Page 75 of The Fall Classic

I cannot become a stump.

“Businesses need some redundancy, right?” I say, pressing a hand to my hollow stomach. I’ve made a point of never asking for anything, let alone hoping for anything—not affection, not even approval. “If I’m the only one who knows the operation, what happens if I’m sick?”

“You’re never sick,” Marlowe says.

Not that she knows, anyway.

“Mom, Georgie’s right. We need the redundancy—” Nicolette stops and looks at me appreciatively. “Well, hello, smarty-pants. When did you learn about operational redundancy?”

I shrug, my chest hot, my vision narrowing, my time to take a meaningful shower running out. “I understand it enough to know the truck needs it.”

Marlowe’s shoulders shrug. “All right, then. I’ll take a look at the operating budget and adjust the timeline.”

I nod.

Then Marlowe looks at Olivia. “You have restaurant experience. That’s good.”

Olivia nods. “And I can provide references.”

“But can you drive a coffee truck?” Nicolette asks, and I’m so thankful, I could sway.

No, I am swaying. My legs are practically Jell-o.

I place a hand casually on the chair nearest me, but Olivia catches my eye, her eyes too tense for her smile, and her knee stops jumping beneath the table. If I had a clearer head, I could probably interpret that, but as it is, she just seems nice to care at all.

“I’m going to go upstairs. Good luck with the interview,” I tell Olivia. “Bye,” I say, waving at my family.

I glance at my watch and rush to the back and up the stairs as quickly as my body allows.

The apartment is a stale combination of old Mexican food and older books, and I crack a window with one hand and untie my Chucks with another. My feet feel like dough spilling out of a too-small bowl, the tension releasing, my toes and arches sighing in relief. I peel off clothes haphazardly, only taking care with Logan’s hat, which I hang carefully on the bathroom doorknob.

I turn the shower on, and the pipes knock and hiss the way they always do when they’re forced to get to work. I crank the water way too hot for how poor the ventilation is, but I can’t not. I stand under the water—hair and all—and breathe in the steam as I let the long day slowly leave my body.

The water pressure in this building has never been good, but it doesn’t bother me. Nothing about this place bothers me.

I do sometimes wish it excited me the way it used to when I was little and Mama and I would dream big about new menu items, new mugs, new colors, and seasonal changes. I loved watching her sketch ideas in her notebook and find new decor at thrift stores and estate sales. She kept the shop so vibrant.

I can run the shop without her.

But I can’t let myself dream the way we did.

The hot water is starting to loosen the kinks in my shoulders when my phone alarm rings, and I jump. I’m out of time if I want to be ready for Logan.

I turn the shower off and dry quickly, wrapping my long hair in a towel on top of my head while I check my texts.

Logan

Hey, I’m sorry, but I’ll be about fifteen minutes late. The bus got a flat outside of Sugar Maple, so we’re finally pulling in. I’ll get home and shower and then grab you as soon as I can.

Georgie

No problem—see you soon!

Logan

Are you hungry?

Georgie