Page 111 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

“I sleep better next to you.”

Brody groans, throwing his head back in mock disgust. “Six years, a Forbes cover, and God knows how many zeroes added to your bank account, and yet you still have zero game.”

Lucas leans into the frame, blocking out Brody, who is practically prancing in impatience. “Please?”

I reach for the spare keycard I’ve kept just inside the hotel room, handing it over with nerveless fingers. All I can think is: This isn’t a choice either. Not really.

After I close the door, I’m too frazzled to rest. I answer questions about the psychology dissertation I finished editing before I left, do a few of the small tasks Abe assigned to me (none of which have anything to do with actual science or research), and when I can’t put it off any longer, I call Aurora.

She bypasses any attempt at hello and picks up with, “Why are you calling me from Hawaii?”

“I wanted to talk.”

“From Hawaii?”

I take a deep breath and remind myself to count, to breathe, and to not react. “I wanted to apologize.”

Impatient at my stalling, Aurora starts prodding. “Generally? Or for something specific?”

“Both. I shouldn’t have checked out quite so much during the post-Lucas time period, and also, I ought to have checked in with you more.”

“Cool,” my teenage sister says. And even though I know I’m being Brody-level dramatic, all I hear is: I will end you.

“I’m going to figure out what to do with the girls. You don’t need my approval, obviously, but I wanted to tell you I’m supportive of any college you choose to apply to. Your life and all that.”

“Great.” This in her dripping-with-disdain teenage voice.

I head to the bedroom and close the door, as if this will give me additional privacy. “I should have shared before, but you mentioned my health—” I pause, swallow, pray the call gets dropped. “I have lupus.”

“Thank you for telling me.” For the first time, Aurora’s voice reflects emotion. In the background, I can hear keys tapping away.

“Are you looking it up?”

“Of course I’m looking it up.” Her voice is a little tearful now, and I’m wondering whether it would have been better to wait, to tell her in person.

“Maybe I should have waited⁠—”’

“Maybe you should have told me right away. Last summer, right? That’s when you were diagnosed?”

“Yes.”

There is a flurry of clicks again, and before she gets the wrong idea, I try to reassure her. “This doesn’t change your college plans, okay? There’s no cure, it’s chronic, and while there might be complications every now and again, you can always fly back.”

“Okay,” Aurora says.

We talk for another hour as I try to answer any and all of the questions she might have. Why hasn’t she noticed the rash before? (Because I’ve been careful to reschedule when it’s been visible on my face.) What is this operation? (Recommended, but frightening, and so yes, I’ve been putting it off for too long.) Should we tell Wren and Harper? (Let’s not, for now?) Neither of us mention telling either of our parents.

I crawl into bed when the conversation switches to the colleges she’s considering, and I try to remember the advice I once gave to Lucas, when he was overly helicopter-parenting his brothers about their future plans. I focus on how can I help? instead of what you should do, and for the first time in years, we have an actual, real conversation.

“You were pretty out of it last year when I got my internship.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry⁠—”

“Timing wise, it was during your medical stuff. I get it. But—” There’s a small pause, a clear hesitation. “You should take a look at the company I interned at.”

“Okay. I will.”

I’m buried under blankets that smell blessedly like Lucas and my eyes are already closing. One phone call hardly ameliorates years of disconnect, but it feels like such an amazing, far better than I could have hoped for, start.