She remembers how Karan had once told Natasha to consider pursuing comedy when she’s “older.” You know, after you’re done with everything else you have to do. Working, kids, all that stuff. Some aunties had said the same thing. Natasha always fought back. Why did women have to keep their passions as safe hobbies for most of their lives? Why did they have to make certain expected milestones the priority?

But now she wonders if they were all right. Maybe she’s let her aspirations become larger than her potential.

“Look, I get what you’re saying. But it’s part of my job to push you to pick what’s best for you,” Alexis says. “Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to consider what your long-term vision for your career is and if you’re investing your energy in the best places. All I’m saying is, this may not be the best fit for you.”

Alexis does a there-there type of ginger pat on Natasha’s shoulder. The worst part is that her face doesn’t even have any disdain or meanness. Instead, she’s gazing at Natasha with compassion. Natasha feels like she’s being dumped. The excitement she had for the day shrivels up and disappears. But this can’t be right. The first authority she’s connected with in her dream field thinks she should try another way?

No, no, no, she wants to say. You don’t understand. This is everything to me and I don’t have a choice but to kick ass.

•   •   •

“Don’t listen to her!” Ifeoma says an hour later, after she’s ordered a round of margaritas at Superica, their favorite spot for their monthly brunch. “What the heck does she know?”

“Um, she knows a lot,” Natasha says. “It’s her job and area of expertise, remember?”

A waiter puts down two baskets of chips and tiny bowls of salsa. Natasha takes a handful of chips and dips them into the red and green sauces that are at the edge of the table. She gives a silent declaration of gratitude for being at a place that feeds her right away. Now she just has to make sure she doesn’t fill up on the chips and actually has room for her entrée.

Within minutes, the tables around them are occupied. Every restaurant in Krog Street Market gets way too crowded on Saturdays.

An Indian couple sits next to them. They’re both dressed in standard weekend casual wear: T-shirts, jeans, white sneakers, Warby Parker sunglasses on their heads. The guy comments on the industrial-chic décor and orders two margaritas. He slides his hands over the girl’s and smiles when he glances at her ring finger. Three diamonds—one large round center stone, two smaller side ones—wink as they catch the light.

Of course you’re newly engaged, Natasha thinks.