Page 15 of Love Rewritten

She seems to chew on this question for a while before adjusting her position on the couch and answering. “I’m not sure. My mind is so all over the place.”

“Makes sense. You got hit from every direction yesterday. I’d be surprised if you weren’t feeling a little muddled.”

She mumbles, “Mhmm,” before cozying into me even further. “Maybe ask me about it on a different day. When I’ve had some time for it to settle in. The wound is too fresh.”

“Of course. You know I’m here for you though if you decide you want to talk about it. Or cry about it. Or scream about it.”

She laughs a little but says, “I might need to take you up on the screaming piece.”

We settle into the quiet morning until I remember the mail she got. “Oh, something came for you,” I say, jumping up from the couch. She watches me as I grab it from the counter and return to my spot next to her. She takes the thick envelope with her brows drawn together. She looks up at me like I might have some insight as to what it could be, but I shrug.

She rips the top open to reveal a handwritten letter and another envelope inside, a fancier one with gold embossing along the back flap and a gold flying dove. She unfolds the letter and holds it in front of us to allow me to read it as well.

Abigail,

I hope this finds you well. I’m sorry I missed you yesterday but wanted to get this invitation to you as soon as possible. I hope you don’t mind, but the day you brought in one of your short stories for me to read over, you forgot to grab the notebook. I finished reading it. I loved it and thought others would, too. I know it isn’t finished, but I submitted it anyway. I think you’ll like what you see in that envelope.

All the best,

Dr. Charles Kraus

She looks back at me, still confused. I shrug again. I know the day he’s talking about. It’s the day I found out she worked for him. I remember being so furious. More so because she hadn’t told me than because it was him. But I’ve gotten over it. She told me how much she likes working for him, how good he is to her, and how supportive he is of her writing. I’m glad she has someone in the literature field who can support that dream so fully. I sure as hell know nothing about writing, especially anything more than the normal college paper.

She examines the other envelope. The only writing on the front is in black calligraphy and reads “Oxly University Literature Department.” She opens the back of this one a little more carefully than the other, trying to preserve the elegant gold foiling. She pulls out a piece of cardstock paper and four smaller, thinner pieces. The front of the cardstock reads:

Congratulations!

Your recent entry has been reviewed by the Literature Department.

You have been selected as a finalist for Oxly University’s Literature Department’s Literary Ambassador Award.

That’s a mouthful.

Abby drops her hands, the announcement still clutched tightly. I can’t quite tell if she’s excited, shocked, upset, or any combination of the three. Even with everything going on with my father, he truly seems to be dedicated to his students and mentees even if he’s not dedicated to his family anymore.

“He got me in?” She slowly turns her head toward me, eyes wide. “He got me in.” It seems realization is slowly setting in. She quickly turns back to the invite to keep reading, flipping the piece of cardstock over.

With this nomination, you’ve also been accepted into the Literary Ambassador Organization for your senior year.

We hope to see you on July 1st at 5:30 PM for a complimentary dinner and award ceremony. Your invitation includes three extra tickets for you to distribute at your discretion.

Further information about the event is listed at the bottom. She throws the cardstock down on the couch cushion before jumping up and down excitedly, small shrieks of joy seeping from the wide smile on her face. When she stops, she stares at the tickets splayed out in her hands.

“Do you know how hard it is to get into the LAO? Theyseldomaccept undergrads. I can’t believe he got me in.” She sighs. I haven’t seen a smile that big on her face in a very long time, if ever.

“Youdid that Abby. Your writing got you in.”

Her smile fades into a much softer, more sincere one, her eyes drifting back to me. “Yeah, but I don’t think I would have ever applied by myself. That must have been what he wanted me to submit to a few weeks ago. I totally forgot about that. Say what you want about your dad, but he really is a good man sometimes.”

I nod. “I know.” He is a good man, just not to his family.

She drops her hands and fully faces me. “You have to come with me,” she says sternly.

I stand and bow, holding out a hand like a regal prince. “It would be my pleasure, madame.”

She laughs but takes my hand. I spin her around once before pulling her body into mine. The crinkle of her eyes at the corners makes my heart happy. “I’m proud of you, you know?”

Her smile softens as she rises to her tiptoes to give me a quick peck. “Thank you.” She pulls away again, staring at the tickets in her hand. Something like shock washes over her features as her eyes go wide, her mouth drops open, and her head whips toward her backpack sitting by the front door. “Oh, God. That means I have to finish that story. What’s the date?” She checks her phone. “Two weeks? I only have two weeks to finish it?” She runs to her room, grabbing her backpack on the way, and returns with her notebook and laptop before setting herself up at the dining room table, already enveloped in whatever words race out of her fingertips.

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