Gavin continues, “See what I mean? You need to have fun. Live a little. I think there was one point I actually heard you laugh.”

I take another swig of beer. That time he’s talking about, I wasn’t laughing, I was choking on the frothing rapids that splashed over the edge of the raft.

“Life can be fun if you go out, grab it, and wrestle it. Look around you. Fun!” Gavin gestures around us.

We’re standing in an open green space, a rectangular park near downtown Romeo with a short grassy lawn, flower beds in full bloom, and mature shade trees. This park is where they hold their festivals and celebrations and town events.

Like the event tonight.

The Summer Sweetheart’s Dance.

There’s local New York cider, wine and beer. Food stalls selling hot dogs, burgers, grilled corn, and pulled pork for various local charities. And a dessert table manned by The Friends of the Library.

“Fun,” I say.

I try to get a closer look at the dessert table. Did I see Jessie or was that someone else in a yellow dress with black hair?

I’m usually uncomfortable at this type of event. I don’t know what to do, where to stand, who to talk to. It would surprise everyone except Gavin, but I’m not good at talking to people, especially people I don’t know. That’s why I love finance and business. I can talk numbers and ROI and profits and losses with anyone. When I was nine, my father realized I could compute a thirty line balance sheet in my head in seconds. I remember, before that day, I played outside, made friends, I missed my mom, but I got by. After that day, my father became obsessed with finding out what I could do, and how much I could learn.

At first, I fought against the daily afterschool tutors that drilled me from four until nine and the hours of economic theory and business reading lists. I’d often sneak out to ride my bike. So my father took off the wheels and left the frame in the front yard as a reminder of what happened when I disobeyed. I’d hide books to read for fun, under the covers at night with a flashlight. He’d find them and the books would disappear. I’d spend mornings throwing a ball for my dog, Riley, a Jack Russell my mom gave me before she left. One day, I came home and Riley was gone. There was a new morning economics tutor in his place.

The friends I once had disappeared too. If he saw that I invested in someone more than learning, he cut off the friendship. Often cruelly. He even did his best to pit Gavin and I against each other.