The Statistically Unlikely Reunion (Grad or Die Romance #2)

1. Please RSVP Is Redundant

PLEASE RSVP IS REDUNDANT

PRESENT

I’ve barely gotten out of the apartment elevator when Brody calls. Brody Huntington-Branca—who believes texting is more efficient and being in person is the only way to truly converse—never calls.

“I’m in a meeting?”

“Since you’re asking, the answer is no: I know you’re not in a meeting. You’re still home.”

“That’s creepy—”

“You can turn off location sharing whenever you want.” And yes, he’s got me there.

There’s no longer any real reason for us to be sharing location with each other.

We’re not undergraduates traveling out of the country.

We’re no longer teammates who need to coordinate practice schedules or check in while traveling.

But Brody’s the only undergraduate friend I’ve hung on to, and it’s always been comforting to know he’s still there for me.

“Well, now I know you’re stalking me—”

“You’re not answering my texts. And since we’ve previously established you don’t date or have a nominal version of what others label ‘life,’ you have no excuse.”

I let out a small huff of amusement. “Who talks like that?”

“I do. The highly paid lawyer you helped get through the LSATs.” I can hear the tap-tap-tap of a pen in the background, because Brody can never sit still. “Now, considering I normally bill by the quarter hour, can you provide a semibelievable explanation as to why you’ve been ignoring me?”

I tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear and, to my utter disgust, find that more than a few of the currently dyed-green strands fall out.

I should be used to it by now. I’m that poster child: This is your body.

This is your body with lupus. Hair loss is one of the most common side effects, and yet each time any of my once-thick hair comes out, I’m caught off guard. Emotional.

As the silence drags, Brody sighs dramatically, and I can practically picture him squeezing his eyes shut in frustration. “Vi’s flipping out, which means you need to RSVP. Please.”

“Fun fact! To say ‘please RSVP’ is redundant—”

“Répondez s’il vous pla?t. Respond if you please. Yes. I took French. I’m purposefully doubling down on pleases because I’m that desperate.”

“Right.” I shake the stray hairs off my hand and press the faded pedestrian crosswalk button.

“Want to guess how much I charge per hour?”

“An obscene amount?”

“You’d call it offensive. Vulgar. But instead of checking on clients in a way that contributes to those indecently high hourly rates, the same ones paying for your hotel room—”

“You don’t have to pay for my hotel room.”

“Already done, reserved in your name months ago. And what do I ask for in return? Your eternal gratitude tattooed across your forehead? No. All I ask is an RSVP and maybe some appreciation from my best man—”

“Best woman.”

“Best friend, who’s arguing semantics in a pathetic attempt to stall—”

“I wouldn’t say—”

“—mere weeks before the actual wedding.”

“Okay.” I capitulate, laughing because this kind of half amusement, half exasperation is what Brody always inspires. “You can stop guilt-tripping me.”

“You’re coming.” I can tell Brody’s in full lawyer mode, his voice commanding in a way I’m not used to. A moment later he softens his tone to confirm. “Right?”

If I had a way out, I’d take it. I’ve googled fake diseases, hoping to find one that skirts the line between not life threatening (read: don’t give me and my sudden medical event a second thought, please have fun at your wedding) and still undeniably temporarily incapacitating (read: digestive, and I’ll be too busy hugging the toilet to walk down the aisle in that tux). The options were scant.

Miniscule.

Microscopic.

And it’s not like I’m about to tell Brody about my lupus. He’s already kept so many of my secrets over the years, I don’t want to give him one more burden.

“Yes.” I breathe in through my nose and breathe out again, counting to five. “I’ll come to your Big Fat Splashy Hawaiian Wedding.”

“The whole week before too. Vi and I scheduled it around UCLA’s spring break. For you.”

“Yes.” I don’t deserve such a loyal friend—one who continually puts up with my lapses in communication and who is endlessly tolerant.

“And promise you’ll be one of my two best people.”

I don’t need to ask who the other one is.

Brody and Vi’s registry lists a slew of other groomsmen, most of whom I don’t know (a couple with google-able names, because that’s the type of wedding this is), but Lucas Sebastian Murray and Lorelai Anneliese Zhao have been listed as the two best people for months.

My voice is surprisingly thick with emotion as I confirm, “I’d be honored. ”

“Shit, you’re not getting all weepy on me, are you, Cap? I always suspected you were a sap.”

I laugh again, even though it is noticeably a bit watery.

Lucas was the anxious and emotional one, the one who invited us over for family meals and cried during everything from animated movies to, sometimes, commercials.

Brody was the carefree entertainment, the one who always dragged us on new adventures, reminded us that there was more to life than academics.

I was the rock. The cold and calculated taskmaster.

“Listen—” I’m already breathing heavily, though I’m still a block from campus.

“Wait, are you jogging? Does Ms. Zhao exercise now?” Brody’s tone is light and teasing.

“No.” According to Dr. Grier, tendonitis and chronic fatigue are common with lupus, and because nerves compound physical symptoms, even navigating an emotionally tricky conversation while walking can feel exhausting.

Brody clears his throat. “It’s been six years. I know seeing Lucas will be difficult, but—”

“Stop.”

I think, but do not say: It will be impossible.

I think, but do not admit: It will likely break me. Again.

Instead, I tell my oldest friend, “I really do have a meeting. Abe emailed saying he has to see me before today’s guest speaker. Most likely, he just wants to check I’ve booked the correct number of people for dinner—”

“Kleinberg’s still treating you like his personal secretary?”

“I mean, I am his only female graduate student. And Abe’s been alive since well before suffrage, so he’s probably forgotten I’m not his secretary.”

“You had your pick of advisors.”

Yes, I did. Even within UCLA, my top-choice school given it kept me close to my mother and sisters, there were three other respected and respectable professors who expressed interest. But none of the other potential mentors had Abe’s inglorious track record.

Another mentor might have pushed me to publish quickly, might have made the type of conference suggestions and networking introductions necessary to obtain a postdoctoral position.

But Abe?

Abe Kleinberg will sit on his funding and rot on the corpses of his past accomplishments, shackling as many graduate school minions as he can. While the national average for finishing a PhD is already hovering at nearly eight years, Abe’s students average nine and a half.

It was my primary reason for selecting him.

Everyone—except Brody, who knew my reasons—thought I was crazy.

“There might be other ways out of your contract. You could also consider the consequences of breaching—”

“Stop.” My tone is gentle because it’s nice that after so many years Brody’s still trying, that he hasn’t figured out I have neither the strength nor the motivation to fight for anything these days.

At some point, Abe will sign off on my graduation.

Eventually, I’ll make a decision about my findings.

Either I’ll share the full results with Abe, who will publish a series of papers he’ll likely try to claim credit for, or I’ll share them with my father, letting him monetize my research while hoping a small portion of the proceeds will benefit my sisters.

Postgraduation, my father will order me to head up either the Shanghai or New York office, likely whichever office he doesn’t have a girlfriend stationed at.

Then I’ll give in to Dr. Grier and have the operation.

Or I won’t.

None of it really matters to me anymore.

“You were always going to have to face Lucas eventually.” Brody’s voice is tinged with something I can’t quite identify. There’s an anxious burst of pen-tapping from his end before he clears his throat. “I was waiting for the right time, but—”

I’m in front of Engineering VI, a building designed for interdisciplinary research and which looks like a mishmash of red brick and glass enclosures. Abe fought to get a ground-floor office and then immediately designed it to look exactly like his old space.

“Is everything okay?”

“With me? Of course. This is about you—”

I cut him off because the last thing I want to do is wallow in my own problems—or worse, drag Brody down with me. “Then let’s just talk later.”

And by later, I mean sometime after our sun expands into a red giant.

Or never.

Whichever comes first.

There’s a small pause before Brody asks, a bit cryptically, “You know I’d never share your secrets, right?”

“Of course.”

“And that loyalty has been extended to other extremely close friends as well.”

“Sure?” It’s such a weird thing to say, and not at all like Brody to beat around the bush with me. “And, I’m assuming, every client.”

There’s another pause, another burst of tap-tap-tapping.

“Good luck.” Brody’s tone is strained before he hangs up.

I shake my head and knock on Abe’s door; I’ll text Brody about it later. Hopefully, he’s just stressed about the upcoming wedding. Maybe he needs to check in about coordinating tuxedos or something else his bougie, definitely-going-to-be-covered-by-the-press wedding will likely demand.

“Enter.”

It’s only after I open the door that Brody’s words make sense, that I realize I’m not the only extremely close friend still location-sharing with Brody.

Because the man who stands to greet me is not whatever guest speaker we’d initially advertised—someone whose name I’d read and forgotten—but Lucas Sebastian Murray.

Lucas, whose too-familiar lips are spreading into an unfamiliar smirk. Lucas, who looks as unsurprised by my appearance as I am shocked by his.

Earlier, Brody said it had been six years.

I didn’t correct him, even though I knew he was wrong.

It’s been five years, twenty-eight weeks, and three days since I last saw Lucas.

It hurts as much now as it did then.