Page 8 of Caging Liberty
Pessimistic, no?
“I’ve always thought Yale was the better choice anyway,” I say, taking the piece of paper from her hands and setting it on the coffee table.
The first tears slip from Elsie’s eyes, and I wrap my arm around her and squeeze. “You’re gonna be fine, Els.”
“No, I won’t,” she says, her voice cracking. “How can you even say that?”
“Because there’s a long list of schools you’re waiting to hear back from, and even if you don’t get into those, people who go to state schools still get jobs. Screw Harvard.”
“Harvard is the only place I’ve ever wanted to go. It’s my dream.”
“You’ll have bigger dreams. I promise.”
“How can you even say that?” she protests, jerking away from me. “You went to Harvard. How would you have felt if they’d rejectedyou?”
Easy. I would’ve been crushed. Because back then, I was as naïve as Elsie.
The world’s a bitch. Maroon sweater or not.
“I would’ve dodged a bullet. The cafeteria food sucked. And the dorms...” I cringe like I’m reliving a nightmare. “Jesus, you would think for eighteen grand a semester you could get more than a flat rock to sleep on and a roommate who doesn’t stab your voodoo doll while you sleep.”
Her lips lift into the slightest grin, and I wink.
“You really think Yale is better?” she asks.
I nod. “Blows those Harvard bastards out of the water.” I clap her knee. “Seriously, kiddo, you’re going to love whatever school you go to. Don’t let this set you back, not even for a second.”
She nods, but I can tell she just let that go in one ear and out the other. She slowly stands. “I need to study,” she says, walking around the couch. “Thanks Lib.” She leaves the room, and I frown as I watch her go, knowing study is code for ‘cry into my pillow.’ She’s already been through too much heartbreak for her age. It kills me to see her go through more.
She’ll get over it, though. She will. And she’ll be stronger for the rejection. Maybe if I had been rejected, I wouldn’t have been so damn arrogant. You know what they say. Bigger the pride, the harder the fall.
I’ve fallen pretty fucking hard.
I leave the pity party before it has a chance to fully take off, and I pick up the mail, glancing through it to see if there’s anything for me. An embroidered envelope sticks out to me, and I smooth my hand over the ‘RE’ lettered design.
There’s no return address, but whoever this is from must be wealthy to feel the need to have their envelopes specially made. Fucking rich people.
The front door opens, and I turn my head just as Robert walks inside.
“Hey, honey,” I say, turning toward him and lowering the stack of mail. I smile but let it fall when he doesn’t return it or even return the greeting. “How was your day?”
“Is that the mail?” He drops his briefcase by the door and shrugs out of his coat as he walks toward me.
“Yeah, Elsie was expecting—”
“How many times do I have to ask you not to look through my mail?” he growls, taking the stack of papers from my hand. “Seriously, how many times?”
My eyes narrow, but I try to keep myself from snapping. “As I was saying, Elsie was expecting a letter from Harvard, so she got it from the mailbox when it arrived. I was just glancing through. I don’t know why you have to take it as an invasion of your privacy.”
“Christ, Liberty, you never listen.” He huffs out a breath, sees the letter I was studying, then looks at me with something in his eyes I don’t recognize.
“What?” I ask, glancing at the embroidering.
“Did you look through this?” He holds up the letter.
“What are you talking about? The envelope is sealed. I was just—”
“My work is incredibly delicate, and you know that. Everything sent in my name is for my eyes only.”