Page 147 of The Fall Classic

“Okay. So what do you want?”

This question is interrupted by a knock at the door. I look at Liv, as if she’d have any idea who’s coming, and then I cross the room to answer it.

A delivery driver is already halfway down the stairs, but he left a Harris Teeter grocery bag. We don’t even have a Harris Teeter in Mullet Ridge.

I bring the bag in and open it on the counter to see my favorite at home hot chocolate discs—Taza—along with a small carton of heavy cream, a bottle of real vanilla extract, a jar of cinnamon sticks, and a packet of cayenne pepper found only among the Mexican food spices.

A moment later, I get a text.

Logan

Did I make a mistake not sending an electric frother, too? I debated, but given your job, I figured you had one, and I didn’t want to send you an appliance you’d feel obligated to hold on to.

I show Liv, who cocks an eyebrow meaningfully.

“I get it,” I tell her as I text Logan back.

Georgie

You really are my dream man. It’s perfect.

Also, I sort of maybe have three frothers.

“You have three frothers?” Liv asks over my shoulder. Without another word, she starts going through my cupboards—one of which is spilling over with old Tupperware that crashes onto her when she opens it. She gives me an annoyed look as she lets the plasticware keep tumbling to the ground.

“You’re right,” I say, firmly, already unwrapping one of the large chocolate tablets sent by someone who loves me so much, he’s waiting to share his entire world with me.

“I want more,” I tell her. “But how do I move on while honoring what I had?”

Liv smiles again, tapping the fingers of one hand on the counter. Then she pulls out her phone and goes over to the hideous mug with the weasel wearing a weasel scarf. She takes a picture of it and then sets it down next to the front door.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Starting a donation pile.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” I say, panic rising in me at the thought of never seeing even this ugly mug again.

“You don’t have to,” she says, walking to the kitchen table. She moves the water cup and grabs Jane’s card that was resting beneath it. She hands it to me. “You have to call her. I’ll take care of the donation pile.”

“Liv—”

She puts a hand on my arm and squeezes. “You’re worried that you’ll forget something, right? That letting go of mugs and books and blankets will be like letting go of memories?”

I nod, another wave of tears pooling in my eyes.

“I know. That’s why we’re going to go out tonight and buy a bunch of supplies.”

I frown. “That sounds counter-productive.”

“I didn’t say we’re buying stuff, I said supplies. For scrapbooking. I’ll take pictures of every book and blanket and half-finished painting in your place, and then you’re going to write up the memory that goes with each one. We’ll donate everything except for the most special pieces. And before you protest, think about the girl who’s going to walk through that thrift store with only twelve dollars in her pocket and who’s going to go home with a handmade chunky knit blanket, a milk frother, two mugs, four scarves, and twenty classics she’s never even heard of. You could change her life by giving up things that have already formed yours.” Liv smiles, and her eyes look damp. “Think of it like this: Everything you donate gives your mom’s legacy a sequel.”

A sob bubbles from my lips, and I half cry, half laugh with gratitude. I didn’t realize it was possible to honor my pain without giving it top billing in my life anymore.

“Shoot. You’re good, Liv.”

She smiles and returns to the bookshelf to take another picture of a mug, which she then adds to the donation pile by the door. When she sees me looking at her, she nods toward the card. “You have a call to make. Set down the hot chocolate disc and stop micromanaging me.”

Inside, my body isn’t sure how to manage the conflicting emotions. My heart is aching seeing the first of these items I’ve held on to for so long being set aside, like I’m reaching the end of a chapter I’m not sure I’m ready to let go of. But then I look down at the card, and my aching heart swells, beating fast and hard in anticipation for the next chapter.