Page 28 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

“You look like your parents are divorcing and you sided with the losing parent.” Before I can say anything, Brody holds both hands up in seeming surrender. “It’s not a dig. I’m only mentioning it because both my parents are lawyers specializing in divorce. They’re exceedingly competent, meaning I grew up immersed in divorce drama. And I’ve seen my fair share of Chinese men who maintain more than one family.”

I bite my lip, trying to decide how much to share. It’s been drilled into me from a young age that the best course of action is to neither confirm nor deny.

Of course, when my father left my mother, everyone knew.

We just weren’t supposed to admit we knew.

“Lucky guess?”

Brody barks out a laugh. “No guessing needed. Rich Chinese guy who wanted to sidestep the One-Child Policy by maintaining an American family and a Chinese one is practically a cottage industry.”

“Divorce would have been better.”

A fair divorce would have meant alimony payments. Even an unfair one would have meant the ability to apply for financial aid.

As it is, we’re stuck in purgatory. Neither of my parents wants to move forward with the divorce, meaning my father has all the power. Each month, he can give us as much (or as little, and he usually chooses little) allowance as he wants while still claiming us all as dependents.

“If your mother ever decides she wants a lawyer, I can make my parents do it pro bono. My mother, in particular, enjoys ‘being compensated for punishing bad men.’ She thinks it keeps my father in line to see how much she’d clean him out if he ever strayed.”

My cheeks are stained with red because even though Brody’s hiding it behind jokes, this feels like charity.

Correction: It is charity.

But it’s also more than any of my fancy private school friends offered when they learned I’d be transferring to public school. And several of them could have offered.

Instead, they cut contact.

Unsubscribed from my life.

“I’m not good at thanking people.”

“For the record, that’s not actually a thank-you.” He looks down at me, and I can feel myself flushing a little. “Also, yeah, it’s pretty obvious that neither you nor Lucas excels at the talky-talk parts of life.”

This elicits a small smile. “Then why put up with us?”

“Initially? Problems were fun and you weren’t Arjun. Later, because watching the two of you not-date is my favorite reality TV show. But also, you’re good people. You’ve both saved my ass when problem sets or essays have been forgotten⁠—”

“You purposefully forget work you don’t enjoy. They weren’t passively forgotten.”

“—you brought me cough drops when I had a sore throat, and Lucas has been . . . solid.” Brody looks away, as if embarrassed. “Don’t get me wrong. I have friends who are richer, hotter, more fun, and willing to actually party and have a social life, ones who can carry on a normal conversation and who have far better taste in movies that were actually filmed this decade and⁠—”

“You can stop now.”

Brody shrugs. “And I mean, the wardrobe. Between Lucas and your I’m-allergic-to-color shit, you’re definitely my worst-dressed friends. None of my other friends would⁠—”

“Please stop.” I’m laughing as I say this, because at least the awkward moment has passed.

He’s silent for about five seconds, which for Brody means he made an effort. “When are you going to give my boy a chance?”

9

GATORADE IS SATAN’S PISS

PRESENT

Bringing Lucas to my apartment is a surreal experience. Because the living room used to be Daisy’s bedroom and because we’d mutually agreed to dispose of her futon (too many bad memories thanks to her no-good, cheating ex), we no longer own a couch.

Meaning I guide an already-drowsy Lucas to my twin mattress, helping him flop onto my bed even as I bend to take off his shoes and socks.