Page 95 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

Brody sticks his head uncomfortably close to us. “What are we not allowed to say? I missed it.”

Lucas lowers his voice so only Brody hears. “Lorelai’s got a hang-up about me saying I love you.”

“Ah,” Brody says, leaning back. “Feelings. Yeah no. I’m going to leave you guys to that.”

He walks away, finding another team to chat with as Lucas looks down at me with eyes almost shimmering with happiness. “Does your dad know I’m more than your teammate?”

I shake my head, not wanting to lie. My father’s sending money regularly, but like a gas, our monetary needs expand ceaselessly. Aurora needed braces. My mother had problems with her gallbladder, a surgery that wasn’t completely covered by insurance (meaning paying out of pocket while petitioning). The rent increased by the state cap maximum.

“He doesn’t approve of the idea of me dating.”

“And we care about his opinions.”

I bite the inside of my cheek because Lucas has been tossing around the we more frequently these days, impatient at the things we’re not ready for which he knows are really all . . . my hang-ups.

“Sooner or later, we have to tell him.”

“Later,” I plead, hoping Lucas will stay patient with me just a little while longer. “I don’t mean to—” I bite the inside of my cheek even harder, at a loss for words, wanting to just hang on to the joy of nationals a little longer, to not deal with feelings and talks at this particular moment.

Lucas grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. “I know. I’m sorry.”

He smiles at me, and I think, for a moment, that it will be okay.

31

A CLOSET CUDDLER

PRESENT

Iwake with Lucas tangled around me, one arm underneath, supporting the place where the pillow ends, and another wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer, binding me to him even in sleep.

Lucas has always been a closet cuddler. No matter how much I tried to get him his own set of blankets, sometime, in the deep of the night, he’d find me, nuzzling into my neck, his beard forever tickling me awake.

It takes long, patient minutes to disentangle myself so I can shower. I lock the door and try to be quick, knowing that if Lucas wakes up, he’ll try to join me.

I change into the only pajamas I have that will hide the rash, a too-old almost matronly nightdress that, other than a small bow in front, could have been worn by Scrooge in A Christmas Carol.

At home, I have a variety of sexy undergarments I wear to convince myself that I don’t hate my body. Of course, that only works when I’m feeling merely bad as opposed to OMG-awful.

On awful days, nothing helps.

On awful days, I usually just curl up with ice cream and my roommates. Though now that Daisy has moved across the country, I guess that’s singular now: roommate. Just Gwendy, when she’s here.

By some miracle, the rash has actually shrunk. It’s receded from my thighs, and though it’s visible along my belly, a normal bathing suit would likely cover me . . . enough.

Lucas is still asleep by the time I come out. I towel my hair gently, the green staining the towels. I haven’t been careful about maintenance, and though I’ve ordered black dye, if anyone looks closely, they might detect the small bald spots the green normally helps hide.

I sigh and head to the balcony, hoping the view will chase away the melancholy.

Unlike Brody and Vi’s balcony, mine is smaller but more secluded. Because my room’s at an angle, I have a smaller slice of that ocean view, but also, no other balconies in sight.

I stand there and let the warm ocean wind dry my hair. The views are predictably spectacular. It’s beautiful moonlit sky reflected across endless expanses of ocean. It’s picturesque palm trees and the ocean symphony of waves crashing.

From behind, I hear the door slide open, and Lucas joins me, placing his arms on either side of me, caging me in. He’s wearing boxer briefs but is otherwise naked, the warmth of his body heat like a blanket around me.

I laugh at how solid he is now.

“What?” He nips gently at my ear, nuzzles against my neck.