Page 67 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

Rich people.

They’re nothing like you and me.

“You’ll know several of the people here. Wendell, Qi, a couple of other guys from Tech you probably tutored through ACM 95.”

“The professor liked me.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Abu-Burdick hated everyone. Even Lucas struggled.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“Fine. Even Lucas didn’t get that perfect A. But you did. Come lord it over the other guys who all owe you one.” Brody holds out a large hand, palm up. “Besides, you’ll get me in trouble with the bride if you don’t come soon. She thinks I’m ignoring our more important guests.”

I don’t miss his slight emphasis, the clear disagreement he and Vi must be having about the relative hierarchy of their guest list. “Donors are important.”

The expression on Brody’s face is too fleeting for me to pinpoint, but his voice is almost wistful when he tells me, “Then stop making me miss my photo op.”

I put my hand in his, reminding myself I’m here to support Brody, nothing more. “I’ll remember to smile.”

“Honey,” Vi calls out, in a way that makes it clear this isn’t an I love you, honey but a Get your ass over here, honey. “The instructors need to check in with you.”

Brody saunters down the dock, one hand half guiding me as if he’s worried I’m going to bolt.

Which is fair.

My immediate inclination is that I’d love to run away.

It takes less than a minute before Lucas comes over. He’s wearing a lightweight snorkel waterproof hoodie and some kind of fitted swim shorts that accentuate the musculature he’s gained in the years we’ve been apart.

He catches me staring and raises his eyebrows. “My eyes are up here.”

“Sorry, you’re just really grown-up.” I look toward the ocean, at the gleaming white yacht that’s been chartered for us.

“I’m not a hundred and thirty-five pounds anymore?”

I glance over again but don’t allow my gaze to linger this time. “That, but also how comfortable you are now in designer clothes and with . . . all of this.”

Lucas crosses his arms, the wind ruffling his hair slightly. “Like flying, this will never be comfortable. Or enjoyable.” He gestures to everyone in front of us. “This is . . . the pomp that comes with my changed circumstances.”

“Clever.” But I get what Lucas is saying.

Brody shouts to gather everyone’s attention. “It’s time for the learning part of today’s festivities.”

Lucas offers me a hand, but before I can decide whether I want to reach for it, Khloe is there, already determinedly looping her arm through Lucas’s, tugging him along.

As before, Lucas lets her, neither protesting nor looking back.

Though I can tell I’m not going to be the type of person who ever willingly signs up for snorkeling again (much less Extreme Snorkeling!, which turns out to be both the activity name and the company logo, and which seems thoroughly invested in impressing us with how different! and more! their version of snorkeling is), I actually enjoy much of my time underwater.

Several of the women are realizing (or perhaps they always knew and just didn’t care) that their suits are more clothes to be admired in than clothes that can survive underwater. Most of them stay clustered together on the yacht, sipping fanciful drinks the bartender and waiters provide while they half chat, half giggle.

I find myself drifting to the side, where there are plentiful fish who ignore me, the sea turtle equivalent of Sisyphus, in that he/she/they drifts farther away whenever I get even the tiniest bit closer, and also something I think is a monk seal, though I’ll have to look it up later to be sure.

We’ve apparently booked this portion of the beach for three hours, so trying to pace myself, I exit the water near a patch of beach that’s as far away from the main group as possible.

I’m several steps in when I notice the middle-aged woman who is also there, curling up with an oversized towel, looking as though she hasn’t even tried going into the water. She’s wearing a flowy, loose brown maxi dress. Unlike the other women, who are wearing a variety of layered, but tasteful, jewelry (i.e., body chains I’ve never understood the mechanics of), this woman is wearing a large golden pendant that looks almost like an old-school doubloon. Her nails are clean-cut but not elaborately manicured. Basically, she’s the most normal human here.

Because she’s seen me and I don’t want to appear rude, I walk up to her and introduce myself. “Lorelai, one of Brody’s old college friends.”