Page 75 of Deep End

“Have you ever hiked around this area?”

“Oh, yes. Several times. I’m happy to give you some recs, if—”

“Nah, we know where we’re going. Would love for you to come with us, though.”

Oh.Oh. “Thank you, that’s really lovely, but . . .” Does he think I’m Lukas’s girlfriend?

“But?”

Say that you have class. A date. Say something about being allergic to the sun. But when I sneak a glance at Lukas and find him staring, all I feel is a frisson of annoyance thathe’snot the one put in theunpleasant position of lying to his kind brother, and what comes out of my mouth is “I doubt Lukas wants me to go with you guys.” It’s, at least, the truth.

Which is why I’m taken aback by the deep laughter that pops out of Jan. “I’m no mind reader, but I know my brother, and he very much wants you to come. And even if he didn’t . . .” His smile is a bottomless pool of charm. “Iwant you to come. That’s what matters.”

CHAPTER 31

LUKAS’S NAME SOUNDS DIFFERENT IN HIS BROTHER’S MOUTH.

Jan’s English is more accented, the grammar a bit stiffer, as though he began learning it too late to hit the perfect window of opportunity. I listen to their bickering—You’re a reckless driver. I’m not, Jan. Scarlett, is he not a reckless driver? I’m just glad he didn’t get a vanity plate.—and don’t bother hiding my smile. Every once in a while, when they’re talking about practical matters that don’t involve me, they break into Swedish.

It’s lovely to hear. Pitchy, melodic. An interesting combination of pillows and sharp edges. Sounds I could never reproduce, not even if I took daily classes on tongue positioning for the rest of my life. Peaks and dips. Songlike and calm.

The difference between Jan’sLukasand mine is mostly in theuands, and it makes me almost morbidly eager to find out how Lukas pronounces his own name. Is it weird, the way we all twist it into something else? What’s it like, living in a second language? Maybe I’ll ask, if it ever comes up. If we ever talk again.

And perhaps we will, because as awkward as being here is, he seems genuinely happy to have me along for the ride. It’s nice to beoff campus in the middle of the week, in a place that’s never been touched by chlorine. On Wednesdays, I usually catch up on schoolwork, but the rolling hills and chaparral of the City of Palo Alto parks department couldn’t care less about my outstanding MCAT scores and inward dives.

I needed this break. A moment to recalibrate my perspective. I used to come here all the time as a freshman. When did I stop?

“Turn back,” I order from the bottom of a hill. Jan and Lukas do—two almost identical handsome, sweaty, freckled faces—and I snap a pic with my phone. “I’ll send it, and you can forward it to the rest of your family.”

Lukas snorts. “You think Dad’s gonna cry, Jan?”

Jan laughs. “He’s gonna send us a four-paragraph autocorrected wall of text about how proud he is of us. Because we went for a walk.”

“He sounds nice,” I say, hurrying behind them. When a misstep almost has me tripping, Lukas’s fingers are suddenly under my arm. They stay long after I’ve regained my footing.

“Dad’s great,” Jan agrees. His eyes stay on Lukas’s hand, and I hastily free myself. “But . . .”

“But?” I ask.

“We think he read too many parenting books,” Lukas explains. He trails right after me, as if keeping tabs. Making sure I don’t slip again. “Especially too many stressing the importance of praising your children for their smallest accomplishments.”

“And doting on all of them equally. Oskar’s a woodcutter, and Leif’s a human rights lawyer. Dad performs the same enthusiasm for a finished Adirondack chair and a granted asylum.”

“We should really have a talk with him.”

Jan scoffs. “Not until you win another Olympic medal and he equates it to me publishing a blog post.” During the drive he explained that he’s a Victorianist. He’s visiting Lukas after attendinga conference down in LA, and tomorrow will return to Paris, where he lives with his partner andfour cats.

“How many of you are based in Sweden?” I ask.

“Only Oskar.”

“Source of big pain for Dad,” Lukas adds.

“Biiiiigpain. But he’ll never admit it.”

Lukas nods. “If you love something, set it free.”

“He sounds kinda . . . perfect?”

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