Page 32 of The Irresistible Distraction

“But you’re better?” Sebastian’s tone is sullen, and I try (but fail) to stifle a giggle by stealing a strawberry. Vera didn’t insist they put the board away when she served them, for which I’m grateful. I know she hoped perhaps for a nicer meal with her nephew, but Sebastian’s often better about eating if there’s something else he can engage in.

“I’m more trained, certainly.”

Vera chimes in now, firmly Team Brody. “Did I forget to mention? Brody was quite well ranked at one point.”

“Stopped when I was a high candidate master, if memory serves.” He takes a bite of the crepe, taking a moment to compliment Vera before turning back to a now wide-eyed Sebastian, “But I’d be happy to give you pointers, if you’re willing.”

It is the absolute perfect thing to say. I feel a clenching in my heart, wondering if Brody is the type of guy who breaks promises as easily as he makes them. Jesse always overpromises, despite meaning well. He never remembers how difficult his schedule can get.

Sebastian, for his part, shrugs, trying to play it cool. But I know the idea of a chess coach is a far greater lure than basketball ever could be. I try to catch Brody’s eye, to warn him not to give my son false hope, but Brody merely smiles back. “I’ll be here for at least three months,” he says in explanation. “Plenty of opportunities to transform Sebastian into a more vicious player.”

“And that’s what my son needs? Violence in his chess game?”

Brody’s face creases into something that is a cross between amusement and confusion. “Half of chess is putting your opponent in checkmate. Sebastian has good instincts but missed opportunities because he was too focused on taking individual pieces. He was so invested in the process, he forgot about the endgame.”

I can see the way Sebastian is hanging on every word, and I decide that this, here and now, is not the time to have a prolonged parenting discussion with Brody. It’s not the right time to ask why chess “instincts” matter, nor to explain that even if chess is Sebastian’s current obsession, I have no real desire to deepen that or mold him into a vicious player.

Jesse has been advocating for Sebastian to join a team sport, and though my ex and I disagree about whether our son will benefit, socially, from basketball, I’m equally concerned that allowing my already too-introverted, too-skinny son to hyperfocus on an intense, intellectual game isn’t the right path.

I add some more fruit to Sebastian’s plate, and for once he’s too distracted to fight me.

My phone vibrates again as a string of texts arrive.

CLARK: You’re overthinking.

CLARK: It’s just chess.

CLARK: And if I’m missing something, we can talk about it.

I’ve already started composing a reply when Vera reminds us, in her teacher voice, but with a small smile playing at her lips, “No phones at the table, my dears.”

Like guilty teenagers, we pocket our phones, though Brody grins at both of us while doing so, not the least bit abashed.

Though the boys put the board away, much of the rest of breakfast unfolds via two distinct conversations: The boys talk chess while Vera and I talk-not-talk about Brody.

Their side is basically:

“That opening you made⁠—”

“Unofficially, the move’s called the Ruy Lopez.”

“Great, what if I had⁠—”

While our side is Vera being un-discreet, considering how small her round table is:

“Asking for a friend, because I’m not sure I’m ready for the answer. How G-rated was it?”

As well as, “Was it romantic? Always wondered whether romance is in, uh, Clark’s wheelhouse.”

At which point Brody interjects, “I’m Mr. Romance.”

“No,” Vera disagrees. “You’re Mr. Credit Card and Big Bouquets. Grand Instagram-worthy gestures are not the same as romance.”

Thankfully, Sebastian redirects the conversation, giving me a moment to collect myself and to organize my thoughts, particularly my need to reconcile the almost magnetically charming Clark with my headcanon of the irresponsible, spoiled, works-for-his-parents Brody Branca.

After breakfast, when it seems clear Sebastian’s about to ask Brody for a rematch, I intervene. “We need to be getting home.”

“Why?” Sebastian’s voice is half whine, all petulance.