7. Gemma
Chapter 7
Gemma
I ’m working from home again today, perched at the dining room table where I have a clear view of the mailbox through a tall, rectangular window next to the front door.
Barking from the building next door catches my attention, and I look up just in time to see the blue clad mailman cross through my window view and stop at our box.
I leap up so fast my wool-socked feet nearly slip on the hardwood floor, skidding down the hallway and waiting silently, hand on the doorknob, until I think enough seconds have passed before running out into the wet world.
The mailman, who’s had similar interactions with me for weeks, glances back from down the block and waves. I wave back, ripping open the little door and peering inside.Even with all my waiting and wishing, I don’t think I ever actually believed the news would be delivered in a letter.
And yet here it is.
I walk back up the steps to the house, socks damp and cold, staring at the print on the front of the otherwise plain white envelope.
Magnus Publishing.
My first choice.
The publishing house that has turned out voices that changed my life. From Sarah Farrow to Christina McMasters, every author and poet I’ve ever aspired to meet in real life is housed under the umbrella of Magnus.
I applied for their highly competitive internship program on a bit of a lark. Sure, my professor told me I had a shot, but with only two slots opening per year and thousands of eager applicants, odds were low they would even look at someone like me, a poetry major living all the way across the country.
It must be a rejection letter.
And somehow, even though it would crush a dream that’s been growing and taking shape over the last two years, the thought is a bit of a relief. Because this opportunity, as amazing as it would be, would mean complete and utter chaos in my personal life.
Not only would I be returning to the east coast, the scene of all my childhood sadness and loss, I would be leaving behind the people who care about me most in the world. The first and only place I’ve ever felt truly secure and understood.
The man who has supported me through all my healing, my growth, my blossoming into the person I always dreamed I could be.
Just the thought of telling him I’m leaving is enough to turn my stomach. He’d be so happy for me. He’d smile and tell me I deserved it and never let me turn it down, not even if it meant moving thousands of miles away.
I tear open the envelope, relieved that I won’t ever have that conversation. Ready for the madness of waiting and wondering and watching the mailbox to be over.
I’ll just read this rejection letter and move on with my life. I’ve been accepted to half a dozen other internships, most of them right here in the Seattle area, or low residency other places on the west coast. I’ll accept one of them and it will be just fine.
Flopping back down in my seat, I toss the envelope onto the table and unfold the single sheet of paper.
Congratulations is the only word I see before I shriek and throw the letter as hard as I can.