Cambridge, Massachusetts, January 2024
Students had returned from the holiday break, and their presence was suffocating. Another reminder that the first day of second semester was fast approaching. Its imminent arrival tightened beneath my chin like a noose, cutting off my air and threatening to snap my neck.
They packed the length of the Infinite Corridor, MIT’s main thoroughfare, and I darted between them as if they were obstacles on a course, speed-walking toward the east-end of campus and my meeting with the dean. Excitement propelled my legs as much as nerves, my mind’s singular focus on securing my escape.
And the fact that I considered going on sabbatical an escape reinforced just how badly I needed a change.
MIT’s campus was a maze of interconnected buildings, its tunnels and corridors an afterthought resulting in a confusing web of disjointed parts. I’d been so lost the first time I’d navigated the labyrinth twenty years ago, a new doctoral candidate in Corporate Finance, trying to make sense of all the nameless schools and offices with only numbers as my guide.
Now, at forty-five, I walked the halls just as bewildered as before, but this time, it wasn’t the building numbers throwing me off. It was my life.
Countless paths unfolded before me, speeding away from my present into myriad futures. I had no idea which path to follow. All I knew was I couldn’t stay on my current trajectory. It ran right into a dead end.
Another ten minutes and I entered the Sloan School’s main building. I darted down the corridor and up the stairs to the dean’s office, eager to get this over with and move on. His office door was ajar, and I pushed it open so he could see me. He was on the phone and waved me in. I removed my coat, folded it over my arm, and sat in the chair on the opposite side of his cluttered desk.
“Yes. Yes, I understand. But the endowment simply does not cover those types of expenses. There’s nothing I can do.”
I glanced around his office and tried not to cringe even though my body was going through a visceral reaction to the mess. Stacks of books and papers littered the floor, and instead of neat rows on the shelf, books laid piled on their sides or askew, half-cocked out of their homes. Dirty coffee mugs adorned the windowsill, and old posters from a conference that had happened over a year ago leaned against the far wall.
Academia. There were reasons for the scatter-brained-professor stereotype, and the evidence occupied Tim Fletcher’s office. I blinked hard to erase the chaos from my mind.
“All right, then. Yes. Thank you. Goodbye.” He hung up the phone, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. “There’s a certain irony to my life.” He replaced his glasses and gave me a tired smile.
His disheveled gray hair was in desperate need of a cut, and he looked ten years older than I knew him to be, face drawn like he hadn’t slept in days.
Guilt seized me. The last thing I wanted to do was pile more stress on Tim’s shoulders. He didn’t deserve it. He already handled more than his fair share for the department. But I had no choice. I’d reached my breaking point.
“If someone would have told me how much time I’d spend dealing with the finances of the Finance Department, I’d have never become dean.” I huffed out a chuckle. “What can I do for you, Anna?”
“I know the start of the semester is only a couple weeks away, but”—my stomach rolled—“I’d like to go on sabbatical.”
The older man’s head rocked back in surprise. “This is unexpected. And not exactly the best timing.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’m only scheduled to teach one, first-year class. Jack Owens said he’d be happy to teach it for me. He’s taught it before, and he just finished that big research grant with the Fed. He was planning on taking it easy this semester. No research. I’m between grants myself.”
He studied me as if he suspected I was a pod person and not really Anna Barone.
Before he could ask any questions, I cleared my throat and straightened my spine. I’d gone over my argument countless times the night before and was determined to get through my speech without interruption.
“I’ve been tenured for ten years, taught in this department for almost fifteen, and I’ve never taken a sabbatical. My publications are consistent in both quantity and quality, my research grants steady. I’ve taught every class the department has asked me to teach.” I swallowed and blew out a heavy breath. “And if I don’t get a break, I might—I might just quit.”
His eyes widened, and his mouth fell soundlessly open. He studied me for a long moment before leaning forward and clasping his hands atop the desk. “This isn’t like you, Anna. Is everything okay? What’s going on?”
“I need a break, Tim. An extended break. From academia specifically. I—I’m not sure I want to do this anymore.”
“I’m surprised. You have tenure.”
He said tenure with such gravitas I almost second guessed myself. Almost.
“And not that it’s any of my business, but what would you do instead?” The question was clipped like he took personal offense at the idea someone might not want to be entombed in the annals of academia.
But that was the question, wasn’t it?
“That’s part of the reason I want to take a sabbatical. I need some space, some time to think. I’m too burnt out to put a plan together. All I know is I want industry experience. I want to apply my research to real-world problems.” He opened his mouth to interrupt, but I held up a staying hand, and he clamped it shut. “And before you say I already do that with data sets from industry, it’s not the same. I want to work in an office without worrying about teaching or research or publishing.”
“I see.”
He sat back, steepled his fingers, and regarded me warily. “You do have an impeccable record of service to the department, and your research in financial modeling is unparalleled.” The words came out more begrudging admission than sincere compliment, and I waited for the inevitable caveat. “You found someone to teach your class. Thank you for that.”
“It was the least I could do on such short notice.”
“But…”
And there it was. My stomach dropped, and my mind raced through the different ways he might finish his sentence and destroy my plans. “But what?”
“I understand burn-out. It happens to the best of us. But I think this decision is ill-advised.”
I scrunched my face. “How so?”
He removed his glasses and cleaned them with a handkerchief he lifted from his shirt pocket. “May I be frank, Professor?”
“Of course,” I said, though I was sure I wasn’t going to like whatever came next.
“You don’t have the temperament to work in corporate finance.”
His words punched me in the chest. I sat in stunned silence as decades-old self-doubt resurfaced to knock the wind out of my sails.
He spread his arms and shrugged. “Let’s face it, Anna. You belong in academia. Can you really see yourself in a boardroom full of executives talking over each other and pushing agendas? I’ve never seen you get more than a word in edgewise at a professional conference. Not unless you were giving a talk, or someone asked you a direct question.” He leaned forward. “You spent the last three department-industry mixers sitting at the bar with my admin!”
My cheeks heated, embarrassed by my personality for the first time in over a decade. He’d thrown my deepest insecurities in my face in less than a minute, transporting me back to graduate school and the chain of events that had led to this exact moment.
International finance is no place for a mouse. Better try accounting. Or maybe teaching.
The asshole executive who’d given me that “advice” at an industry meet-and-greet during my first year at Harvard Business School had lived rent free in my head for years. Funny how one stranger’s off-the-cuff remark could destroy a person’s confidence and change the course of their life.
And Tim Fletcher had just tried to do the same thing.
My temper simmered, poised and ready to boil over, but I tamped down the hot waters. Yes, he’d played on my insecurities to try and manipulate me into staying, but could I blame him? I’d just waltzed into his office two weeks before the start of the semester and thrown him a major curve ball. He was drowning in work and grasping for an easy way to keep his head above water, but I refused to take the bait.
I straightened my spine, folded my hands in my lap, and cleared my throat. “Be that as it may,” I said, keeping my voice level and professional, “I’d still like to request a sabbatical. Will you approve it?”
He stared at me over a tight mouth, no doubt racking his brain for a valid excuse to deny my request. After a moment, he exhaled, and his shoulders descended. “Pending confirmation from Jack Owens he’ll take your class… Yes, I’ll approve it.”
I sprang to my feet. “Thank you! Thank you so much! And again, sorry for the short notice. I’ll send an email to you and Jack about the class and file the paperwork. Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”
He removed his glasses, waved them at me, and rubbed his eyes. “Good luck, Anna.”
“Thanks, Tim.”
I dashed out of his office and out of the finance building, making a beeline for Kendall Square. Long-buried memories fueled my hurried strides.
Smart, eager, and excellent with numbers, I’d always assumed my abilities would speak for themselves and never once considered my introverted, quiet nature would be seen as a liability. Not until that meet-and-greet. The event was intended to connect first-years with the big-name consulting and investment firms that ran up and down the East Coast. But instead of a potential employer, I’d received a slap in the face.
I’d cried myself to sleep that night, my dreams crushed beneath the heel of one man’s dismissal. After that, I’d stood on the sidelines at every event, completely paralyzed, my confidence shattered. I’d bought into his rhetoric, convinced myself I didn’t have what it took to enter his world.
Graduation sped toward me like a freight train and, with it, uncertainty about my future. My advisor suggested I transfer to MIT and pursue a doctorate instead of working in industry.
It’s the best environment for your gentle temperament, Ms. Barone.
Gentle temperament. I snorted. She’d never seen me get into it with Jeff.
Which reminded me… I checked my watch. Twenty to one. Just enough time to make it to Harvard Square for a lunch meeting with my best friend.
Whether or not it was true, that conversation had been the final nail in the coffin of my plan to enter industry. I’d transferred to MIT after finishing my MBA at Harvard and never left.
The irony? I wasn’t the nervous, mousey woman I’d been in my early twenties. Hadn’t been for years. I’d grown. But like the elephant who’d been tied to a tree as a baby, I’d learned not to try and break free. The strong, independent woman I’d become remained tied to a stump.
Well, I just cut the rope.
A smile crept across my face. The suffocating dread that had weighed on my chest for weeks at the thought of another semester trapped inside those halls finally lifted.
I sped down the steps of the Kendall Square T stop. A burst of stale subway air and screeching rails heralded an oncoming train and my future. I was free. For the next six months, I was free.
Now, if only I could get a jump start on the rest of my life.
* * *
Harvard Square hummed with activity. City workers stood on ladders to take down the holiday decorations still hanging from lampposts. Students reunited with friends. Fast-walking professionals skirted half-melted piles of dirty snow. I crossed the square to meet my best friend for lunch and attempt to rationally explain upending my career.
The glass doors of Scholar’s Café opened with a whoosh. A wall of overly warm air blew my hair into disarray and had me blinking back tears. Coffee, sugar, and freshly baked bread filled my nostrils, and the familiar combination soothed my frayed nerves.
I ordered a cappuccino and biscotti and carried them to a table near the foggy glass walls. I wiped my hand through the condensation to watch the passersby while I waited for the inevitable reckoning with my best friend.
“Hey,” Jeff said. “Sorry I’m late.”
“You’re not late. I just got here myself.”
He slung his coat over the chairback, tossed his newsboy cap on the table, and ran his hand back and forth across the close-cropped, salt-and-pepper remnants of a once-full head of coarse curls. He must have walked, because his dark brown skin was ruddy from the cold at the tip of his nose and across his broad cheekbones. He patted himself down as if he’d forgotten something, and when he didn’t find the missing item, sat in the chair across from me.
“Traffic was brutal across the bridge.” He removed his wire-rimmed glasses and cleaned them with the end of his scarf. “I forgot how busy it gets with all the kids back. It’s like the cabbie was playing Frogger on Mass Ave. I couldn’t take it. Got out at Central Square and walked.” He inspected his handiwork and set the glasses back on his nose.
“That’s why I take the T.” I lifted my cappuccino in salute and took a sip of the milky goodness. “You look good. I haven’t seen you since before break. You and Michael were in New York?”
“Yeah. He’s still there. Alex is about to pop. Due any day now. I had to get back for work.” Alex was Michael’s sister, and with their tight-knit family, I wasn’t surprised he’d hung back.
“Kinda stinks being the boss, doesn’t it?”
He grunted. “How are your parents?”
“They’re good. They send their love. Wanted to know when you and Michael are going to visit.”
“When the scraps of hair I have left on my head aren’t on fire.”
I snorted. “Is CMG that busy?”
“Food first.” Jeff had a singular focus at mealtimes, and it centered around his stomach. He scanned the café until he found a waiter, flagged him down, and ordered a cappuccino for himself and a caprese sandwich for us to split, a tradition as old as our friendship. “And yes, CMG is that busy. Hence this last-minute lunch.”
He placed his palms flat on the table. “Okay,” he announced in his I’m-The-President-Of-Cambridge-Management-Group voice.
I eyed him cautiously.
“A new job came in yesterday. I usually do the work for this client myself given his high-profile and non-disclosure requirements, but—and I can’t believe I’m about to admit this—I don’t have the expertise to do this work on the timeline he needs. But you do.”
I arched an eyebrow over the mug I held poised at my lips.
He raised his hands, conceding an unspoken point. “I know the semester starts in two weeks, but I’m really in a bind. The type of financial modeling this job requires is way outside my wheelhouse. I wouldn’t even know where to start. At a minimum, I’d need you to come up with a plan, but even then, it would take me twice as long to do the work, if not longer, and my client wants results fast.”
“What type of modeling? What’s the objective?”
He shook his head. “I can’t tell you that. Not until you meet with him and sign an NDA. But I can tell you that your research is directly applicable. It’s an international, privately owned company, and the work is for their European branch. Frankly, I can’t do this without you.”
A rush of adrenaline shot through my body and surprised the hell out of me. It took me a moment to register where it came from, but I finally recognized it as genuine excitement at the prospect of doing something, literally anything, different than research and teaching.
“I know the timing is terrible, but this project has a short fuse. And there are still two weeks before classes start. You said you had a light teaching load this semester, right?”
“It’s lighter than you think.”
Jeff’s eyebrows drew together. “What do you mean?”
“I’m taking a sabbatical.”
And just as quickly, they launched to his non-existent hairline. “What? Since when?”
“Since about”—I checked my watch—“an hour ago. Give or take.”
“Two weeks before the start of the semester?”
“Yes.”
“Is it your parents? I thought you said they’re okay.”
“No, it’s not my parents. They’re fine.”
Concern etched lines in my best friend’s face. I sipped my cappuccino, searching for comfort, strength, and the right words.
“I don’t want to be a professor anymore,” I blurted before I chickened out.
Jeff’s mug froze midair, and his eyelids moved through a slow blink. He set the mug down, and his mouth opened then closed. He pressed his lips into a line and studied me. It wasn’t often Jeff’s opinionated mouth was rendered speechless, but then again, I’d just dropped the Anna-equivalent of an H-bomb.
“My sentiments exactly,” I said. “More so now after saying it out loud.” I rested my elbow on the table and slumped my chin into my hand. “I don’t want to do this anymore, Jeff. I’m so over it.”
“You’re over it?” His frozen shock shattered into a hysterical laugh, and he leaned forward. “Anna. You’re a tenured professor at MIT, the best school in the world, and you’re over it?”
“Yup.” I nodded. “Over it.”
He reclined in his chair, scrubbed a hand across his head, and glanced around searching for our waiter. “I think I’m going to need something stronger than coffee.”
I gave him a wry smile. “You and me both.”
“Seriously, Anna. What’s going on?”
“Seriously, I just told you. I don’t want to be a professor anymore.”
“Since when? You’ve wanted to be a professor since grad school.”
I nodded vigorously and swirled the last bit of biscotti in my coffee. “I know. It is what I wanted.” I lifted the biscotti out of the mug and held it midair sodden with milk and espresso and my dreams. A chunk fell off and landed back in my mug. “Or, at least, it’s what I thought I wanted.” Defeated, I popped the soggy end into my mouth and pushed the remains of my biscotti-laden cappuccino away.
He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. “Is this some sort of midlife crisis thing? Is that what’s going on here? Because Michael went through that two years ago. I bought him a Porsche, and he started getting Botox, and now he’s fine.”
I snorted. “I hate that term—midlife crisis. This isn’t a crisis. It’s an awakening. And I don’t think Botox is going to help.”
He sat back and folded his arms across his chest.
“Your caprese sandwich,” the waiter interjected and placed our food on the table.
I smiled at the waiter, grateful for the interruption and a chance to gather my thoughts. Jeff, on the other hand, dove right in. He licked his lips, lifted his half of the sandwich, and took a huge bite.
I popped a chip into my mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “I haven’t been happy in months. There’s been this… this antipathy brewing. Antipathy and… resentment.”
I picked up my sandwich, sunk my teeth into the freshly baked bread, tomato, and mozzarella, and let the perfect combination of basil and balsamic dance across my tastebuds. I groaned dramatically and rolled my eyes back. “How is this consistently so good?”
Jeff grunted, shrugged his shoulders, and shoved a few chips in his mouth. Forty-six and he still ate like a teenager.
“My birthday brought some clarity. I think. I know it’s irrational, but something about the number forty-five.” I hesitated, but I couldn’t keep the tornado of troubling thoughts bottled up any longer. “There’s this sense of urgency. Like I—like I need to live. Right now.”
He frowned. “You are living.”
I sighed dramatically, exasperated trying to explain something I didn’t fully understand myself.
“I spent the entire winter break in Amherst,” I said.
“You don’t usually do that.”
“Exactly. But this year I needed to be with my parents. In my old house.”
The admission made my chest ache. I never wanted to spend time in Amherst or with my parents. One week with them in Italy the previous summer and I was ready to jump off the train. But now? I’d been back in Cambridge a little over a week, and I already missed them. I craved my family.
“A few days after Christmas, my parents took me to a new restaurant in town. They thought I’d enjoy it. It’s where all the kids your age hang out.”
“Kids,” he chuckled and shook his head.
“They weren’t kidding. The place was packed with people our age. I ran into one of my friends from high school. Melissa—remember her? We went to Amherst together for undergrad?”
“Oh yeah… Melissa. The one with the…” He wiggled his finger at his face. “The nose ring.”
I huffed. “An accomplished nurse practitioner and that’s what you remember? The nose ring?”
He shrugged, grabbed a fistful of chips, and crammed them into his mouth until his cheeks puffed out.
I made a face at him, and he managed a “What?” through the mouthful.
I chuckled. “Disgusting.”
He gave me a self-satisfied grin.
I shook my head and soldiered on. “She has a kid graduating high school this year. The other one’s going to be a freshman. Her and her family were at this big table with two other couples. They all had kids, and they were coloring, and—” I choked up. The back of my throat burned with emotion, but I held back the welling tears.
“Oh, Anna.” He reached out and placed his hand over mine, his eyes filled with deep understanding. “Is this about kids? I thought you’d made peace with that.”
“I did.” I swiped at my eyes before the tears spilled over. “It’s—it’s not about kids. It’s…” My breath shuddered as I tried to breathe through the heartache. I’d made peace with my infertility years ago, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t still painful. I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts and get back on track. “It’s not about kids. It’s about what they represent.”
I sipped my water, trying to ease the tension, and searched for words among the flurry of emotions, but I couldn’t find anything louder than the growing ache in my chest. I had to get it all out.
“Did you know I bought readers?”
Jeff’s head jerked back.
“The words don’t stand out on the page like they used to. And after a day staring at a computer screen…”
He tossed his napkin atop his empty plate and narrowed his eyes, exercising heroic levels of patience while I took him on this wild ride.
“I slept with David.”
“Lancaster?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s not a face I’d want someone to make while talking about having sex with me.”
David Lancaster was a professor of chemical engineering at MIT who I’d met through my running club. We’d been on a few dates, the last of which had ended in a less than remarkable trip to the bedroom.
I pointed my sandwich at Jeff. “And yet, it pretty much sums up the experience.” I widened my eyes and took a bite.
He winced. “Ouch.”
He scrubbed a hand across his scalp. “All right. I don’t have a doctorate like some people…” He winked, and I snorted. “So, I’m gonna need you to help me out here because I’m not following. Your parents, kids, glasses, bad sex… What does any of this have to do with taking a sabbatical?”
I swallowed. This was the hard part. The part I hadn’t admitted to anyone. The part that made me feel old and lost and frantic. “They’re reminders. Reminders that the clock is ticking. My eyes aren’t as good as they used to be. What’s going to go next? My love life continues to underwhelm. I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever get to experience true love, and that kills me. I don’t have a family of my own, just you and my parents, and they’re not getting any younger.
“Time isn’t stopping, Jeff. It’s speeding ahead like a bullet train, and I keep asking myself, is this it? Is this really all there is? Is my life just my career?”
He raised an eyebrow. “A pretty spectacular career.”
“Yes.” I nodded. “And don’t get me wrong. I don’t regret it. At all. I’ve loved teaching. It’s been rewarding helping the kids, especially the ones who really need it. And I’ve been successful with my research.”
“Understatement.”
“But I feel—I feel trapped. Limited. And I can’t pretend that my career wasn’t shaped, in part, by what other people told me I could and couldn’t handle.”
“Now, wait a minute, Anna—”
“Dean Fletcher emailed me right before the break and let me know I’d been passed over for the Deloitte partnership. They gave it to Jeannie Craft. I have no delusions as to why they did it, and spoiler alert, it’s not because she’s more qualified.”
Jeff scowled. “That really pisses me off.”
“Yup. And over the break, I kept thinking about how many days were left until the start of the semester and I had to teach again and hold office hours and file my grant application and this…” I shook my hands searching for the right words, my shoulders tensing. “This impending sense of doom, this overwhelming dread, it took over and it kept getting worse and worse. This sense of urgency I have to live my life, it won’t let up. I don’t want to feel trapped anymore.”
My breath came in short gusts. I closed my eyes and rested a hand over my heart to calm the panic that rose every time I thought about my future. When I opened my eyes, Jeff’s were filled with empathy and worry.
“We only get so much time on this planet, and that clock keeps on ticking. Every. Single. Day. And if the only thing I have is my career, if that’s all I’ve got to show for it, why am I living according to someone else’s definition? What the hell have I done with my life?”
“Jesus, Anna.” He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. I reached for my water with shaking fingers, but he intercepted my hand and held it. Steadied it. Steadied me. “You weren’t kidding. We’re way past Botox.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I had no idea you were going through any of this. Why didn’t you say something?”
“I don’t know. I thought I was being self-indulgent. Figured this was a phase, that these feelings would go away. But they haven’t gone away. If anything, they’ve gotten worse.”
“I’m a terrible friend. I should have read the signs, but…” He blew out a slow breath. “I don’t know. The quiet life of a professor always seemed to suit you. You aren’t exactly a social butterfly.”
I released his hand and grabbed my glass, hoping a sip of water might wash down the bitter taste of Jeff’s words. “True. But I’m not the painfully shy woman you met back at Harvard either. Remember how badly I used to clam up?”
“I haven’t seen deer-in-the-headlights Anna in years.” The corners of his eyes crinkled with the teasing.
“Exactly. I’m never going to be the outgoing life of the party. That’s just not me. But I can hold my own, especially when it comes to work. And I don’t want to get to my parents’ age and regret not having pursued my dream to work in industry.
“I know it’s not going to fix my eyesight. And Prince Charming isn’t going to swoop in on a white stallion to give me mind-blowing orgasms.” Jeff’s shoulders shook with laughter. “But it’s a start. It’s something. And at least I can say I tried.”
“I’m so proud I get to call you my best friend.” He beamed a wide, sparkling smile, and the truth of his words reflected in his eyes. “You’re a remarkable woman, Anna. You know that, right?”
My heart squeezed with the warmth of his sincerity. “Thanks. Right now, I feel remarkably lost, but thanks.”
His smile took on a mischievous bend. “Lucky for you, your best friend owns Cambridge Management Group. This couldn’t be better timing. Come work for me. You can take that job yourself now that you’re on sabbatical.”
A new challenge. A chance to break out of my rut. An opportunity in the real world. My stomach fluttered with anticipation. “When would I start?”
“I’ll call DeVita Enterprises International after lunch. I have no doubt Marco would want you to start right away. Like I said, it’s urgent.”
The flutter expanded into a steady beat, and my body came alive with excitement and hope. “All right. I’m in.”
He lifted his glass like it held champagne instead of water. “Here’s to it, then. The next chapter.”
I lifted my glass, clinked it against his, and a smile matching Jeff’s spread across my face, so wide it made my cheeks hurt.
One of the countless paths in life’s labyrinth unfolded before me. I had no idea where it would take me, but I’d be damned before I wasted one more minute spinning my wheels in this rut. I was ready to break free. I was ready to reshape my future.