End of the Innocence

Chapter 42

In an empty office in Brad’s wing, I sealed the final envelope by hand, my tongue sweeping over the seal before I pressed it closed. Four envelopes, four applications. Four life paths sitting in the palm of my hand. I could dissolve them all so easily, drop them harmlessly in the wastebasket. Mailing them was planting seeds, setting myself up for an impossible decision that I would never be able to make. I had selected the schools carefully, ignoring Brad’s directive that I choose schools selfishly. We were getting married, joining our lives. I couldn’t make this big of a decision without considering him.

I was applying locally, to the school I had always assumed I would attend, my prior financial situation requiring me to attend an in-state public school with a strong financial aid package. Envelope Two was for University of Florida, a school that was close enough for me to return home on the weekends, a short flight or long drive away. Envelope Three was a stretch, the prestigious program at Dartmouth, a school unlikely to accept me, but one Brad had insisted I attempt. It had been his alma mater, and he seemed confident that his recommendation letter would hold the weight my average application needed. Envelope Four was another stretch—Stanford Law. Another completely selfish application, a school I could never afford, one that was too far away, nestled in the cliffs of the California coastline. But it was a school I had always wanted to attend, so I had painstakingly completed the application, hating every stroke I made of the pen.

I stood, tucking the envelopes under my arm, and walked to the elevators, headed to the mailroom to send off my four potential destinies. I pressed the down button and waited, hefting the envelopes in my hand, sudden stress weighing on me. I wouldn’t get in. I couldn’t get in. I wasn’t qualified, didn’t have the pedigree or prestigious undergrad diploma. But what if I did? What if I was accepted to all four? How would that affect our lives? I made a decision, on impulse, dividing the stack in two and pushing the Dartmouth and Stanford envelopes into the closest trashcan, weeks of Rebecca’s hard work crushed in two firm shoves. It was a rash decision, made against all sane thought processes. But so was my agreeing to fly out to Vegas with Brad four days after meeting him. So was marrying into the worst family in town. And with that shove? With that dump of those two way-too-heavy envelopes? I felt so much lighter. I could physically breathe again. The elevators opened and I stepped on, a happier, saner woman. It was a good decision. My decision. The elevators started their descent.