Cian sat, eyes glued to the clock high on the wall and hands absently bouncing Noel in his baby seat on the worn kitchen table. The second hand dragged its way around the face. The minute hand jumped. 11:28. It was almost time.
The mail was usually in the box at the end of the mile long Mulcahy Drive by 11:45. Cian had learned this week that it took him thirteen minutes to calmly walk from the front door to the mailbox. On Monday, he had done it in nine minutes, running with Noel bouncing in his chest carrier. But on Monday, there hadn’t been anything for him. Tuesday came and went without a letter. By Wednesday, Cian wasn’t running any more. Maybe there was nothing coming. The nice lady on the phone had said he should hear something this week, but now it was Friday, and still there was no word from the university.
The minute hand jumped again. 11:29.
Almost.
Cian had taken the SAT in the Spring and applied as soon as the scores had arrived. 1374. 673 Evidence-Based Reading and Writing and 701 Math. The lady in admissions had confided that it was a good score, especially for an ESL student. She had congratulated him and told him that his accent was delightful. She had intimated that his chances for acceptance were fairly high, though he was applying very late in the year and had missed the scholarship deadline. Alerich had told him not to worry about the finances and just concentrate on getting in.
The minute hand moved with its loud click. 11:30.
Cian stood and pulled on Noel’s chest carrier, the straps going over his shoulders like a backpack and fastening behind his waist. He unbuckled the infant from his bouncy seat and lifted him up, placing a kiss on his soft head before settling him into the carrier. Noel cooed and bunched up his little fists. He loved going on walks in the carrier. Between Cian, Etienne, Alerich, Thomas, Jessie, and Winter, Noel spent most of his day being held by someone. Winter said it was good for the baby to have so much socialization, and Cian was glad for the company on this walk.
What if nothing ever came? Maybe they only sent mail to students who were accepted. Maybe this year’s slots were already full. Noel wiggled against Cian’s tension. The baby was very attuned to the emotion of the people around him and didn’t like it when Cian was worried.
Cian closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The week wasn’t over yet. And the lady from admissions had told him he should hear something this week. That sounded like he should know one way or another.
He heard the minute hand click. 11:31. Close enough.
Cian headed for the front door and its sandy path to the long driveway that Alerich had recently had paved. Cian missed the crunch of the gravel under his feet, but the smooth black surface was much better for the sleek, low cars that Alerich had shipped from Europe. The driveway still smelled new—outgassing, Alerich had called it—and Cian wrinkled his nose and set off down the drive.
Near the house, he could see water on both sides of the Point, Erikson Bay on the right and the Pacific Ocean on the left, but the further he got down the drive, the more the Point widened out and stands of trees blocked his view of the water. It was a beautiful day, and the breeze from the shore he could no longer see brought the scent of open water. Seabirds flew overhead, and the sap from the pines around him wrestled with the asphalt.
Even if there was no word from the university, it was a pleasant walk. He tried not to rush ahead.
Cian walked as leisurely as he could, enjoying the morning out with his son, but eventually he heard the sound of cars passing on the outer road and sped up despite trying to remain calm. He jogged the last few yards and got to the mailbox while the postman was still putting things inside. The man waved and Cian waved back.
The postman pulled away and Cian gingerly opened the large box. There was a lot of mail, which wasn’t unusual with so many people living in Mulcahy House now, and Cian flipped through letters and small packages, looking for his name.
He held his breath as he saw it—Cian Knight—written on a large white envelope with University of Washington-Seahaven stamped in the return address. His hands shook, and he put the rest of the mail back in the box for a moment.
The envelope was heavy. Cian’s hopes soared. Jessie had told him that heavy was good. Heavy meant the school had more to tell you than that you weren’t wanted.
Cian slipped his hand under the envelope’s flap and broke the glue. He pulled out a slick folder with the school’s seal on it and a letter that started, “Dear Mr. Knight, we are delighted to inform you that you have been accepted for the Fall Semester at the University of Washington-Seahaven. Enclosed please find details about Freshman Orientation and a Student Handbook. Go Kraken!”
Cian stood for a moment, catching his breath. He kissed the baby’s head and whispered, “Noel, Daddy got in!”
Cian wished he had his phone with him. He wanted to tell Winter, and Etienne, and Alerich, and random passersby. He was a college student! He gathered up the rest of the mail and didn’t even try to stop himself from running back to the house.
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