Gloria swivels toward her neighbor. “What about you, Angela?”

  Angela sets a silver flask on the picnic table.

  “Is that monogrammed?” Laura asks.

  “It says ‘No You Can’t Have A Sip.’ My ex gave it to me for my birthday. He liked to tease me for refusing to share drinks.”

  Bradley releases a reverberating snort. “I’m surprised you don’t share fluids, Angela. Seems right up your alley.”

  She shoots dagger eyes at him before turning back to the rest of us. “Anyhow, I’ve been carrying it around for years, but I’m ready to let it go.”

  Stefan twists off the lid and sniffs inside. “Smells clean. When’s the last time you used it?”

  “I never drank from it, dear. I only carried it around because Paul gave it to me.” Her shoulders lift and fall as she expels a deep breath. “But I found out he got married last month, so I figure I might as well lighten my load.”

  Her admission shifts something inside me. Angela has been carting around that flask as a symbol of hope. Now it’s only the memory of unrequited love.

  “I don’t blame you for trading it,” Gloria says. “You deserve better than Paul. He’s the one who cheated on you with your own co-worker, isn’t he?”

  “Is that who he married?” Laura asks.

  The lines of Angela’s angular face soften. “No, this is a new woman, and she won’t be the last, I’m sure. A tiger doesn’t change his stripes.” Angela sounds a little sad when she says this, and I get the sense that she believed Paul might have changed his stripes for her.

  “People only change if they want to,” Cricket says. “Nobody can force them into it.” It’s the first time she’s spoken in a while, and I wonder if there’s a reason for her silence.

  Gloria surveys the group. “I’d like the flask, unless somebody else is desperate for it.” She waits a beat and then says, “And I have this to offer.” She tosses a comic book on the table. “I got this at New York Comic-Con.”

  Cricket rubs her friend’s shoulder in a supportive gesture. “Proud of you, G.”

  Gloria allows herself a tiny smile. “Letting go isn’t easy.”

  The comic book seems innocuous enough. “I didn’t know there were Buffy comics.”

  “That’s because you’re not a true fan,” Laura remarks, which results in a hissing sound from a couple of the others.

  “We don’t pop-culture shame in this family,” Cricket reminds her. “Everyone has their own level of interest and investment.”

  Laura’s arms snap into a folded position. “That wasn’t Adam’s attitude when I told him I don’t get the love for Grogu.”

  “Grogu is Baby Yoda,” Cricket whispers to me, anticipating my ignorance.

  “Din Grogu must be protected at all costs,” Adam shoots back.

  “If that’s your position, then you’re in the wrong mask,” Laura says. “You ought to be wearing a Mandalorian mask.”

  To my utter shock, Adam rips off the black helmet. “You’re right. I have one in my cabin. I’ll get it.” Adam’s hair is matted to his head thanks to excess sweat. I suspect he may have showered with the helmet on.

  “You carry a spare?” I ask.

  “The Mandalorian is my second favorite,” Adam explains, pulling out his phone. “I have a ranked list if you’d like to see it.”

  Cricket nudges his phone away. “Your rankings are special to you, remember? For your eyes only.”

  I get the distinct impression they’ve had this conversation before. As usual, Cricket impresses me with the kind and careful way she redirects Adam. The guy would’ve had no hope of developing his passion in my household. My parents would’ve shamed him until he buried his interests in a place too deep to access.

  Finally, it’s my turn. I swipe Chucky off the ground where he’s been concealed by darkness and place him directly in the spotlight.

  Olivia pinches her grandfather’s sleeve. “Please don’t take Chucky. I don’t want him in our cabin.”

  Ben pats her hand. “I have no intention of depriving the young man of Chucky’s company.”

  “Even if someone else takes him,” Angela chimes in with a knowing smile, “I have a feeling he’ll end up right back in Charlie’s cabin.”

  Cricket can’t quite conceal her shit-eating grin. “I think Chucky is yours for the duration. Sorry about that.”

  “You can only swap something that belongs to you,” Gloria says. “Otherwise, it’s cheating.”

  “Well, we can’t have that.” I may have many flaws, but being a cheater isn’t one of them. As I pat my pockets in search of another option, an idea flares. I open my wallet and produce a baseball card, slapping it on the table next to Chucky.

  Bradley whistles. “Cal Ripken Jr. Absolute legend.”

  Stefan picks up the card and studies it. “Is it worth money?”

  “I imagine so.”

  “Then why would you trade it?”

  “It isn’t worth a fortune, and the sentimental value… It doesn’t have any, not anymore.”

  “What’s the story with this?” Stefan asks, flicking the card.

  “Does there have to be a story?” I lob back.

  “You said it had sentimental value, but now it doesn’t,” Gloria jumps in. “That implies a story.”

  “Are we here to swap possessions or stories?” I ask.

  Cricket catches my eye. “Both.”

  As much as I want to point out the lack of story surrounding the Mumford T-shirt, I’d rather not press Cricket’s buttons—not about that anyway. I’m here to be cunning, not cruel.

  “We’ve all shared,” Laura says. “It’s your turn, Charlie.” Her statement is followed by heads bobbing in unison.

  How did I get myself into this? Oh right. In a desperate attempt to earn my parents’ love and approval, I volunteered for this emotional torture. Lesson learned.

  Another look at the card stirs up uncomfortable memories. “I played baseball when I was a kid.”

  “Were you any good?” Stefan asks.

  “Of course he was,” Angela replies. “Look at those arms.” She reaches toward my bicep, but Gloria smacks her hand aside.

  “I was, which was unfortunate because that meant I was there to win, not to play.”

  “Isn’t that the point of a baseball game?” Angela asks. “One team wins. Gets a trophy and a Super Bowl ring.”

  “That’s football,” Olivia says in a stage whisper.

  Angela waves a hand airily. “Who cares? They’re all men in tight pants as far as I’m concerned.” She offers a flirtatious smile. “I’m picturing your butt in tight pants right now.”

  I make a noise at the back of my throat and continue, “My father expected me to be the next Cal Ripken Jr., hence the card. I carried it around like a talisman.”

  “You were trying to manifest that player’s success,” Laura says.

  “Something like that, except at a certain point, I realized I didn’t want it. Too much pressure and very little enjoyment, so I gave up baseball.”

  “But not the card,” Ben says gently. “You were holding on to something.”

  “Yeah. The memory of my father’s support, but it wasn’t real support. It was only a projection of his own needs. There’s no reason to cling to something firmly embedded in the fantasy realm.”

  The returned Mandalorian taps his new helmet. “Nothing wrong with the fantasy realm.”

  “My attachment to the card had no basis in reality, and it no longer has the meaning I gave to it.” I hesitate for a split second. “But I’m ready to let it go now.”

  Somewhere in the background, Idina Menzel belts out the famous refrain from Frozen. One sharp look from Cricket and the music cuts off.

  Slowly, John reaches toward the card as though I might change my mind. He gives me another look for confirmation, and I nod.

  “Thank you,” he says, admiring the way the foil hits the light. “I’ll give it a new meaning now.”

  “You can sell it if you want. Don’t feel like you have to keep it.”

  “No way. I’m not that hard up, and I always keep the mementos from camp. I have a shelf in my collectibles room where I display them so every time I pass by, I think of this place and my friends here.”

  “I have mine encased in glass,” Ben admits. “I couldn’t fit last year’s though. Too big.” He looks at me. “I got a Gandalf-inspired walking stick.”

  “Sounds awesome,” I tell him.

  Cricket slaps her hands against her thighs. “Welp, looks like we’re finished. Thank you for another successful swag swap, everybody. You never disappoint.”

  “Because we all have great taste,” Angela says.

  I reclaim Chucky and make a beeline for my cabin. I expected people to unload shit they didn’t want. What I didn’t expect was for swag swap to become so personal. In my world, negotiations and deals are numbers-driven. Emotion and sentiment don’t factor into the decision-making. I can see why LandStar has hit a snag in its attempt to acquire Cricket’s property. Riggieri is wholly focused on numbers whereas Cricket is wholly focused on emotions. I’m more of a numbers guy myself, although I hate to think I’m anything like Riggieri.

  I hear the quickening of footsteps behind me and crane my neck to see Cricket hurrying to catch up. “Hey,” she says.

  “Did I forget something?”

  She gestures to Chucky. “Not the most important thing.” When I don’t laugh, she continues, “I wanted to tell you that I’m proud of you, of the way you participated tonight.”

  “Everybody participated. It would’ve been strange to sit this one out.”

  “I know, but you shared. You really shared. I’m glad.”

  I feel a tightening in my chest. “Cool. Well, I’m nothing if not a joiner.”

  “I’m sorry you didn’t get to take anything. The numbers aren’t always even.”

  “I don’t mind.” I notice the Buffy comic book in her hand and gesture to it. “What’s the story behind this one? Gloria didn’t elaborate, but everyone seemed to understand.”

  Cricket seems to have forgotten about the comic she’s clutching. “Oh, this? Gloria’s dad bought it for her. She held on to it for years as proof that her dad knew her better than her mom. Her mother wouldn’t have bought one for her. Comics are for children,” she says, presumably mimicking Gloria’s mother.

  “Then why let it go?”

  “Because her dad sucked worse than her mom. He left them when she was eight and only came around once a year or so. He’d bring a favorite toy or a beloved present and then ride off into the sunset again, leaving her mom to do all the real work of raising a child without support, which is the main reason Gloria is determined to support her mother now.”

  I got the gist. “She’s releasing the fantasy version of her father.”

  Cricket nods. “Her dad died a few years ago, and she’s held on to this idea that he would’ve been the better parent to her, but the truth is he had every opportunity to improve, he just didn’t take it.” She flicks the cover of the comic. “And even a stopped clock is right twice a day. This proved nothing.”

  I try to think of the gifts I received from my parents over the years. If I were to draft a list, I’d bet good money that most of the presents reflected my parents’ needs and wants, or were designed to make them look good when the anecdotes were shared at cocktail parties or on social media.

  “You all seem really close for people who only see each other once a year,” I tell Cricket.

  “We have a group chat. That helps.” She falters. “We can invite you if you want, but I figure I’ve got you pegged.”

  My eyebrows lift. “Excuse me?”

  Even in the shadows, I can see spots of crimson dapple her cheeks. “God, no. Not urban dictionary pegged. I mean that you don’t seem like the type of guy who enjoys…”

  “Pegging?” I offer.

  She swallows hard. “Group chats.” She rubs the back of her neck. “Good grief, I’m glad Olivia isn’t here right now.”

  “Not to worry, I’m sure Angela will explain it to her at some point in descriptive detail.”

  The spots of crimson fade. “If you ever want to talk about your dad in more descriptive detail…” She gestures behind her. “You won’t be alone. As you can see, most of us have a story of parental hardship.”

  My stomach clenches in response. “I’m good, thanks. Chucky and I are hitting the hay now. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  The crushed expression on her face as I turn away is like a punch in the gut. I don’t know why I’m so short with her. It was a nice evening. She didn’t do anything wrong, yet I don’t want to rehash the event. I want to be alone. Well, with Chucky.

  I retreat into the cabin and close the door behind me. It feels strange to know such intimate details about the lives of strangers, and now they know something about me too. Something deeply personal that they can use against me at a later point. It’s like I gave away a piece of my soul and I can’t control what happens to it now.

  It’s unsettling.

  I push the thoughts aside and undress. My mind conjures up an image of Cricket in her sundress. One strap kept sliding down to rest on her arm, exposing her bare shoulder. Each time she tugged it back into place, it would slide down again. I imagine what it would feel like to press my lips along that curve of skin.

  In the shower, I think more about Cricket in her sundress, about peeling down both straps until the bodice slips to reveal a pair of perfect breasts, which is a mistake when all I want to do after this is sleep.

  At least the water is cold.

  * * *

  The temperature doesn’t dip in the night, and the humidity is stifling, so I awaken drenched in sweat. I glance at my Apple watch. Five-fifteen. As much as I would’ve liked to sleep longer, no surprise it’s impossible. A quick look outside reveals ribbons of bright golden light filtering through the trees. Sunrise.

  I’m up anyway. Might as well see what the fuss is about.

  I pull on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and wander down to the lake. Cricket is already on her yoga mat with her face tilted toward the rising sun. I stop at the edge of the lawn to observe her. Without her usual oversized T-shirt, you could actually see her body.

  I wish I hadn’t. More fodder for bedtime.

  She’s more toned than I realized, not that it matters. I’m not interested in Courtney. She is the vampire I’m desperate to stake.

  Shit. Never mind.

  She stretches toward the cabins and spots me. Her whole demeanor changes in the blink of an eye. Gone is the lithe, graceful woman. She wobbles on one leg before falling smack on her ass.

  The geek is back.

  I hurry toward her. “Are you okay?”

  Flat on the mat, she rubs her backside. “I wasn’t expecting to see you—or anyone.”

  “Sorry. I should’ve shouted.”

  “Not at this hour. Someone might think it’s a wildlife emergency.”

  I help her to her feet. “I didn’t sleep well, so I decided to watch the sun rise since you seemed so enthusiastic about it.”

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Check out those colors.”

  I follow her gaze to the burning rays of light rippling across the water. “I can see why you like to do this, but sunset is every bit as pretty.”

  “Except everybody’s awake at sunset.” She inhales deeply. “This is my quiet time. When it’s me and Mother Nature kicking it old school.”

  “I’ll tell you who else is kicking it old school. I saw Bradley outside smoking a cigarette. Can you believe that guy sleeps in striped long johns? He looked like a candy cane.”

  Cricket bursts into laughter. “Are you serious? No, I had no idea.”

  I like her laugh so much, I find myself wanting to hear it again, but I can’t think of anything funny to say. Not without caffeine first.

  “I remember he posted a picture in our group chat in March when we all celebrated Pi Day. I thought I caught a glimpse of candy stripes but figured it was a shirt.”

  “You can eat pie whenever you want. Why do you need a special day?”

  She slams the heel of her hand against her forehead. “Not the pastry, dinkus. The mathematical equation.”

  “Wait. Did you call me a dinkus?”

  “What’s the problem? Is it too early for insults?”

  “Hey, I’m not the one throwing math parties.”

  “You obviously like to learn or you wouldn’t have gone to law school.”

  I snort. “Yeah, that’s why people become lawyers, a love of knowledge.”

  She blinks. “Then why did you?”

  “Parental pressure. Societal pressure.” I shrug. “Pressure.”

  “Huh.”

  I give her a searching look. “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing. I didn’t take you for the kind of guy who makes life decisions based on the opinions of other people.”

  “You don’t exactly strike me as someone who was in open rebellion against her parents. You’re even running the family business.”

  “Because I wanted to. Nobody had to force me into it.”

  “Have you even tried doing something else? What if you discover there’s something better for you out in the big wide world?”

  She spreads her arms wide. “This is the only big wide world I need.”

  “You’re not interested in travel?”

  “Sure, especially in the winter. But travel only makes me appreciate this place more. I’m always happiest when I’m home.”

  “Huh.” I don’t think I’ve ever felt that way about anywhere, not even my childhood home.

  “Do you travel?” she asks.

  “Not as often as I’d like. I have to meet those billable hour requirements each month.”

  “I would hate that. Your whole life is dictated by numbers.”

  “Isn’t everybody’s? We all need to make ends meet somehow. That’s capitalism for you.”

  “I consider myself lucky. I inherited my house and my business, and I live within my means.”

  “But think of all the money you could have if you sold the land. No financial worries. You’d be set for life.”