Page 138 of The Fall Classic

“I’ve never even considered leaving Mullet Ridge,” I blurt, thinking about the shop and my apartment—the shrines I’ve kept to my mother and her legacy.

But would she want a shrine?

Or would she want me to soar?

Before I can take the words back or even think about the answer, Logan’s nodding rapidly.

“Okay. then I’ll make Mullet Ridge my home base. I’m fine with that. We’ll see each other less during the season, but I can work with that if you can.”

We’ll see each other even less during the season, he doesn’t say …

“I don’t want to see you less than I have to,” I say, resting my face against his chest.

“I don’t want that either,” he says. His words shift to a deeper register, and I feel the words as much as I hear them. “But I saw my dad navigate the same problem with my mom. Umps don’t have a home base like players do, so there was no such thing as home games. They made it work, though. Our family was always his top priority. I’ve told you this. But watching him FaceTime my mom while he flipped through the channels and she worked on her laptop, seeing his face on her phone at our games, watching us whenever he wasn’t working, having him, I don’t know, play Minecraft instead of going out with his buddies—it formed me. It taught me what I need to know to live this life. My parents were together every night they were apart. I could do that if you could.”

He says this like it’s another patented Logan promise—something so ironclad, it’s hard to envision a reality where his word wouldn’t come true.

But I watched my mom, how self-sufficient she was, how she never needed my dad, how I’m not sure she even missed him, and now that I think about that, I think how badly that could have hurt him, if he wanted more.

I’ve been isolated and self-sufficient for so long, and the truth is that it’s more comfortable than aching every moment Logan and I are apart.

It’s like Alma’s abuela tasting chocolate.

The difference is that after experiencing the bliss of being with him, I refuse to let it go.

“I’m worried that living apart so much would be like giving away every branch on my tree. But I know breaking up would feel like getting chopped down completely. I can’t do that to myself. Not willingly.”

“Then don’t.”

I pull back enough to glance up at him. “My mom never needed my dad. She built a whole life for us that didn’t require him to be in it, and I think he liked it that way. What if he did mind, though? And what if she wanted him around the whole time and they were both pretending in order to survive? What if that happens to us⁠—”

“Not possible,” he says. “I will never stop missing you, Georgie. I will never pretend I don’t want to be with you to make your life easier. Sorry. I’m not noble for that. We’re not them. And we won’t be my parents, either. Maybe FaceTiming every day or night would be exhausting to you, and that’s okay. We’re readers. If anyone can get on the same page, it’s us.” He smiles, and I can’t help smiling back. “I’d quit baseball before I let us grow apart like that.”

“Never.”

His eyes pop. I’m not a fierce person, and neither of us recognizes the voice coming out of my mouth.

“Logan, I could never forgive myself if I made you sacrifice your dreams.”

He smiles and twists his hands into the hair in my ponytail, running his fingers through it. We’re thronged on every side by other guests and Alma’s family. Someone’s laughter carries over from across the dance floor, and two kids run past us, a young boy chasing a girl, her brown curls flying behind her.

“Maybe we define sacrifice differently,” Logan says. “To me, sacrifice means giving up something you love for something you love more.”

“Giving up your branches so someone else can sail,” I supply.

He gives me a crooked smile. “Was this your whole plan? To convert me to the Tree’s point of view after all?”

I breathe a laugh. “I think we’re meeting in the middle. Being a stump wasn’t what she wanted. Making him happy at any expense wasn’t enough.”

“Maybe she wanted them to be old worn-out stumps together,” he says. “I would be honored to be an old stump with you.”

“That is the strangest compliment I’ve ever received.”

“Yeah, it felt pretty weird coming out of my mouth.”

We both laugh softly, and then we fall silent and sway to the horns and the soft scrape of shoes against the wooden platform, while the rest of the party blurs around us.

A gust of wind slips beneath Logan’s jacket draped over my shoulders, finding the bare skin at my collarbone. I shiver, and his arms tighten around me, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us. Somewhere behind me, someone laughs, and the wind carries a hint of falling leaves and earth along with the scents of perfume, woodsmoke, and cider.