Page 118 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

“Vi opened the balcony doors. She hates the humidity, says it does awful things to her hair. But she opened the glass doors, and because we were still arguing, even though I could have and should have stopped the fight, I chose to follow her.”

I think about what Brody said the other day, that happy couples aren’t particularly newsworthy. I remember Khloe’s words, about how much visibility this was giving them.

“You really think⁠—”

“Yeah. I mean not at the time, but now that I’ve had a few hours to process it, yes, I think Vi knew there were paparazzi there. I think she leaked this story.”

Lucas and I sandwich Brody on the couch, leaning into him.

“What do you want to do?”

Brody shrugs. “Not be a lawyer. Move out of LA. Have a fiancée who doesn’t see our engagement as a marketing opportunity.” Brody shakes his head. “She locked me out of the bedroom because she said she needed space. I was trying to sleep on the couch when the first story broke.”

Lucas places one hand on Brody’s shoulder, his tone light. “Tell the truth. You came to find Red, and I just happened to be here.”

“She’s traditionally been the better listener. Also, even if you’re big brain, big wallet these days, it wasn’t your sentiment analysis program that dug me out of these last few days.” Brody buries his face in his hands and lets out an audible groan. “Tell me, Lorelai, when does it actually get better?”

“I might not be the best person to answer.”

“Actually, you’re the best person to ask. I’ve been following someone else’s path this entire time. But you? You don’t want black hair? You dye it green without needing to ask whether it will test well with a particular demographic. You’re the only one who looked at the predicted path and said, Fuck. That. Shit.”

“I’m—”

Speechless.

Convinced Brody has completely misunderstood every aspect of my life.

“Not all of those choices were ones I made completely willingly.”

“But you’ve never once sold out who you were. You came into Tech so you could support your family. You left having protected not just them but Lucas. You remained true to yourself the entire time.”

It’s uncomfortable just how antithetical this all is to how I view myself. “I mean, I don’t make $1,250 an hour.”

Brody lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Beyond being able to say it, do you think I give a fuck?” Brody points to Lucas. “Given the choice, do you think Lucas would rather make $1,250 an hour or have you back in his life?”

“Me,” I whisper, knowing it’s not even a contest, as Lucas says, “Not a question.”

“And see? For most people, it’s a question.” He looks down now, resting his arms on his knees and staring down at the carpet. “For me, it was the fucking conclusion. And the wrong one. Vi would never sacrifice a single thing for me. And I can’t even be mad about it, because that’s exactly how I feel about her.”

The silence that stretches between us is as long as it is uncomfortable.

“The hotel has gingersnap ice cream sandwiches,” I offer, because thank you, useless brain that stayed up reading about the hotel. Ice cream always used to make everything better. “They’re apparently really well reviewed and filled with pineapple coconut ice cream that’s like . . . a specialty here?”

Lucas offers a tentative smile. “I’ll take one.”

Brody looks up, finally. “Yeah. Order me one.” A beat passes before he looks over at Lucas. “This is why I came to Red’s room first. How long would it have taken you to remember to feed me?”

I put a movie on, and like the boys-at-heart they are, they eat their ice cream sandwiches and then fall asleep midway through my choice. They’re leaning on each other as they do so, and it’s tempting to take a picture, compare it against the surely countless ones I have of them in similar poses, from when we were all undergrads.

Instead, I grab the throw pillows and extra blankets that are spread around the room and try to reposition both of them. Brody prefers to sleep with his shoes and socks off, and so I start with him. Lucas prefers to have his watch off, because he’s always worried he’ll break his last link to his father.

It’s as I’m taking off his watch that I notice the hairbands he’s been storing underneath. They’re cutting into his skin a little, and so I remove these as well. I tell myself it’s not a sign that even the hairbands he keeps for me are cutting into his skin.

Because not everything is a metaphor.

I tuck the blanket around him carefully and pick up the Four Seasons brochure again, because it’s the tiniest bit better than doomscrolling.

Ten minutes later, I’m nudging Lucas awake.