Page 76 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

“I went to Beverly Hills High.” Brody lifts his shoulders in a mock-helpless gesture. “Look, you guys are not going to shame me for being rich. Lucas shares his big brain with me. Lorelai manages all the calendars and shared practice documents that make these sessions possible. Well, I’m also sharing what I have, which is my big wallet. Figure out your days off and say, ‘OMG thank you, Brody.’”

“OMG—” I start.

“Thank you, Brody,” Lucas finishes solemnly.

“Can’t believe that worked. Now say, ‘You’re so much cooler than we are.’”

“Low bar,” I say.

“Hey, I notice shit, okay?”

“That really could be taken two different ways,” Lucas starts.

But I tease, “Not just a big wallet?”

“It’s almost like I’m too good to be true.” Brody grins then, because he really is the most well adjusted out of all of us. “It would have sounded better if one of you guys had said it.”

23

LIKE SOULMATE PENGUINS

PRESENT

“Ithought you made sure the staff signed NDAs?” Vi’s voice, normally so refined, borders on the shrill now, her hands at her slender hips, the picture of an irate housewife.

It’s barely seven in the morning. I texted as soon as I saw the headlines and had barely bothered changing (but I had to, given the need to cover my rash) before speedwalking to their room. I had to fish out two stray pens to put my hair up, but now, in my used sundress and green-pen-hair, there’s no way not to feel out of place in the presidential suite.

Vi’s wearing recovery patches under her eyes, and it’s the first time I’ve seen her makeup free. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that she’s a model: wrapped in the silky ivory robe of my dreams and with her hair falling out of its nighttime braid, she still looks like the AI-generated image of a starlet getting ready for the morning.

Brody looks tired, but no less glamorous in ice-blue Louis Vuitton pajamas.

A knock signals room service has arrived, and we’re all quiet until the staff leaves. Vi adopts a nonchalant pose and doesn’t glare at Brody until after the door clicks firmly shut.

“The staff signed NDAs.” Brody plops down and searches through the fruit bowl for a lone blueberry. “But that’s never foolproof. We have a lot of guests who haven’t finished their paperwork—who we mutually agreed to allow—and given the number of performers and additional staff here last night, there was always going to be the possibility of leaks.”

Brody’s hair is sticking up in a variety of angles, something I would normally tease him about. Instead, I sit with my hands clasped on my lap.

Vi sips at her coffee, crossing and uncrossing her legs without otherwise betraying any anxiety. Her voice is deceptively calm. “You never said how famous Lorelai’s ex was.”

“It didn’t really come up.”

“Given how powerful the Huangs are, given how often we’ve strategized about your career, our lives, it feels like it ought to have come up.”

Brody cracks his neck but doesn’t otherwise defend himself.

“To be fair, our engagement wasn’t really—” I search for a word that’s truthful but doesn’t violate any contracts. “It was a complicated situation.”

Vi rolls her eyes—gracefully, but still. “Has there ever been anything between the two of you?”

Brody’s “Fuck” is timed perfectly with my gurgle of laughter.

“Of course not.”

We look at each other, not sure which one of us should continue first.

Brody takes the lead. “I’ve explained to you a million times. Lorelai is an irritating, beloved sibling I worry about the way someone worries about . . . a six-week-old puppy.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, knowing I’m probably not helping but also wishing Brody could be a little less Brody. No woman wants to hear herself compared to an untrained cocker spaniel.