Chapter 11 #2
Throughout my shift, Logan and I keep up a running conversation, going over everything from his baseball travel ritual to how he stays sane on road trips to what it was like having his dad gone so much.
Logan tells me some of the rules his dad taught him and Lucas to ensure they could stay true to their wives one day.
He’s mentioned this before. It’s almost like he needs me to understand how seriously he takes marriage vows.
This man is making it really hard not to take him seriously.
***
In only a single day, I’ve become a master at reading and responding to Logan’s texts while I shake this and stir that.
Georgie
I found Tuesdays with Morrie in the library. I love that book.
Logan
I wondered if you’d read it. I should have known.
Georgie
You shouldn’t have known. It’s decades old.
Logan
My mom read it after she got her diagnosis. Then dad did. Then we all did.
There was a lot of sobbing that month.
Georgie
Oh, Logan.
My heart hurts for your heart.
Logan
You get it.
Georgie
I get it.
You underline very carefully, by the way.
Logan Y
You dog-ear very recklessly.
Georgie
I take that as a compliment.
Logan
I’ll allow it.
What did you think of the book when you read it?
Georgie
I thought it was poignant at the time, but I need to read it with some distance from my own loss.
I’m still working out how I feel about the passage you underlined.
Logan
Yeah, I’ve been working on that one for a long time.
I cover my heart with my hand as I pull two shots of espresso.
Georgie
I’m trying to understand your argument about The Giving Tree, too. I can see why you think the Tree overextended herself—obviously, the getting chopped down thing is exhibit A.
Logan
Exhibit A, huh?
Does this mean you have a counterargument?
Georgie
Not my style. :) I want to understand your point of view.
What upsets you about the boy taking from the Tree when the Tree is the one offering?
Logan
Because it says specifically that she wasn’t really happy. She’s so eager to make *him* happy that she keeps offering and giving until she has nothing left. If you really love someone, you don’t make them break themselves into pieces to make you happy.
Georgie
I never considered that it was the giving that made the Tree sad. I thought it was the boy leaving.
Logan
…
Huh.
I never considered that.
Georgie
I’m not saying it’s right or wrong. That’s just what I always assumed.
Logan
I’m not ready to concede, but let me think about this one.
How are you, by the way?
The shift in register is so sudden it takes me a second to catch up. One minute we’re talking about the Tree and the next, he’s asking how I’m doing. Like the two are related to him, though I can’t imagine how.
Georgie
I’m great! The new schedule is keeping things interesting!
Logan
Interesting how?
Georgie
Busy! Lots of early mornings, but it’s exciting!
Logan
Georgie.
Georgie
Yes?
Logan
That is a lot of exclamation points.
Georgie
I’m an exclamation point kind of person.
Logan
You are very warm and kind and a fantastic conversationalist with far too generous a reading on anything Robert Frost, but I wouldn’t call you an exclamation point person.
You don’t debate or argue. You say “beg your pardon” in texts when you’re worried someone had an aneurysm but don’t want to make them feel bad.
How are you?
Georgie
I’m a bit tired. My schedule changed and I’m adjusting.
Logan
Changed how?
Georgie
More hours, earlier start. It’s fine and it creates some exciting opportunities for the business.
Logan
Is it actually fine?
I look at the question for a moment.
Georgie
It will be.
I’m able to take three orders and make two drinks before he responds. He waits so long, I wonder if the bus has arrived or if he’s talking to a coach, or something.
Logan
Okay.
But will you tell me if it stops being fine?
Georgie
Sure.
Logan
I mean it. I want to know, even if I can’t help.
Georgie
You wanting to know IS help.
It’s nice knowing someone cares.
Logan
If I had a hat from wherever it is you work, I’d wear it all the hours you’re working so you knew someone was cheering you on.
Georgie
<3
Logan
<))
***
The next day, I send Logan another selfie with his hat on before the game, and he responds with his signature double-scoop ice cream cone.
I have Logan’s game playing on the radio in the background while I wear his hat and serve up the best coffee I can make at the factory.
During the quiet times, I look up highlights.
No surprise, but Logan is killing it, and the announcers say things like “What in the world was that?” We text all evening long and well into the night, when he needs to be sleeping and I need to be studying.
At ten o’clock, he finally goes to bed, and I realize I’m starving and forgot to eat dinner, and that’s when I find more food from Alma in the fridge.
I devour it, occasionally looking around my cluttered apartment that has more books and memorabilia than actual floor space.
There are probably a dozen tripping hazards, a reading chair buried in blankets, and at least three stacks of books that border on load-bearing.
The mugs Mama said weren’t fit for the store line the windowsill.
There’s an old Mudflaps pennant hanging over the door that I’ve had since my parents took me to my first game.
Every surface tells a story and every pile holds a memory, and I’m the only one left to keep them.
Alma is over it all, based on the sticky note she attached to the meal.
The only Red Rising in this apartment is my blood pressure, mija.
Get rid of this junk!
These are common complaints. Last week, she left two separate notes:
I almost broke an ankle trying to get around two of your book towers.
Why do you have two copies of every Jane Austen book?
I never take her seriously. If she truly had a problem, she’d throw it all away without a second thought. Alma’s a “Don’t ask for permission, don’t ask for forgiveness” kind of gal.
I eat the tacos gratefully, thinking about my godmother.
How does she give so much but also command so much respect?
If Alma were an apple tree and that boy got anywhere near her, she’d state the obvious truth.
A stump cannot give apples.
My phone buzzes before I can give that thought any more attention, and then I groan.
Dad
Hey sweet pea, just checking in. Business in Atlanta is almost done but there’s a huge show I can’t miss in Columbia soon. I’ll make a ton of new contacts closer to home!
I’ll call when I find a few minutes. Hope you’re well, Georgie Girl.
I set my phone face down. My dad doesn’t get same-day responses anymore. It’s my way of proving to myself that I don’t need him and that my time matters too much to waste it pining for someone incapable of real love.
I open my laptop and navigate to the week’s assignment, but the letters look fuzzy.
Wow, I’m tired.
I make it four paragraphs before the words start swimming on the screen and my eyes insist on closing between sentences, so I rest them for a second …
And then it’s four twenty-three in the morning, and my alarm is going off, and my neck is bent at an unnatural angle, and the laptop is still open on the table, and holy cow, I’m tired.
I yawn, roll out my neck, and rub the sleep from my eyes before shuffling around the apartment, getting ready as quickly as my foggy head will allow.
At four thirty, I stand at my door with my purse, my keys, my to-go cup.
Something’s missing.
I scratch my head and—
Logan’s hat!
Where is it? He has a game this afternoon!
I take a few brisk steps and find it behind the laptop, where I put it last night before I sat down.
I exhale in a relieved huff, stick it on my head, and run out the door.