But doors were not the same as destinations.
“I don’t know.”
Ethan sat upright.
“You always say ‘I don’t know’ means we need more information.”
“I regret teaching you things.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No.”
“So get more information.”
Mom looked at me.
Dad did too.
I felt suddenly outnumbered.
“What exactly are you proposing?”
Ethan shrugged.
“Ask.”
“Ask whom?”
“The university. Or another university. You wanted social work.”
“Ten years ago.”
“Do you not want it now?”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
That was answer enough.
The next morning, I woke before Ethan.
I made coffee.
Then I took my old scholarship acceptance letter from the drawer where it had remained all these years.
I had moved apartments twice.
Bought new furniture.
Changed jobs.
Replaced nearly everything I owned.
But somehow that letter had followed me.
I placed it beside my laptop.
At 7:14 a.m., I searched for the university’s adult degree programs.
