Page 75 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

I feel . . . exhausted.

“It’s—”

“She’s burning out,” Brody tells us, clearly from across the room, the way his voice echoes. His voice gets louder as we hear the tail end of a flush in the background. “The bags under her eyes are stressing me TF out.”

“TF?”

“Why the hell don’t you know TF means the fuck? Or are you complaining about the fact that I said T-F instead of the fuck? Whatever. I was gonna save the surprise, but you guys are bumming me out.”

Lucas rubs his eyes, also clearly exhausted. He’s worked as much as he can, striving for that return offer, the one that guarantees a lucrative offer will be waiting for him at the end of senior year. “How are we bumming you out?”

“You’re dour because you aren’t getting enough attention from your girlfriend, and Lorelai looks half dead from exhaustion.” Brody picks up his laptop in a way that makes me feel motion sick. “My birthday’s June twenty-ninth, which, lucky for you guys, is shockingly close to July Fourth.” He looks at us expectantly, and when neither Lucas nor I catch on, he sighs dramatically. “I know you’d hate to miss my birthday, so I’m getting you both tickets for my birthday bash. Meaning, if you can each stand to take a few days off, because July Fourth is on a Wednesday . . .”

“We could practice in person,” I say.

Brody rolls his eyes. “I was thinking romantic reunion for you guys and party for me, but sure. Let’s also practice programming like the nerds we are.” He waits a beat. “Don’t you at least want to know where I’m flying you?”

“Where will your birthday party be?” Lucas asks dutifully.

“Yellowstone Club.”

I blink. My father once tasked me with looking into membership costs, and I made him a spreadsheet comparing house and lot sizes. It’s the type of place where the bathrooms outnumber the bedrooms, because you’re expected to entertain.

Lucas, of course, looks perplexed. “Yellowstone National Park?”

“Yellowstone Club is not a national park. It’s more that it’s the Ritz to rich people.”

My boyfriend looks unimpressed. “Isn’t the Ritz already the Ritz to rich people?”

“Of course not. Look, Tiffany’s is to middle class as the Ritz is to upper class. Everyone’s heard of the Ritz, which means it’s no longer exclusive. The average upper-class person has never heard of Yellowstone Club, much less can afford it.”

“The initiation fee was half a million when I looked into it.”

Lucas pales as my words sink in.

Brody says, “It’s where wealthy people go to⁠—”

“To isolate themselves from the teeming masses?” Lucas’s voice reflects a small edge of bitterness.

“To show other wealthy people that they’re really, really wealthy.”

“And are you that wealthy?”

I’m surprised Lucas is comfortable enough to ask. Normally, the man avoids all mentions of status, net worth, things that clearly make him feel lesser than.

Brody shrugs. “We’re lower-quartile relative to this crowd. We own a townhouse, as opposed to a custom ranch. But it’s a great place to recruit.”

“Another job fair?”

“Don’t judge. Finding miserable rich people is their job. And at a place like Yellowstone Club where everyone talks a little more freely? It’s a great place to sign miserable billionaires and multimillionaires. It pays tuition. Airplane tickets for my besties.”

Brody’s tone is light, his wording deliberately ridiculous, but it’s clear he’s losing patience.

“And you’re allowed to invite us?” Trust Lucas to worry about the rules.

“Eight days each, the club max. So end of June through the July Fourth holiday. It’ll be you guys, two others from Lloyd. The rest—” Brody shifts uncomfortably.

“The rest are already members?”