Page 159 of The Fall Classic

“Marlowe has been nothing but good to you⁠—”

“You mean when you were newlyweds?” I interrupt. “Or for dinner when you come into town? Or were you thinking this month, in specific? Because that’s it. I only matter to her when she thinks you’re watching. She wanted to be your wife, Dad, not my mother. She never wanted to be my mother.”

I’m vaguely aware of what an enormous scene I’m causing. The women who hold my future in their hands are standing next to me. The Meant to Bean staff—my staff—is watching from the kitchen. A handful of the two dozen patrons who were watching the game are still here, in spite of the rain delay or their empty cups.

For the first time in my life, I don’t care if I’m making something about me instead of everyone else.

In fact, that’s the whole point.

Marlowe’s lips are pursed and her brow is deeply furrowed. “I took care of you the best I could. I fed you and clothed you when your father was gone. I made sure you got to school and went to your doctor’s appointments. And I stepped in after the disaster your mother and father created with the business, and I fixed it all for you. They were so deeply in debt, you’d never have had anything to inherit if I hadn’t stepped in.”

“Thank you,” I say. “Truly, Marlowe, thank you.”

She reels. “Thank you? Is that the best you can say?”

“No, it’s the kindest I can say,” I tell her. “My dad was never going to check the trust. I’ve always known that about him. But you knew everything. He gave you operational control—you had to know the day it ended, or you wouldn’t have tricked me into believing I had to decide when I was still in high school, still so desperate for motherly love that I’d do anything to get you to care.”

She looks at my dad. “We talked about this,” she says with a hint of desperation. “You agreed she needed to know what she was getting herself into if she didn’t keep accepting our help!”

“Why would me inheriting the shop have made you stop helping me at all?” I demand. “What kind of family does that?”

“Do you think I wanted the shop? He wanted it for you⁠—”

“Marlowe, honey, it’s okay,” Dad says, and I gape.

“It’s not okay,” I say. “You two never wanted to help me, and I can’t believe you would take out a loan⁠—”

“To help your business!” Marlowe shrieks. “The coffee truck was your idea! You’re the one who wanted to expand!”

“Yet you refused to consider it until your daughter presented the idea and until you realized it would let you stretch out more loans!” I say. “Stop pretending you did any of this to help me. You helped yourself. You saw the opportunity to keep my dad dangling. You’ve made all of his dreams come true.” I look at my dad, who thinks he’s so important but doesn’t care about anything that truly is. “He got someone to take care of his kid so he could gallivant around the country feeling self-important in the operating room. And now he has no debt and a wife who demands nothing but who comes to life when he shows up. You feed his ego every time you listen to his … to his asinine dreams and then punish me for having viable ones. And then you have the audacity to take credit for them.”

There’s silence in the shop, except for the TV behind us. The TV showing a rain delay instead of the man I love pitching.

“You’re both out. You will have nothing to do with my mother’s legacy or my future. You will no longer have access to me.”

I take a deep breath.

“And if you fight me on this for a moment, I’ll be talking to my lawyer about that truck loan.”

I leave them shocked and babbling as they walk away, and I turn to look at Kayla and Jane, who are standing several feet away.

“I’m sorry for the display,” I say. “After that, I get that you guys may not want to be in business with me⁠—”

“Oh, we’re in,” Kayla says, fast and firm. “Well done.”

Jane nods. “Very well done.”

“Oh, good.” I almost laugh. “In that case, Kayla, I’m sorry to ask you this, but could you be clearer about what you were getting at before? About how I could have plenty of time to reassure Logan?”

Kayla’s eyes spark. “I have a private jet that can get to Chicago in two hours. I want you to take it because I like you and because I care about Logan. I think he could use you right now.”

“She also wants the Firebirds to win. We have a family pool going,” Jane adds, her own eyes twinkling.

“Are y’all coming with me?”

Kayla laughs. “We both have a baby at home. This trip is all you, Georgie. If you want it.”

“I want it,” I say, as boldly as I’ve ever said or wanted anything.