Page 158 of The Fall Classic

By me.

I’ve shut him out all week—no, since I’ve known him. I’ve done exactly what my parents did—lived my own life in private while he lived his, sharing what was convenient, not what was most important. I thought I was protecting him from worry, but that was a lie. I was protecting myself from opening up all the way. It’s easier to be resigned than to hope. I learned that a long time ago. It’s easier to be alone than to be heartbroken.

But it’s not worth it.

“You know, they’re allowed to talk and text during rain delays,” Kayla says

“They are?” I ask her. She nods.

“And the announcer said the rain is expected for the next four hours,” she adds. “That’s a lot of time to give him some reassurance.”

“Oof, that was ugly,” Dad says, turning away from the TV to face me before I can answer Kayla. “Now what were we talking about, Georgie Girl? The shop. Yeah, it got paid off in the spring.” He smiles and pats my shoulders. “And the truck is almost paid off, too. I don’t know what you’ve been doing over in Sugar Maple, kid, but keep it up. We’ll have that whole fleet paid off in no time.”

For some reason, I look at Kayla. I don’t know why I look at her instead of my dad, but it’s like the casual bomb he dropped has robbed me of my senses and I need some element of normalcy to restore it.

“What’s the significance of the loans being paid off?” Jane is asking Marlowe, and the question makes my face whip away from Kayla’s to Jane’s.

“It means we have the business model in place to open a lot more trucks,” Marlowe says, her shoulders pulled back. “Right, Raymond?”

“That’s right,” he says, clapping his hands together. “Now, Georgie girl, why don’t you go make us a few of those It’s Bean Reals I’ve heard everyone talking about.”

“No.”

I stand tall in my platform Converse, letting my feet become stone and my spine become steel. “No, I won’t be serving any drinks. I won’t be letting you open a fleet of trucks with my company’s name on it.”

“Your company?” Marlowe asks. “That’s a bold statement.”

“It’s the truth,” I say, stepping past the group to my booth, where I rummage for the manila folder that’s been burning a hole in my backpack. I pull it out and look at my parents.

At my dad and his wife.

“I was going through Mama’s things and found her will. There’s a trust in it, like you’ve always told me,” I say. I open the envelope, my hands shaking, and point to the one section I understood last week, the section an attorney confirmed for me when he explained the rest of the document. “You were named trustee, Dad, and I was the beneficiary. The shop and this building were the only real assets. And it terminated automatically.”

“When you were eighteen,” Dad says.

“Twenty-one,” Marlowe says carefully, turning to stand side by side with my father. “But we talked about this, Georgie. The debt⁠—”

“No! No buts, no debt. It terminated automatically. You made me think that the shop would only be mine when we were free and clear of the debt. You said Mama didn’t want me inheriting her medical expenses.”

“That’s true,” my dad says, putting his hands in his pockets. “She never wanted you to have to worry about that.”

“But you made it sound like a legal stipulation. Worse, you put my shop up as collateral for a truck loan four years after the trust ended. Four years after your authority to make a single decision about the business ended.”

“I didn’t realize—” Dad starts.

“Of course you didn’t,” I say. “I never expected otherwise.”

Marlowe’s mouth opens. “What does that matter? We opened the truck you wanted?”

I laugh bitterly. “You know what I wanted? I wanted you to love me!”

Her head snaps back like I slapped her, and she stammers a protest. “I—Georgiana, that’s absurd.”

“I know. It is absurd that I wanted it so badly, and you just wouldn’t. You’re the only mother I’ve had for ten years, and I was nothing but leverage to you. Why couldn’t you have just cared?”

“Georgie girl, we love you,” Dad says, so utterly shocked, I wonder if he’s heard half of what I’ve said.

“I know you love me, Dad, but you’re horrible at it. Real love is about changing and trying and sacrificing. It means giving up something you love for someone you love more. Do you have any idea how hard it was growing up with someone who didn’t want me? Who only cared about me when she thought you would notice?”