Page 109 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

I’ve just finished my bath when Lucas or Brody knocks. (It’s got to be them, because they’re the only two people in my life who still do the “Shave and a Haircut” knocking pattern after seeing Sheldon Cooper do it on The Big Bang Theory.)

It’s an inside joke we started during nationals, which has apparently never gone away.

I tighten the robe I’m wearing over a tank top that barely covers the rash. Then I knock twice to finish the pattern, unable to forget Khloe’s question: Just how much of my friendship with Brody and my relationship with Lucas is based in nostalgia?

I open the door to find Lucas, looking freshly showered and far too handsome in lightweight sweatpants and a formfitting black cotton shirt.

Despite the fact that he spent the night here, despite the fact that I woke to find an origami flower on the table beside me, a brief note explaining he’d had to go back to his own room to shower and get fresh clothes, Lucas gestures, asking for permission before following me in.

“Is your suite as nice as mine? It’s very spacious.” This must be the worst post-sex talk two people have ever engaged in, but my brain just isn’t functioning.

“Brody mentioned you were considering bringing one of your sisters. I think that was the justification for a larger living area.”

I’d forgotten.

In some long-ago plan, pleading sister duty was one of the shields I considered hiding behind to get out of coming. I settle onto the couch with a small groan, as if the sand from earlier left an imprint, despite the long and thorough shower.

“I considered inviting your favorite⁠—”

“Aurora’s not my favorite.” Lucas isn’t sitting yet, hovering above me and studying my face in a way that makes me feel terribly self-conscious. Is there a rash I missed? Or is it my hair? Something else entirely? “At best, she’s tied with Leno and Levi. And depending on how Wren and Harper have developed, I’m sure it would become a five-way competition.”

I pause a moment to note the present tense. The implication that Aurora is somehow still one of his favorites, the clear invitation for me to reintroduce Wren and Harper into his life.

“Aurora isn’t particularly happy with me at the moment, and I’m sure you’ve experienced this with the twins, but I don’t see how I could have brought Wren without also bringing Harper, and vice versa.”

Because Daisy and Gwendy are both only children, I’ve talked about my sisters less than I used to. My mother can barely be trusted to complete parental forms—would likely miss far more without the double safety net of me and now Aurora. But Lucas and I always had a relationship that was romantic, collegial, but also . . . almost surprisingly family oriented. Thus, it feels natural to tell him, even now, about my sisters.

“Would you like to tell me what’s happening with Aurora?”

“Nothing. I mean, the normal problems that come from being a smart woman in STEM. Classmates accusing her of getting additional opportunities because of her pronouns. But the good news is Aurora’s . . . sharp. Much brighter than I was at her age⁠—”

“Not true.” Lucas’s voice is firm, the one I’m starting to brand his brooks-no-argument, I’m-a-CEO tone. He comes to stand behind me, his hands unerringly finding the tight knots buried there, that I’d been unconsciously rubbing at. “Don’t fish for compliments.”

I open my mouth to argue, but instead, a small moan escapes. My shoulders are in that much pain. He adjusts his angle, but I’m sinking too much into the couch, and the height difference is not to our advantage.

Lucas pats my shoulder and points to the bed.

I shouldn’t.

I know I shouldn’t.

But my neck hurts and my shoulders hurt. For that matter, my heart and soul and very being hurt. I swallow, looking up at Lucas’s profile, breathing in his stupid Old Spice scent.

There is no reason to deny myself this. I walk over to the bed and take my robe off, lying face down. Lucas settles next to me, to my side so that he can work on my shoulders without crushing me with his weight.

“You were saying?”

“She’s smart and determined.”

“Reminds me of her older sister.”

I huff out a small laugh, which is muffled by the pillow and my half groan as Lucas works on a particularly difficult knot, using his knuckles to dig into the tense tissue at the edge of one shoulder blade, before he uses both hands to stretch out my head and shoulder, moves he perfected while trying to find a cure for my cluster headaches.

Though I’d never considered it before, I guess even pre-lupus, my body’s always been kind of falling apart.

“But Aurora’s angrier.” So, so much angrier.

“You used to be angry too,” Lucas reminds me, his voice so gentle and accepting it feels somehow abrasive, which is contradictory, and yet . . .