The Selection: but less competitive, more wholesome

A Chance to Fall Out of Pain

There's a certain, raspy hum to your surroundings when they've been silent so long that a key in the door feels like a manicured finger scraping around in your ear. I stood from the window so Dad wouldn't see me right where Mom left me when she came to check on me yesterday morning.

He glanced over me putting away the clean dishes from the day before. "Hey, kiddo. How you doing?"

A glass, then a plate. "Same, I guess. Went to a movie last night."

"Same one as the night before?" He gently set his full bag on the counter by the sink. "Actually, you know what—I'm just gonna go put this in your armchair. I bet it's still warm."

And he went and put the bag of food he and Mom had made in the chair I'd just vacated.

I grinned at that one, if only for a few moments. "I'm all right, Dad."

"You'll be thrilled to hear the news then."

"I'm sure I will."

He produced an already-opened letter with a flourish. I rolled my eyes and flicked out the contents: multiple pages. My eyebrows rose as I read. The right one pulled a bit at the scar under my eye. Didn't hurt anymore though; it had been two months. "The prince is having a Selection? He's old enough?"

"He's eighteen or nineteen. Girls sixteen to twenty are eligible to sign up."

"Hm. My last signup didn't go as well as planned."

"Started well, though. You can bench press those boys who used to tease you."

I snorted, and laid the letter on the counter. "What'd you make?"

"Some chicken and noodles. A few fresh tomatoes in there, too. You've got some pepper to put on them?"

"And a basil plant, and some vinegar, and some cheese. Could make a salad."

My dad wrapped an arm around me and drew me in, a hand on the back of my head. He kissed my hair, and sighed, "It's not always gonna be this way, kid. The time in front of you looks long and horrible and bleak, but that feeling gets smaller in time."

I bit my lips together, because kindness makes my feelings leak out when otherwise they only sigh with me, and rubbed my face into his shoulder. "I know."

"No chance of you moving back in, then?"

"No chance of you moving in with me?"

"Nah, sorry, kid. We like it where we are. Especially with the fun money allowance you've been sending over with your pension."

"Dad, you're supposed to buy a new refrigerator with that money."

"You don't get to decide how a gift is used, my love. Hate to break it to you. Also your mother already bought a new refrigerator with the first check. So the second check is for paint, obviously."

"Obviously."

I pressed my forehead into his shoulder one more time, then lifted it. "Dad."

"Yes, String Bean?"

"Why is the bag of chicken and noodles moving."

"Oh!" Half-smiling, he retrieved a bundle of gray feathers, and brought it to me. "The Charters found him. Think you can unwrap that foot?"

I did in fact manage to unknot the mat of hair wrapped around the pigeon's poor toes, and threw him out my living room window before dusk. He'd find his way home. It wasn't far.