Page 7 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

Trying to improve.

Abe could have, just as truthfully, said: Single-handedly created and implemented, with little help or guidance. Drafted paper and am continuing to optimize.

“Lorelai’s research isn’t within my normal range, but I’ve been known to allow my students a certain amount of leeway.”

“I’d love to see the program.” Lucas’s voice contains none of the underlying anxiety that used to be there when speaking to professors. His posture is relaxed, long fingers resting along the armrest, apparently cured of his need to fidget or make endless origami. His once-readable face is guarded in a way I can no longer decipher.

“Abe has the working copy of the paper we’re⁠—”

“The code,” Abe interrupts. “I wouldn’t have called you in if Lucas could be fobbed off with a preprint.” When I remain frozen for a moment too long, Abe continues, his voice taking on that now-familiar mix of annoyed and impatient, as if re-explaining arithmetic to a toddler, “Get your laptop out.”

I nod while Abe continues the conversational thread from before I came in, obviously a pitch for Lucas to engage Abe’s consulting services. I look down, trying to calm myself even as I’m distracted by the fact that Lucas still smells like Dove and Old Spice, that even after all these years, he’s maintained his old habits. My eyes stray to his wrist, where I can see his father’s old watch. I’m remembering everything Lucas has shared about his father as I open my shoulder bag, my motions jerky and unbalanced in a way that jostles everything.

It’s my mother’s voice I hear—that I’m the to seoi gaa, Cantonese for disgrace, a bad luck charm—as I watch my glasses case fall quietly to the floor and see two little origami stars rolling away. I bend quickly, my back to both men, and hastily shove both stars into my pocket, jamming my glasses on in the process.

Only a few seconds have passed. I hold my breath, only allowing a small sigh of relief when I turn to see Lucas’s gaze remains fixed on Abe. And my mentor, of course, remains wholly absorbed by the possibility of landing a new client. Neither seems to have noticed the small twitch of clumsiness, neither deigns to look in my direction as I open my laptop.

I sit quietly, feeling overexposed, almost itchy in my need to leave this always dusty, often too hot and stuffy office. Long minutes pass while Abe finishes his pitch and waits for Lucas to nod, murmuring something noncommittal, before they both direct their attention toward my computer screen. I’ve been careful to only open files dedicated to the preprint, none of the later, more ambitious ones I’ve yet to share with my advisor.

“Here’s everything related to the paper.”

Lucas gestures a May I? before taking over my computer, bending his head.

“I’m prepared to be impressed.”

It’s the same words he said years ago, only this time, Lucas’s tone holds none of the teasing warmth or shyness it once did.

As Lucas scrolls through my code, I find my hands clenching at my sides even as I try, as unobtrusively as possible, to drink him in. Now that we’re closer, I can see the tiny crow’s feet that make him look, if anything, more handsome. His jawline looks sharper, even under the well-maintained beard. Lucas seemed beautiful to me years ago, when he was wiry and too thin, all elbows, angles, and pointed edges. But now, with the glow of health and undeniable muscle, the tangible aura of confidence, Lucas is breathtaking.

He looks confident and poised, completely comfortable in his own skin.

He looks like success.

Lucas has achieved everything I hoped he would when I broke up with him. I ought to feel content, that it was all worth it.

And I do.

But at the same time, seeing him now, knowing the differences in trajectory and career accolades between us, I can’t help but agree with Abe: We don’t all land.

Though Abe tries to say something (incorrect) about the code, Lucas is far too immersed to notice.

As before, Lucas Murray is an easy man to nerd snipe. Present him with an intellectually stimulating puzzle and everything else falls away. Barely two minutes have passed before he starts asking methodical questions in that painfully slow and precise way of his. I allow Abe to answer the first few; Abe barely made edits on our joint paper, but he’s not a tenured professor and former department head for nothing. Abe has solid command of all the overarching points. Still, it doesn’t take long before Lucas’s questions are too specific for my mentor, who’s never thoroughly understood agentic search and thus can’t address the theory behind any of my specific design decisions.

Lucas shifts his attention to me even as he continues to scroll through the code and my commentary.

When he asks, “What was your thinking here?” my initial answer is stilted.

But it’s not long before we fall into old habits, arguing and interrupting each other in a shorthand that would be difficult for others to follow.

“Did you consider⁠—”

“Of course, but with other reinforcement learning⁠—”

“And what about reasoning via⁠—”

“You are prone to sometimes, and I’m being gentle here, ignoring⁠—”

“In that case, may I point out that you have a proclivity for underestimating⁠—”