A Special Place for Women, Laura Hankin [brene brown rising strong .txt] 📗

to speak up,” Caroline said, sitting up straight, a notebook in her lap, poised to write down any pertinent details from the conversation. As women began to raise their hands and share their thoughts, Margot and Caroline passed control back and forth between the two of them like friends tossing a ball in the backyard—mostly easy, but with the occasional misalignment, a couple of moments where one couldn’t quite catch what the other had been throwing over.

Margot rested her head on the knee that she was hugging, staring with rapt attention at whoever was speaking, and so the members tended to speak their concerns as if in a private conversation with her, at least until the other members jumped in with their responses, or Caroline interrupted to clarify something. One member shared her sadness that the family-run Puerto Rican restaurant on her block was going to have to shut down due to a rent increase, and the women discussed fund-raisers. Another member was seeking recommendations and emotional support because her personal trainer was moving to L.A.

Though the concerns may have varied, what stayed the same was the response: utter acceptance. An unspoken rule dictated that no one was allowed to say that somebody else’s concern wasn’t valid, even if they may have thought it. And oh, there were times when I thought it. This wasn’t exactly the shadowy Let’s Rule the World circle I’d been imagining. Maybe Miles was right—that this was nothing more than a bunch of insipid women.

Libby nudged me. “You should mention your housing situation! I bet someone here could help.”

“Oh God,” I whispered back, “I just joined. I can’t immediately be like Help me find somewhere livable for eight hundred dollars a month!”

Libby’s eyes widened in surprise, and a little bit of pity. Shit, I’d been too transparent about my financial situation. People in Nevertheless spent $800 a month on moisturizer.

Another woman began to speak—Iris Ngoza, the former model turned Instagram star who’d made a name for herself by decrying the industry’s unrealistic beauty standards while bravely weighing 120 pounds. “A friend of mine was telling me about this man, Craig Melton,” Iris said. “He’s a district judge in Queens who will be hearing a case that could have huge implications for reproductive rights. And he’s almost certain to rule against choice, even though I’d be willing to bet that he’s paid for an abortion or six in his time.” Unsurprised murmurs sounded from around the circle. “It seems that he is not a good man, not a very clean one, and yet he’s wielding an enormous amount of power over women. So I wonder if anyone might be able to find out any information. Perhaps there is something we can do.”

The response to this one was different from the others. There was a pause while Caroline and Margot exchanged a meaningful look.

“Maybe,” Caroline said, her eyes flitting ever so quickly toward the mysterious door, then back again. “We’ll have to be careful about it—”

Margot leaned forward. “But it sounds like he’s a bad man,” she said, “and bad men have been getting away with their bullshit for far too long.” The crowd turned to her. Caroline watched the women watching Margot, and I realized that it killed her that, while she may have been the brain of this whole thing, Margot was the heart.

“We’ll have a think on it,” Caroline said. “Meanwhile, I have something to say. The annual gala for Women Who Lead is coming up, and . . .” She put her hand on her heart and a resigned but brave expression on her face. “Unfortunately, the woman who I’d been hoping would announce her run for the House of Representatives has decided that she is not ready to throw her hat in the ring.” A few murmurs of disappointment and sympathy came from the women around the circle. “Thank you, I know. The good news is that the tables I’d been saving for her and her team are now available. So if any of you would like to attend, please come talk to me. I’d love to have anyone who wants to support. Although of course it would be good for the cause if we could get some star power.” She looked at Iris Ngoza, and then at me.

Oh, right. Because of Raf. Duh. I really needed to get better at remembering that I was dating him. I gave Caroline a thumbs-up.

“Wonderful,” she said, then addressed the whole group. “The last-minute change has thrown a wrench in things, so I want to apologize in advance if I’m busier than normal until the gala is over. So many things to do, so if anyone wants to help—”

“I volunteer as tribute!” Libby said next to me, her hand shooting into the air. She cleared her throat and placed her hand back in her lap. “I mean, I would love to help however you need.”

“Libby,” Caroline said, “you’re a gem.”

EIGHTEEN

When the circle ended and the women in attendance slowly began to straggle out the door, to their gleaming homes and their melatonin and their partners or their pets, Libby and I both hung back, chatting. As Libby talked about the latest updates with her fizzy water company, I watched the small group of women who showed no signs of leaving as eleven p.m. approached: Caroline, Margot, Iris, a couple of others. A few times, I caught Libby watching them too. The elevator doors dinged and Vy clomped into the clubhouse, wearing a jacket spattered with dried clay, her eyes locked on the door I’d never seen anyone go inside. She began to head that way, then noticed me and Libby. She stopped, staring at us for a minute before slouching over to the fridge and pretending to examine its contents. The message was clear: we were overstaying our welcome.

“Well, it’s getting late. Should we walk out together?” I asked Libby, and so we waved good-bye