Missy and I came home just before 8 am, after receiving a text from Hubby that the interview was over. He said it was his best so far, that he had an answer for everything, that they seemed impressed he knew the percentage of international students at their university. He received an informal and encouraging response to his thank you email from the head of the department and was told they’d have an answer early next week. We spent the weekend reading between the lines of that email (“Have a fine weekend. You deserve one.”), trying to imagine a life across the Atlantic, and alternately talking ourselves down, reminding each other that there was no offer yet, that it was possible (though unlikely: “…we also enjoyed talking with you. Very much.”) that there would be none. My sister cried over Skype at the mere thought of us being so far away.
We got up this morning, fully aware of the time in the UK, listening for the phone or an email ping as we went about making breakfast, cleaning up, playing with Missy. Then it came. “I didn’t get it.” There was a lengthy explanation, but the gist is this: he came in second.
It’s not the first time he’s come thisclose to getting an offer, been told “if it were up to just me…”, but it never is. And it’s so frustrating and so heartbreaking.
He has another interview on Wednesday. It’s not tenure track and it’s not in his preferred field, but it’s mostly teaching, at which he excels. And it’s in the US. Here’s hoping…
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