“You said you mostly do it for the money,” I say. “Why else?”

“Are you always this curious?”

I think about that. “It depends on the thing. Or the person. You’re very interesting.”

“I am?”

“Obviously. For one, you don’t wear boat shoes.” I smile. “But I think you’re stalling. So. Other than money, why do you deal?”

He shrugs. “It’s nice to have a … a role. You know. Like, I’m not a jock or a nerd or whatever.”

“That’s just sad, Drew.”

He balls up the paper from his pretzel and lobs it into a nearby can. “Someone’s gotta provide the good times. It might as well be me.”

My phone buzzes—a text from Mae. School must have just gotten out.

“My sister’s checking up on me.” I shove the phone back into my pocket. “I’ll make up a good story before I get home.”

“She’s not into this scene, huh?”

I snort. “No way. She’s crazy smart—wants to be an astronaut, like, literally a rocket scientist. My dad taught physics, so…”

“Wow. I don’t think I’ve met anyone that wants to be an astronaut who’s over the age of, like, ten.”

“Right?” We veer toward the Public Garden, past rows of red and orange trees. The fall colors are so bright—straight out of Dr. Seuss. “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I ask. “Pharmaceutical industry bigwig?”

“Nah. A respectable citizen,” he says, with that half smile again. “I like to draw. Maybe something with that.” He looks away. “Though who am I kidding? I’ll probably just end up joining the union like my dad, working construction.”

“That would be a waste of your entrepreneurial talents.”

He laughs. “What about you?”

“No idea.”

I’d planned to live with my parents until Micah and I saved enough money to move out on our own. I thought I’d just figure life out as I went along. Now that I don’t have them, it suddenly seems really important that I have a Plan. I can’t mooch off of my aunt and uncle forever. I can’t work part-time at Mom’s yoga studio, like we were talking about.

“I just want…” I glance at him. “Never mind.”

“Nu-uh. You just want what?”

“My sister has all these huge, planet-sized goals. I think it’d be nice to be like my mom. She taught yoga, had us, made soup, kicked around in her garden. Just had a life.”

“Sounds good to me,” he says.

“It was all about the Something Else for her. Finding … the source, or whatever, every day. Connecting to it. To us. Like we were this big spirit soup she was making.” I frown. “But for that to work, you need other people. People you can depend on.”

A husband who doesn’t fucking leave you for his hot young research assistant, for one.