Page 86 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

“Come on, Lucas.” I smooth a piece of hair away where it’s fallen over his forehead. I’m not sure why I miss cutting his hair, but I do. “We’re in rich-people paradise. We’ve just enjoyed some very adequate sex. Can’t we focus on having some fun?”

I can see the part of Lucas that wants to disagree. To push.

But then a corner of his mouth tilts up. “I can tell when you’re baiting me.”

My eyes are wide as I ask, “You didn’t think it was adequate?”

“I think you’re maddening,” he whispers.

“I’m fun,” I remind him.

27

I’M LESS ALLERGIC THAN I USED TO BE

PRESENT

We are greeted by a cadre of “Lānaʻi Lions,” which is definitely my favorite thing about Lānaʻi thus far. We navigate to the sanctuary via a large rock (really) because there are no real signs, and when we arrive, a woman whose name tag proclaims that she is “Judy, Ambassador of Purr” explains that at the sanctuary, we can choose our own cat-venture. She tells us about the history behind the sanctuary, that the 3.5 acres in the middle of verdant hills and picturesque views houses over eight hundred cats, and that some of their rescues are cats that were displaced to protect the nesting grounds of birds like the ae‘o.

We’re then left to roam the grounds. We can cuddle with the cats or insert ourselves into a variety of volunteer projects, from socializing and feeding the cats to cleaning cat “bungalows” or painting their old, weathered storage shed.

When Lucas doesn’t start popping Claritin like Tic Tacs, I blurt out the question I’ve been dying to ask. “Aren’t you allergic?”

After the verbal diarrhea that had been admitting I wished for a future where my parents basically disappeared and I raised my sisters, I avoided all talk of a future (shared or otherwise). Whenever Lucas broached anything beyond graduation, I tried to be deliberately vague and noncommittal. It almost became a game. Lucas would ask about kids, and I’d joke that progeny were rarely financially viable. He’d muse about where we’d live, and I’d joke that we needed to improve our sex life before committing.

The only time I really caved was when he asked about dream pets.

I had always loved the idea of adopting cats. Plural.

Lucas admitted he’d always found felines judgmental and also that he was very, very, very allergic. He looked apologetic and guilty, as if destroying some long-held dream.

Now, the longer Lucas stays silent, the more I begin to itch in frustration. “Am I misremembering?”

Lucas looks at the expanse of green and doesn’t meet my gaze. “I’m less allergic than I used to be.” He doesn’t offer an explanation, and it’s not my right to expect one. Perhaps he had a girlfriend who had cats and he became acclimated; maybe he hadn’t really been that allergic.

Though we all start with socializing (playing) with the cats, I’m particularly drawn to the senior ones. They’re calmer, but also, though I know I’m likely anthropomorphizing, there’s a stillness I equate to acceptance when I stroke their fur.

Also, if I’m honest? The kittens are getting enough attention.

The older ones are largely ignored in a way that pulls at me.

Because we’ve committed to spending at least a few hours here, and because cleaning duty attracts the fewest volunteers, I head toward the laundry shed where I can help and not socialize at the same time.

Win-fucking-win.

There are posted instructions on the outside door, and I start gathering the large piles of sheets and cat bedding.

I lose track of Vera and the married lawyers who’ve joined us, but it doesn’t take long for Lucas to find me.

“This isn’t quite the mountainside picnic I was envisioning.”

I know exactly the picnic he’s referring to, but instead of feeling warm at the memory, it’s Khloe’s voice I hear, that Lucas and I have nothing beyond nostalgia. My voice is hopefully lighthearted when I reply. “I don’t think they sell picnic baskets here.”

“They didn’t at Yellowstone Club either. We always packed leftovers from breakfast.”

I fold and stack sheets until I can’t stand it. “Is knowing about the past just another unsolved riddle to you?”

Lucas’s face is all bland mask, the one he’s likely perfected during our years apart, the ones in which he climbed ladders and I . . . didn’t.