with two suitcases and a guitar case, looking like she’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

“Uh, hey?” I greet her, dropping my box onto the floor near the entrance.

Her face scrunches into a guilty frown. “I’m so, so sorry, Whitney. I was gonna text you, and I really hate to leave so quickly, but listen — I found a subletter, and he’ll be here in a couple of days.”

Her words are swirling around in my head, but nothing is really computing. Maybe I’m still running on the adrenaline from my first ever impulsive decision.

“What?”

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