Chapter 28 #3
“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.
I tuck my face against his chest, listening to the steady thud of his heart.
I realize for the first time that I’m no longer cold. I’m not lonely or wondering what it would be like to be loved the way Ava is.
I’m wondering if I’ll be able to love the way Logan’s offering.
As the song switches and we keep dancing, our bodies moving in unison even as our minds go in their own directions, I make myself a promise: I will try.
I’ll try to be the woman Logan deserves, try to be someone who lets myself ache when he’s gone and get excited when he calls, believing the hurt will be worth it.
I lift my head from his shoulder and he inclines his head down. I’m always excited to kiss him, but I let myself feel every sensation, reveling in the warm, heady breath between us, the flutter of anticipation before our lips meet, the flash of headlights sweeping over us—
“Looks like a pumpkin just turned into the party,” one of Ava’s aunts jokes next to us.
I’m already turning toward the source of the light when Logan’s lips land on my cheek. He makes a low groaning sound. “What timing.”
But I don’t look back to him. Because the “pumpkin” Ava’s aunt mentioned is a big orange Jeep with the name of the rideshare service in bold letters in the window.
Logan’s phone buzzes.
“It’s my car,” he says, putting his chin on my head and seeming to slump over. “I’m sorry, Georgie.”
“It’s okay,” I say, my throat throbbing. “I’m excited for you. I’ll cheer you on every day, and I promise I’ll count down the days until you’re back.”
“Hopefully I’ll be back with a ring—World Series Ring,” he adds, his face red hot.
My heart and throat and eyes and nose are all stinging, and normally, I would shut down these feelings, but, instead I let them swell in me, pulling energy from my limbs into my heart, which pulses painfully, making me all too aware of how weak I am when Logan brushes his lips across mine and says, “I love you.”
I try to cling to him, but I don’t have the strength to wrap my fingers around his lapels or do anything but let him hold my hand outstretched between us as he backs up.
“I love you, too,” I say, and he smiles, like it’s enough.
And then I watch him walk down from the platform, cross the yard, and escape into the orange Jeep and disappear into the dark autumn night.