Page 105 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

“I don’t have to tell you what could happen to your young man’s prospects.”

I’m sipping my tea, but I’m not fooling anyone. The cup is steady as I bring it to my lips, but cold comfort, that.

My father’s smooth voice continues; he’s actually enjoying this. “Ji Lai dropping out could be done quietly, or not. Ji Lai making it known why he left⁠—”

I lick my lips. “He’s already vetted⁠—”

“Vetted. As in potential. Compared to a relationship that’s already netted millions? Don’t be naive.”

I close my eyes. No point in maintaining a facade. “You truly believe an engagement will generate this much interest⁠—”

“The engagement is a formality.” My father leans forward finally. He pauses because this is what he’s been building toward. “I’ve invested in you and your education. One way or another, I’ve paid for the clothes on your back and the accumulated knowledge in your brain. Any skills you have were funded by me. It’s time, now, to return my investment.”

He pauses again and the only sound in the room comes from the ticking of an antique grandfather clock, an anachronism within a room of air-conditioning, laptops, and Wi-Fi.

“After your marriage, you and Tatum will lead Zhao-Huang together.”

35

WHY ARE YOU AN INTERNET CELEBRITY?

PRESENT

“If you get lost, our app has oodles of potential routes.”

Our off-roading guide is basically a low-rent Santa: full white hair, bushy white beard. I’m sure he moonlights as Saint Nick during each Christmas season and gets tipped like crazy.

He gesticulates wildly as he goes through the various safety features, sprinkling in facts about Lānaʻi while also telling us how to operate the car.

“This right here is for emergencies—” he starts, before cutting himself off and saying, “You know, Lānaʻi only has thirty miles of paved road, but we have three hundred miles of unpaved roads—and that’s if you want to stick to the things other people label roads. I mean, really, does everything need a label? Do we have to be married to be committed? Do I have to have fathered someone to be their daddy?”

He wiggles bushy eyebrows at us, and it’s an odd look: Kris Kringle, sunburnt and wearing loud Hawaiian shorts, scratching absentmindedly at the beer belly peeking through his “Off-Road This” shirt, while waxing philosophical.

Sometimes, he stops talking to sing along to the music blaring from the old speakers barely hidden by the half-open tent he operates his business out of. This means he’ll be telling us about how to sync the maps and then start crooning Frank Sinatra.

“The most important thing is—” He cuts off, eyes flitting to the ocean. “Now that is a beautiful wave.”

“What’s the most important thing?” I can hear the anxiety in my own voice, but I’m already hating all of this. The mandatory helmets that smell like dog, the semi-sticky goggles, how rickety the vehicles look, and also that the roads do not . . . look like roads, or paths, or even really traceable, identifiable indentations.

“What’s that, hon?”

“What’s the ‘most important thing’?”

“Well, love, of course. The most important thing is love.” He scratches at his outie belly button. “And then, of course, fame.” He looks up at the sky. “Then fortune. But since fame can lead to fortune and money can buy love, I guess really, all roads lead back to TikTok.”

It takes real effort to keep my voice calm. “I think you were going to say something important about the vehicles?”

“Was I?”

The wind is picking up, and the sand is somehow clinging to the sunscreen I applied, adhering to me in a way that makes me feel sticky and disgusting even while Khloe and Vi stand by, delicately fanning themselves as though completely unaffected by the heat or grains of beach that are attacking the rest of us en masse.

“Oh!” Mall Santa snaps his fingers. “I was probably meaning to tell you about this.” He taps at the screen, seems to remember the Polaris isn’t actually on yet, and digs in his pocket before shuffling through a large ring of keys, looking for the right one.

After the ignition is turned on, a map appears in the center console, and he points at the little heart in the lower left-hand corner. “If you get lost, just come back to home because⁠—”

Vi and Khloe smile, the gold-star students who know the answer. “It’s where the heart is.”

“That’s right!” Father Christmas spreads his arms out before clapping his hands together loudly, beaming as if he’s just been presented with a precious gift.