Page 26 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

Delilah heads back to the small, narrow galley kitchen that has pots, plates, and pans on every available surface. “Don’t mind him. He’s been the quiet one since he was a baby. The doctors were worried he was slow because he just wouldn’t talk! Four years old and barely had twenty words. They were recommending specialists we couldn’t afford, speech therapy I didn’t have time to take him to—forty-five-minute appointments in the middle of a workday, hello? But I told them, even then, that my Lucas was smart. It’s in his eyes. He only spoke when he had something important to say. And look at him now! He was the only student from Pasadena City College Caltech accepted. Can you believe? Considering you can walk from PCC to Caltech, you’d think they’d take more.”

As she speaks, she’s stirring two different sauces, washing tongs, and grating cheese, flitting around the kitchen at maximum speed. Lucas moves around her in the narrow space, stealing bites of food while she slaps his hands away.

“You speak enough for both of us,” Lucas says, though there’s no bite to it; he kisses his mother’s cheek a moment later.

It’s the type of unthinking, habitual affection that I’ve rarely been privy to, and I find myself pulled toward it, wishing I could wrap myself in this kind of warmth.

I force Lucas to hand me the plates so I can be at least a little useful while his mother continues to tell stories. (“Lucas took such good care of every toy we ever bought him” and “That first science fair, I just knew.”) Though it’s clear Lucas would probably prefer his mother said less, he’s good-natured about her oversharing.

Brody remains in the bedroom until it’s time to eat. Even then, Delilah has to start counting down from five before getting Leno, Levi, and Brody to join us.

After we’re settled (spaghetti marinara, from-scratch meatballs, and also alfredo sauce, her nana’s recipe), Delilah speaks again. “I’m so glad you were able to make it!”

“My mother insisted.”

“And she’s the boss,” Levi says.

Dinner is a lovely affair full of the boys asking Brody for Counter-Strike tips, Brody asking Lucas’s mother for embarrassing Lucas stories “when he wasn’t fully assembled yet,” and far too many carbs.

It only gets awkward twice.

Once, when Delilah says, “Lorelai, I wanted to thank you for all your book recommendations.”

Lucas chokes on his water, because he’ll never be the type of man who can mask any of his emotions, as I play along. “I am always leaving books around.” But I’ve never recommended any to Lucas. We text about problems and code.

“Blind Assassin in particular was so good. And Empire Falls. And of course, I’ve loved every one of the romances.”

I can see the flush spreading up Lucas’s neck, because given the fact that my romance books are always sandwiched between others, and I’ve made it a point to never read them in front of the guys, even during breaks, Lucas has really been paying attention. “I didn’t realize Lucas had followed up on my romance recs.”

Lucas is closing his eyes now, and Brody leans forward to high-five Lucas’s mom. “The real budding romance is these two, right? I can’t be the only one who ships them.”

“Totally,” Leno chirps, before he’s kicked under the table by Levi.

And later, there is an awkward silence when Delilah starts to say, “I wish Lucas could practice more. If it wasn’t for⁠—”

“Mom.” They exchange a look, and Delilah relents. From there, we talk about the twins’ classes (“Nothing’s cooler than black holes,” Brody says, in recruitment mode) and potential sports (though Levi starts to say something about the swim team, he falls silent after intercepting Lucas’s look).

As we’re leaving their tiny apartment, Delilah presses a bag of granola into my hands and Lucas comes downstairs before offering to walk us back to campus.

Brody clamps a hand on Lucas’s shoulder. “I already told you, I’m team Lukelai.” This earns Brody a pained look from both Lucas and me. “You prefer Lor-ass?”

It’s dark outside, and Stan and Cal have retired from their perch. I wrap my arms around myself because it’s chilly, and almost immediately Lucas takes off the Pasadena City College sweatshirt he’s wearing, offering it to me.

“Did you really just give a Caltech girl community college merch?”

Lucas flushes, and even though I might have otherwise turned it down, I’m stuck taking the damn thing now. Because there’s no easy way to explain to Four Seasons Brody that his comment was snotty and classist.

That especially to someone who’s already sensitive about the fact that he’s a transfer, the perception that he’s some kind of affirmative action admit, this might be a sensitive issue.

“This is great,” I tell them both, pulling the sweatshirt on. I immediately hate-love the fact that it’s still warm from his body and smells exactly like Lucas. All Old-Spice-y and clean-soap-y and Lucas-y in a way that makes me want to burrow my face and inhale.

“You guys are like high school official now.” Brody’s wearing his shit-eating grin, and I’m suddenly wondering if he’s not a snob, but rather deliberately tricked me into taking the damn thing. He punches Lucas lightly in the arm. “She’ll text you when she gets home.”

Lucas looks like he wants to argue, to insist on coming with us, but I give me head a small shake. “She’s right here and doesn’t like to be spoken of in the third person.”

“Okay.” Lucas says, reluctantly waving goodbye as I turn and start walking, hating how comfortable the damn sweatshirt is.

After about a block of walking in silence, Brody finally asks, “Did you know about his family and like . . . situation?”