Chapter 18 #2
It’d been almost a week since she returned from Wharton.
She willed herself not to check her email every five minutes.
But her meeting with the administration had gone well.
Very well. In fact, the dean of admissions came by and joined the conversation.
She was good friends with one of Elizabeth’s recommending MIT professors.
She also knew an associate of Dad’s and was a huge Patriots fan.
Thanks to her brother Jonathan, Elizabeth was a wealth of Patriots and Tom Brady knowledge.
By the time she headed back to her hotel, she felt in her soul she’d have an acceptance by the end of the week.
Changing into shorts and a T-shirt, she wrapped her hair in a topknot and sat at her computer. Through a narrowed gaze, she checked email.
Junk and ads were followed by group emails from her MIT friends. She deleted most of them and was about to go down to the kitchen when a new email dropped in. From Wharton.
>e>Dear Elizabeth,
Congratulations on your acceptance—>e>
Trembling, she fired out of her chair, knocking it into her bed. She was in. She was in. Elizabeth leaned over the desk to read the letter again, savoring every delicious word.
She was accepted. She was a Whartonite. She jigged about her room. Two years from now, she’d have an MBA from one of the finest universities in the world.
The letter said they valued her application. Said it showed her commitment to knowledge, tenacity, and to others.
She was in! Thundering down the stairs, she ran into Pops, who folded his weekly paper.
“Pops, I’m in. I got in!” She hugged him so hard he had to steady himself with a hand on the wall. “Granny, I’m in. They accepted me. I knew visiting campus would do it.” She broke off a corner from a slice of meatloaf. “Bless Jonathan for all his useless football knowledge.”
“Wait, what?” Pops looked up from setting the kitchen table. “I thought you were in.”
“I was wait-listed.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Granny said.
“Because…” The thrill of her acceptance faded a bit. “I wanted to be positive. I didn’t want you all to feel sorry for me.”
“We would’ve prayed for you,” Pops said.
“And I guess I thought maybe you’d tell me I wasn’t meant to go.” She glanced from Pops to Granny, realizing how much she’d judged them. “You’d pressure me to stay here. Work at Dorsey.”
“I’m sorry you felt that way, Beth.” Granny’s embrace was sweet and fragrant, like her kitchen, like her life. “Sorry if we made you feel like we didn’t support you.”
“Yeah, kiddo,” Pops said. “We’re Team Elizabeth all the way.”
Granny leaned back to see Elizabeth’s face, her expression full of love. “However, we are going to miss you. Matt, get on the horn. Call everyone over. Let’s have a party for our girl. When do you leave for real since you actually got accepted?”
“First-year students need to be there on August fifth for pre-term exercises.” She glanced at her smartwatch. “I have to leave this weekend. Or before. Mila’s friend has a studio apartment, recently updated. She said if I got in I could have it at a discount.”
Suddenly, it all felt a bit overwhelming, and she battled the familiar rise of semester anxiety. What if she got sick again? No, she wouldn’t. Just no. She was supposed to be calm, cool, and collected. An educated woman who knew how to function under pressure.
“Sit and eat. We’ll talk,” Granny said. “Matt, maybe we should wait on the celebration—”
“No, it’s fine.” Elizabeth moved the mashed potatoes to the table. “If we’re going to celebrate, tonight is the night.”
She’d have to tell Will that Friday was her last day. No, Thursday. She should pack up Friday, drive a couple of hours, then stop for the night. She trembled with the weight of it all.
“I have to tell Tina,” she said, reaching for her phone. “She scheduled me all day Saturday. But I can’t delay or I risk not being set for pre-term exercises.”
“I agree,” Granny said. She smiled when she faced Elizabeth, but there was a soft sadness in her response.
“I’ll help with your laundry. Maybe we can run to Sheffield’s for linens and dishes, whatever else you might need in your apartment.
Oh, a lovely piece of art. Maybe a plant.
” She set a platter of sliced meatloaf on the table along with a pitcher of iced tea.
“A shopping spree on Pops and me. To get you started.”
“I’ll tell the kids to bring something for her new place. Something to remember us all.” Pops whipped out his phone and tapped the screen like a pro.
“Oh, Granny, Pops.” Elizabeth fell against her grandmother. “Thank you.”
In the middle of Granny’s delicious dinner—which Elizabeth barely tasted, she was so wound up—she told her grandparents about the apartment in Rittenhouse Square with a great view of the park and a twenty-minute walk to Wharton.
The more she talked about campus and the courses, the more she knew this was the right direction. The knot in the middle of her chest eased up a bit.
But she had work to finish at Dorsey. And she hated leaving Tina in a lurch. Then there was Ryder.
After dinner, she headed back to her room to call her parents, who volunteered to bring over more clothes and some personal items on the sixteenth. Dad, as promised, transferred money for the first semester.
Then she made lists of everything, from Dorsey tasks to things she might want from Sheffield’s. The last thing she wrote before Julie and Mila called her down to “get this party started” was Take pictures of the fire tower at sunset.