Page 43 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

“I’m thrilled you wanted to have lunch together.”

Since her bus home was delayed and I had early-morning classes to TA, we missed each other last weekend. When she suggested a meal instead, even though it’s right before finals, closing in on Brody’s wedding, and there are a million things to do . . . I couldn’t say no. It’s been that long since Aurora actively sought out my company.

My sister reaches up to play with a strand of her hair and intercepts my look.

“You do it too.”

“I do.” Father tried to drill it out of me, said fidgeting was a sign of weakness. And—well, that saying about how you turn into your parents?—though I’ve stopped admonishing Aurora about it, she hears my unspoken criticism.

We turn our attention to the menus, which are safer.

“Since I have both an allowance and a paid summer job, I’d like to treat you.”

“Okay.” I’m smiling because it’s a sweet gesture, but Aurora is frowning, so I train my face into a more neutral expression and mentally gird myself for what’s to come.

“Valezco offered me a higher rate to return in June.”

“That’s great news.” So why is Aurora using her tense voice?

“Yes, well.” Aurora says this—a sentence that’s really not—in a way that reminds me of Lucas, the way he’d cut off thoughts he felt hadn’t marinated enough.

Only after the waiter has taken our orders, after I’ve watched Aurora deconstruct a piece of bread, pulling off the crust before shredding the inside, does she come to the point.

“Don’t freak out.”

My lips curve up a little. “Do I usually?”

“Sometimes. Especially post-Lucas.”

It’s not the first time Aurora has baited me, and she’s not stupid. She likely guessed that our sudden influx of money and security—the move to a new house and the reintegration into private schools—had something to do with Lucas-breakup and Tatum-engagement that happened at almost the exact same time.

But she’s never directly asked, and, well, I’ve signed an NDA.

“Fine. Don’t tell me what happened.” She waits until I make eye contact because she’s gotten good at this. She raises one eyebrow. “Don’t tell me why you’re losing your hair either.”

“It’s nothing to worry about.”

“Exactly what you’ve said each time there’s something to worry about. Did you know that someone who lies consistently is just as reliable as someone who always tells the truth?”

“I don’t always lie.”

“No. You mean well while hiding the truth. But I’m not a child anymore.”

I stir the bisque, trying to remember why I ordered it, trying to remember if I’ve ever been hungry before, as I wait for her to get to the main point.

“What I really wanted to talk to you about is the girls.”

The urge to repeat The girls? with a question mark at the end is almost overpowering, but I take a deep breath and remind myself that I am still my father’s daughter. It’s been years since I’ve tried to employ any of those skills, but I have been taught to assess situations and body language. It doesn’t take an expert to note the way Aurora’s shoulders are raised nearly to her ears to guess how tense she is. I take a bite of the tasteless bisque and mentally sift through the short list of things that are more important to Aurora than her résumé, her grades, and college. “You’re worried about what happens to Harper and Wren after you go to college.”

She flips her ponytail back and gives the briefest nod. “There you are.”

I don’t ask her what she means because I’m ashamed to admit I kind of know. “Have I really been so . . . absent?”

“It’s gotten progressively better, so don’t go into some guilt spiral, but yes. Right after whatever happened between you, Father, and Lucas, we got a bunch of money, a brand-new house, and we lost you.”

“Doesn’t seem like a terrible trade.”

“It’s insulting you would say that. Not trying to guilt you.” Aurora holds both hands up in a sign of truce. “But that first year? Even though you helped us move, helped with all the details, it was tough. And if I’m truthful, you’ve never been the same.”