Page 134 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

It’s honestly kind of hilarious, especially given that the last email I received from Abe asked me to research guinea pig options for his granddaughter. After years of master-level manipulation from my father, Abe Kleinberg’s evil-mall-Santa efforts feel milquetoast at best. I flag it to answer later.

Brody sends a wall of texts to formally complain that he invested months of allowance to get a measly 2 percent, Aurora links a story about Lucas’s transfer and tags an emoji that’s beyond my ability to interpret, the Grad or Die girls text loving congratulations, and Leno and Levi ask if this means Lucas and I got married and forgot to tell them.

I ignore almost all the noncore friend messages and text Lucas.

ME: I’m not sure I really said thank you. But thank you.

ME: I’ve renamed you from UNKNOWN to Sag-A.

Sag-A: That seems a terrible way to say thank you.

ME: What would you have preferred?

Sag-A: Sex, obviously.

ME: You’ve changed.

Sag-A: Cuddles, if option A is off the table.

ME: That’s more like the old Lucas.

Sag-A: Old and New Lucas both just want to be with you.

ME: I don’t suppose we can dial back the sap?

Sag-A: One of us has to be the romantic.

By the next morning, I have a semi-plausible plan of action, particularly given it’s Tuesday and I’m only teaching Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays this quarter.

My first email is to Maya. Though I’ve only known Maya for a few months, her dissertation was interesting, and more than that, I know from her dedication page that she’s a part-time PA for a well-known therapist. Considering Maya’s stated goal is to better bridge the gap between psychological research and practice, she seemed the logical choice for securing a referral.

I text first to ask if I can call, which seems like such a roundabout way to do things, but I just don’t want to text the more personal details.

Maya is thrilled at the idea of being able to help me.

“Fogleman has a cancellation. Today.”

“I didn’t necessarily mean⁠—”

“No, Lorelai. You’ve got to trust me on this. No one is as good as Kylie Fogleman. You never accepted proper payment from me, so now I get to return the favor and rock your world.”

“I’m not sure editing a dissertation qualifies as⁠—”

“You saved my ass. No one else would have gone through even a full round of edits the way you did. No one else would have accepted payment in the form of coupon clippings.”

I’m silent, because it’s true that I’ve always maintained a rather sliding scale, and I’ve only ever charged students I’m certain can pay me without hardship.

“I’m going to talk to Fogleman and get back to you on whether she’ll give you a discounted rate. She doesn’t accept insurance and⁠—”

“Actually . . .” It’s my turn to interrupt, because clearly Maya hasn’t read the news, and also, even if I don’t plan on selling any shares in Lucas’s company right away, knowing they’re there, knowing money is no longer a concern, has already changed my mindset.

My health is important.

My obsession with being an albatross is unhealthy. I know that.

Years ago, I convinced Lucas to invest in himself. Maybe it really is my turn.

“Actually,” I repeat, because I’m sure a doesn’t-accept-insurance therapist will be crazy stupid expensive, and I don’t want to second-guess myself before I’ve even started, “I can pay out of pocket. I will pay out of pocket.”