25. Nothing to Explain
NOTHING TO EXPLAIN
PRESENT
“There’s nothing to explain.”
Lucas’s glare would probably seem withering to anyone else. But I know him—or at least I knew him—too well for such intimidation tactics. I’ve seen him with his head between his knees, scared. I brought Kleenex knowing he’d cry within the first five minutes of Pixar’s Up.
“Nothing to say about why you have an NDA? About why a graduate student, who always claimed to need money for her family, would sit on a program worth tens of millions of dollars while living in a run-down two-bedroom apartment and thrifting clothes?”
When I remain silent, Lucas turns his head towards Brody.
“Brody’s my lawyer. He can’t say anything.”
Brody tilts his head, clearly wanting to clarify the bounds of the agreement.
Lucas, quite unerringly, fixates on the perfect question. “How long has Brody been your lawyer? That’s not protected, right?”
“Our firm has represented Lorelai for several years.”
“Brody.” Lucas’s voice is professorial, just a tinge disappointed in his dullard student.
I shake my head at my best friend and one-time closest confidante, but the truth is, Brody’s also played that role for Lucas. Clearly, Brody’s ready to confess as much as he’s able. “Almost six years.”
“So, around the time Lorelai’s father bought the apartment complex my mother lives in?”
I suck in a breath as Lucas turns shockingly calm eyes in my direction. Official real estate ownership transfers are public records, if you know where to look. But… “How long have you known?”
“Almost two months. My mother won’t move, you see. I’ve offered, several times, to buy her a nicer place, but she maintains that she loves her neighbors and the rent is reasonable.” A pause. “How reasonable, you might ask?”
I shake my head, because there’s no need: This was part of my agreement with my father.
“She told me, again, just two months ago, that no one’s raised her rent in six years.
” Lucas shakes his head, as if astonished at his own stupidity.
“I didn’t even question it when she said it.
Lots of landlords are laissez-faire. Maybe they thought she was rent-controlled.
Maybe they were planning on tearing it down and hadn’t gotten around to permits.
Who knows? Either way, it finally occurred to me that the only way to improve my mother’s living situation was to purchase the building she currently lives in, renovate it around her.
Imagine my surprise when my assistant told me who owned it. ” He turns his gaze to Brody.
“I wasn’t personally involved in that transaction. That said, public records would show—”
“That it closed weeks before Lorelai dumped me.”
Brody nods before throwing a helpless gaze toward me. “He’s Lucas Fucking Murray—he was always going to figure it out eventually.”
“You kept this from me for six years.”
“NDA,” Brody tells Lucas, a muscle at his jaw ticcing.
“No worries. The timeline seems clear: Lorelai’s father develops an interest in run-down Pasadena properties. Lorelai dumps me and gets engaged to Tatum Huang. Suddenly, there are lots of photos of highly publicized fundraisers.”
I shrug now, because he’s clearly figured most of it out.
There is a tense beat as the three of us regard one another, a weird standoff that’s just missing Western music, guns, and a tumbleweed.
Brody is the first to clear his throat. “Here’s what isn’t protected by NDA: I was interning with my parents when Lorelai texted me needing a lawyer. My mother was hired, but as an intern, I was bound by the same attorney-client privilege as soon as we signed her.”
I can’t make eye contact with Lucas. I’m too scared to look up and see how he might react. Instead, I shake my head at Brody, who knows I wanted Lucas to know as little as possible. To know nothing, if possible.
My best friend of eight years, for once, ignores me. “It’s a very thin line I’m treading here, but when Lorelai first called me as a friend, I took notes. If I had, theoretically, kept those notes, they’d be inadmissible, but potentially informative.”
He reaches for his wallet and takes out a folded, frayed piece of binder paper that has a noticeable coffee stain. I get up so quickly I almost trip over my dress, but Lucas is faster, taking the folded paper from Brody before I’m even halfway across the room.
Brody spreads his hands wide in supplication.
“I’m gonna say this once and then we’ll never mention it again, okay?
” He claps his hands together, the old Brody drama-queen flair we always teased him for, even though his voice is somber when he finally speaks.
“I’m sorry, Lorelai, for not being able to help you as much as I wanted to, as I ought to have.
I’m sorry, Lucas, that I kept this from you, that I couldn’t think of a way around needing to keep this from you.
This friendship has been the greatest privilege of my life.
Feeling as though I’ve failed you, both of you, is my biggest regret. ”
Lucas leans forward to embrace Brody, and I feel the hateful tears welling up.
I blame the lupus, because these days, I blame everything on lupus.
Brody’s lips move, close to Lucas’s ear, but I can’t make out any of the words.
Brody hugs me next. He squeezes both of my hands. “You don’t owe him anything, but he’s Lucas Fucking Murray. He figured most of it out before any note I might have given him. Meaning you have to decide whether you want to share your reasoning while you still can.”
Lucas waits for Brody to let me go before he stands and holds out a hand. “Are you willing to talk?”
“You said we had a truce.” I pack away my laptop with numb fingers.
From the way his eyes narrow, I can see how frustrated he is. “We can wait, if you’d prefer.”
“Brody and Vi—”
“Can definitely wait.”
I shake my head. “Nothing we say now changes what’s already happened. But if we act quickly enough, we can still help Brody and Vi.”
I hear Lucas mutter a quiet Fuck under his breath, can actually see the tic in his jaw as he tamps down his frustration.
But all he actually does is carefully put the still-folded piece of paper away in his own wallet.
The look he directs at Brody is almost feral.
“What’s the next activity on the agenda? ”
Brody passes a hand over his face again. “You’re really not going to tell him?”
I shake my head.
“Fine. I tried.” Brody takes out his phone and wipes away what looks like endless messages before he starts texting. “We can’t all pose at the golf course together. Lorelai’s strategy works best if we propagate different sets of pictures, divvy up the work among people we trust.”
Within a few minutes, Vi, Khloe, and even Vera arrive. Within the half hour, Brody’s parents as well as Vi and Khloe’s parents and stepparents are gathered.
Lucas doesn’t say anything when Beatrice stops to give me a hug.
“When Brody went through his appendicitis thing,” I whisper, as an explanation of why Brody’s mother is hugging me.
He’s silent for a beat, but then instead of accepting my story, Lucas reminds me that he’s always been great at solving riddles. There’s no way he can actually know and yet his voice is confident as he says, “And she was your lawyer.”
Beatrice’s eyes widen slightly, and I decide to let it drop.
“It’s like Project Elrond,” I note, trying to lighten the mood.
Brody groans. “Again with this fucking nerd shit.”
But it’s Khloe who asks, “Wasn’t it the Council of Elrond?” At our questioning looks, she shrugs. “The trilogy’s a classic, and I completed several film classes.”
Lucas still looks faintly grim, but he’s the one who explains.
“Lorelai is doubling down on the nerd. In both the novel and the film trilogy for The Lord of the Rings, it was the Council of Elrond, where they met to determine the fate of the One Ring. But in The Martian, when they’re secretly meeting to decide how to rescue—”
“Matt Damon.” Brody nods along because it’s clearly been too long since he’s had attention, and he always interjects more when he’s nervous.
“Mark Watney,” Lucas continues. “They referred to it as Project Elrond, so the uninvited can’t guess at their intention.”
Khloe nods with the briefest of half smiles and moves closer to Lucas, shifting to better show off her cleavage, if Lucas happens to look down.
Because Vi and Khloe have apparently already briefed everyone on both the news and the general plan, planning the day is easier than it ought to have been.
Vi and Khloe’s parents—both sets—will golf with Brody, who will go out of his way to be, in his words, “Bro Dude to the Max.” He will be as extra as possible, with over-the-top celebrations meant to mimic the Brody-looked-upset pictures, to drive home the idea that Brody is just a passionate man, that the pictures with me had . . . nothing to do with me.
Vi and Khloe will continue on the originally planned biking trip with Brody’s parents, to show there’s no trouble in paradise, Vi happily bonding with her future in-laws, with perfect posture, while e-biking through the sites of Lāna?i.
(Never mind that, apparently, this had already been planned as the perfect opportunity to get coverage of the Gucci sandals and shoulder bag Vi had been gifted/not gifted.)
“They don’t need to be declared in quite the same way because it’s technically within the annual gift limit,” Vi explains.
“But she’ll be wearing teeny tiny flimsy sandals while biking.”
“It showcases her signature legs.” Khloe smiles at me, an almost creepily possessive hand on her twin.
And yeah, I’m kind of done with this conversation. I mean, they’re great legs, and I’m sure the sandals and purse are a year’s rent, but wow do I have nothing in common with these people.
Vi looks over to me. “Lorelai—you could join us, unless there’s a better photo op?” There’s no sarcasm in her voice, and I can tell she’s making a genuine effort with me.