Malcolm—I was in a meeting the other day for the new job—I become acting director soon—and someone had brought something they called scones to the meeting. I spent the whole boring meeting thinking about how horrified both you and Julia would be at those terrible, rocklike scones. At least it gave me something to do instead of telling all of those people to stop listening to themselves talk and just get on with it. I should have learned more from you about how to keep a straight face at times like this; there are going to be a lot of meetings in my future.

Vivian

He had to say something. If he were Vivian, she would say something to him about this, wouldn’t she? He smiled at the thought. She absolutely would.

He plucked a postcard off the top of his waiting stack and started scribbling.

V—Do you really want this job? Feel free to tell me to shut up and stop prying if you want to. I know this isn’t any of my business. But I hear the difference in you when you talk about this job, versus the way you talk about your current job. I heard it when you were in England, and I can hear it even in a few lines in a postcard. I’m sure there are many reasons you think you should take it, but will it make you happy?

M

He tore off a stamp from the book in his drawer and ran outside to drop the card into the postbox before he could change his mind. Then he sat on his couch and stared out the window for a very long time.

Vivian sat at her desk at work and looked down at Malcolm’s postcard in her hand. She’d been carrying it around for days now. He’d asked her a question she’d never stopped to ask herself. Would this job make her happy?

He’d asked that question so easily: “Will it make you happy?” Had he realized he’d thrown her entire worldview into chaos?

That wasn’t a question she usually asked herself. In all of her pro/con lists about her life decisions—especially when it came to jobs—that wasn’t a question she ever bothered to answer. Would it improve Maddie’s life, would it make her more money, would it make it easier for her to help her family, would it make other people satisfied, would it make her family criticize her, would it make her doctor approve of her? Those were all of the questions she usually asked herself.

But her own happiness? What a strange, foreign, confusing thing to think about.

“Will it make you happy?”

Her first response to that question was, “What does that matter?” She laughed at herself for that—she was a mental health professional, and she didn’t think her own happiness mattered? But that was all too true.

She glanced over into her open desk drawer. Right there in the front was the hefty gift card for a local spa her coworkers had given her for her fiftieth birthday. It was four years later, and the gift card was still sitting there unused. It wasn’t that she hadn’t wanted to go to the spa; she had, and she’d been thrilled by the gift. She just hadn’t found the time where she felt she could do something like that, just for herself.

Would this new job make her happy?

Why did that question scare her so much? It seemed selfish even to consider it. Her new job was a promotion; it would make her more money, she’d never in her life turned down anything offering her more money, and her happiness wasn’t relevant when it came to work. Yes, she loved her current job, but that was a side benefit. Wasn’t it?

She shook her head. She felt guilty even letting herself think about this. It was an honor, it was a promotion, it was a significant salary bump—a woman like her couldn’t turn that down. Malcolm obviously didn’t know her as well as he thought he did.

Maybe she should go on a walk at lunchtime, rain or no rain. She’d told enough people that getting outside could clear your head; she needed to practice what she preached.

“Vivian!”

She turned quickly and saw her boss standing in her doorway.

“Where were you? I called your name a few times,” he said with a smile on his face.

She shook her head.

“Sorry, just thinking about a tricky case,” she said.

He chuckled.

“That’s one of the things that makes you so good at this: your dedication to your clients. But a break will help; it always does with me. Come on, it’s time for that meeting with the county.”

Oh. Right. She couldn’t take a walk at lunchtime; she and her boss were going to another meeting together. She’d forgotten all about that, even though the whole reason she was in this dress today was because it was her “going to a meeting” dress. If she decided to take this job, Maddie had better find her a bunch more dresses like it.

“I was just thinking that I needed a break, actually,” she said. She stood up and picked up her coat and umbrella.

She’d been to a handful of these meetings before when she’d filled in for her boss, and she had always found them boring but mostly fine. She regularly ran into people she knew at them, which was fun, at least. The same was true today; she saw an old friend from graduate school, and a former colleague, both of whom she’d liked a lot. When they went around the table for introductions at the beginning of the meeting, her boss told everyone this was his last meeting and introduced her as the interim head, with a big wink, and she smiled at everyone around the table.

But then when the initial greetings ended and the PowerPoint began, it hit her: this was going to be her new life. Instead of spending her days walking around the hospital and talking to patients and solving disputes, she’d be going to meeting after meeting just like this one. She’d be staring up at PowerPoint presentations and chuckling at bad jokes and discussing data and categorizing people by their diagnoses. And while all of that was important and necessary—except for maybe the bad jokes—would any of it make her happy?