“What’s best for me is working with you, Dad.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t even realize how tired you are, do you?” Before I can retort, he’s leaning over the table and has my face between his hands, tilting my head every which way and no doubt judging my eye bags. “Are you sleeping enough?”
“No,” I say, yanking myself out of his grip. “But when have I ever slept enough?”
He frowns. “Are you still taking your medication? Still seeing Dr. Glazer?”
I swallow, leaning back in my chair. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” His frown deepens, and for good measure, I add, “I have everything under control.”
I’ve said that before and not meant it, so I don’t miss the way my dad stares at me for a beat longer just to make sure. I’ve promised him I’m never going to get that bad again. I can’t.
He lets out a low whistle, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’d rather you have eye bags from being hungover and partying all night than because you’ve been looking at spreadsheets in your spare time.”
I scoff. “But . . . This is what I need.”
“What youneedis a social life, Evan.” I grimace. “What are your classes looking like this semester?”
I loosen my tie a little and unbutton the first few buttons of my shirt to get some air on my skin. “They’re good,” I reply. “The deadline for the SEI is at the end of the semester, and then it’s regular scheduled programming for the rest of the year.”
My dad’s eyebrows furrow. “SEI?”
“Summer Entrepreneurial Internship, with Howard Han,” I explain, and he nods slowly. “It’s a ten-week program where we get to work with top business mentors, network with industry leaders, and pitch to potential investors.”
“See! Yes, that! Focus on that!” my dad all but yells at me in this restaurant full of his employees, and I sink back lower into my seat.
“Well, how am I going to focus on that alongside all the partying you want me to do?”
“You’ll find a way.” I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Just think about it, okay? I want you to at least try to have a good time this semester. Focus on your classes and the real college experience.”
“The ‘real college experience’ sounds like hell,” I mumble.
“It could also be everything you need right now.”
I stop running, to catch my breath, at the intersection on Norwood Street.
The August breeze nips at my neck and arms, but I don’t stop moving fully. I jog in place as I wait for the lights to turn red, shoving my headphones deeper into my ears. There’s aslight ache just above my knee that I’ve been ignoring, probably because I’ve not run this fast without any training in months.
Thanks to my dad, I’ve just hit a new personal best on my 5K run.
I knew what he said would bug me for the rest of the day, so as soon as I got home I changed and headed back out the door and on my usual route around my neighborhood to blow off some steam.
I live in a good area, not too far from campus. We got lucky with our house, as realtors usually only rent to mature students or those who are part of the graduate program. Beside the occasional party, we pretty much keep to ourselves, and I’m glad for it. It’s a perfect middle ground between the house I grew up in and the boarding school I went to.
I work more than I should. I know that. But I’ve always been fine with it. I’ve looked forward to it most days, even worked overtime at the office just because I need the structure and the routine. It’s been the only thing distracting me from my thoughts for months, and I’m not ready to find out what it’s like in my head without the background noise.
More than anything, I don’t like how much time my dad spends worrying about me. I know I’ve been reason for concern in the past, but I’m not that guy anymore. I know myself. I know my limits. And I’m not going to put either of us through what we went through when Mom left.
Maybe focusing on the SEI will be better for everyone. I’ll be able to produce the best portfolio, get that one-on-one time with Howard and if I show up to a party or two, my dad will let me back into working at B&Co. I’ll show him that that’s my real goal, what I really want.
It can’t be that hard. If I treat it like a test, I know I’ll pass with flying colors like I do with everything.
CHAPTER THREE: SCARLETT
I was five when my parents realized that my love for school and studying was a lot more serious than the average person’s.
I spent months begging them to let me join a spelling bee, and when I beat all the best spellers in the first grade in our area, I’m pretty sure they thought something was wrong with me. They pulled strings to let me compete, and the board wanted to start an investigation into how I managed to spell ‘intelligence’ at four years old.
Being smart and helping out my family was the only thing that kept me going for a while. It gave me a purpose. I knew that the better I did, the happier they’d be, and that eventually I’d be able to stop listening to business meetings from behind a closed door.
