Page 100 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

“Who doesn’t dream of golden fetters?”

I pull Lucas’s face toward mine. A dandelion drifts past because this is some kind of weird pastoral paradise where the trees have titles and even the weeds know how to make an entrance.

“You saved up all the Eluva money from last summer, right?”

“You know I did. You helped me open the accounts.”

“Then go for it.” I don’t say it lightly. But neither do I feel the need to go through all the minutiae with him.

Lucas and I are the people who write on the covers of our notebooks, not letting a single line or margin go wasted. He has a drawer of extra ketchup packets in his home, same as I do, from the few times we’ve ordered takeout. Because bottled ketchup is too bougie for the likes of us.

We’re overthinkers, overplanners. Stingy to the point of parsimony.

“My brothers⁠—”

“The twins are happy fighting over one computer and sharp enough to make their own way. And your mom’s never moving. She loves that apartment, cares about and for every single tenant as though she’s their landlord.” I lay my hand on his heart, leaning into the steady beat there. Lucas has never been muscular, but there’s a solidity to his chest now that he’s had a summer of food, has started to sometimes run in the mornings and weekends, because he no longer needs to work as an electrician. “More than anything, your family wants you to be happy.”

“We could become official? Your father might prefer me if I’m the fintech guy.” There’s a wistfulness in his words that I absolutely hate. And there’s no way for me to explain that most likely, for my father, someone of Lucas’s background will never be good enough. And that until my sisters are older and can fend for themselves . . .

“Maybe I’ll be the fintech guy,” I joke, to sidestep the issue. “Maybe I’d rather my pretend or real boyfriend pursue his dreams.”

Lucas kisses me then, relaxing into me now that he’s gotten through what I assume is the worst of what he’s been worrying over. Because we’ve been together long enough to know each other’s bodies, the shortcuts we can take when we feel like it, it’s not long before I need to remind him that we’re at the Huntington Library, and neither of us is into voyeurism.

“We should go back to your room,” Lucas breathes, seemingly unable to move his lips completely away.

“We should have started in my room.”

It’s not a long walk back to campus, but I can practically feel the tension wafting off Lucas. By the time I’ve locked the door behind us, he’s already stripped to his boxers, and for the first time in a long time, we’re fumbling, a bit awkward almost, in our haste.

He waits until after, when we’re shrouded in the dark, to admit the rest. “It’s a huge gamble. I’d have to find investors, work insane hours. I’d have to use everything I saved up, meaning I’d live at home and be one of those guys who can’t afford to pay himself. Also, I’ll be burning the Eluva offer, and statistically, most companies don’t make it⁠—”

I kiss his mouth to shush him.

Only when I’m certain he’s stopped spiraling do I get up. For my second paper, my father’s assistant sent the bonus directly to me. I also have an additional seventy-eight dollars in my wallet, which I take out for kicks. “Here’s $1,578, to get you started.”

I can’t see it, because we haven’t turned on any lights, but I can hear Lucas swallow, can almost taste the faint smile in his words. “That’s a lot of money,” he says, even though I know it’s nothing next to what he’s squirreled away these last few months, a drop in the bucket against what he’d need to raise to be taken seriously in this arena.

“After last year, I can’t give up our two-month safety net, but other than that, I’m basically investing”—I make a show of opening the wallet, showing him the loose change there—“ninety-eight percent of my net worth, if you don’t count the two-for-one Sourdough Jack coupon I’ve been saving.”

Lucas reaches forward to grasp my hand, as if he doesn’t quite believe my words. “It’ll mean a lot more ten-dollar dates. A lot more nights spent figuring out how to dress up instant ramen.”

“No need to experiment. Crushing it and eating it like chips is the clear winner.”

“Truly?”

I squeeze his hand back. “There are two things I’ll never joke about: ramen and your mom’s granola.”

Lucas lets out a tortured laugh. “You haven’t even asked what the idea is.”

“Oh don’t worry, I’m ready, willing and kind of dying to point out every flaw.”

“And yet⁠—”

“I don’t need the details, Lucas.” I wait until he meets my gaze and holds it, so he can see the sincerity in my eyes. “I know you. I trust you.”

33

A MONETIZABLE ONE