Page 77 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

“You noticed she lost weight. Khloe told me it was the first thing you noticed.” Vi bites her lip and turns her face even more to the side. “You never notice my weight.”

“Because it’s so heavily controlled there’s no reason—” Brody bites off a curse. “I notice things. Aunt Vera’s starting to sometimes wear her wedding ring on her right hand. Sometimes she even takes it off. It’s my job to care about, and sometimes monetize, details.”

“She’s clearly important.”

I squirm, but Brody continues his case. “Lucas, Lorelai, and I have always been the Three Musketeers.” He moves to kneel in front of Vi and tries to take her free hand. She doesn’t push him away, but neither does she look at him. “Lorelai and Lucas are soulmate penguins. They’re practically mythical, the animals that mate for life and grieve forever? I would never get in between that.”

I manage a laugh, but I have so many questions I want to ask. Namely whether Brody still believes this, and if this means Lucas never truly moved on either.

“In the pictures, Lorelai is reaching for you, chasing you.”

“I wasn’t chasing—” I start.

But Brody interrupts me, his voice gruff and clearly communicating something to Vi that I cannot understand. “You should know, better than most, how misleading pictures can be.”

I can see that Vi swallows her coffee very slowly. She removes her hand from Brody’s and stirs a drop (actually one drop) of cream into her drink.

“More importantly, if you can’t trust me, what the fuck are we doing here?” Brody’s voice is quiet as he says this, and I feel like a voyeur, even being in the same room.

Vi refuses to make eye contact, and if it wasn’t for the fact that she’s stirring her coffee into oblivion, she’s the picture of serenity.

And this is what gives me an idea.

I stand, my words spilling out of my mouth before I have a chance to stop them. “I might have a way to . . . ameliorate some of the damage, if I can get my laptop.”

Vi laughs mirthlessly, but Brody waves his hand toward the door in a be-my-guest way. I rush out of the room, almost colliding with Lucas, who must have just heard the news, and Khloe, who is standing right next to Lucas.

My brain flits to a stop for a moment because Lucas left first, but I didn’t track how soon after Khloe disappeared—after the hula dancing but . . . how much after?

I lick suddenly dry lips, wishing I’d done more than stick a couple of pens through my hair now that I see the masterfully casual curls falling over Khloe’s shoulder.

“No time to explain,” I mutter.

When I return, Khloe is standing behind Vi’s chair, squeezing Vi’s shoulder, while Lucas stands near Brody, clearly his second.

They’re an attractive foursome—the CEO and the attorney, the lovely twin models—but I try not to dwell on that.

“Brody’s already got supporters threatening to pull out,” Vi announces.

“That was quick,” I say, stupidly.

Khloe narrows her eyes at me. “Perception is more important than reality. And the pictures are damning. A lovers’ tiff, played out in three acts, with the wrong woman cast in the lead.”

“You had an idea?” Vi’s voice is steady as she reaches for a croissant, having clearly destroyed at least two on her pastry-apocalypse of a plate.

I should have tested it on my own before announcing anything, but at the time, it seemed important to distract and disrupt the too-tense, emotions-too-high moment.

I tuck a strand of my thinning hair behind one ear. The snorkeling did a number on my semipermanent coloring, but that’s a problem for later.

As my laptop powers up, I explain the basics of what a sentiment analysis program does. It’s difficult to get the wording right: Lucas and Brody know too much, and Vi and Khloe are lost until I get to the image-management part.

“Most of the time, I use my program to filter out news I may not want to read.”

“Why not just ignore the news? Don’t go to CNN, Washington Post, whatever.”

I take a deep breath and deliberately keep my eyes glued to the laptop. “I enjoy reading and being aware of current events, broadly speaking. There are topics I prefer to filter out.”

“News about me,” Lucas explains to the room, not looking in my direction, the tiniest tease of a smile at the edges of his lips.