Page 45 of The Irresistible Distraction

“They met during their residencies,” I confirm.

“Well, don’t you think Adeline would have told everyone by now? Hired someone to skywrite the news she was soon to have two medical doctors in the family?”

I purse my lips, because it’s a good point.

“Weren’t you the one who advised me not to make plans by guessing at other people’s intentions?”

Vera tilts her head at me again. “If I know my nephew, there will be no guesswork necessary.”

Even though I’m shaking my head, all I say is, “I’m going to miss you so much.” Grabbing her arm, I massage her hand as Brody (once again) checkmates my son. Instead of the usual grumpiness Sebastian displays when I’ve seen him lose in the past, my son laughs. He immediately begins asking Brody about the last series of moves, and watching the two of them together does funny things to my heart.

Though I fully expect that missing Vera will be my predominant emotion over the next few days, and while I do miss Vera terribly (despite our long text threads back and forth as she sends updates on everything from flying first-class to selfies with her sons), the feelings are surprisingly mitigated by Brody, who not only seamlessly takes over all the Sebastian-related duties, but also helps both my son and me understand what it’s like to be . . . caught in a human whirlwind.

Though I once thought of him as Clark the Sexy Tourist, carefree and careless, over the next few days, I realize the most appropriate way to describe Brody from Beverly Hills is neither of those adjectives.

Brody is relentless.

Determined.

Single-mindedly focused in his pursuit of me and Sebastian as a package deal.

His efforts manifest in a variety of ways. For example, Brody tells me that—given how difficult it is for us to have alone time—we’ll need to optimize our time together, to improve the quality of each minute he spends with me, regardless of who else is present.

To this end, he has his housekeeper/chef, Cynthia, prepare meals for the three of us, meaning diner leftovers go home with Maggie, Reuben, or Mario (making them lean Team Brody) and that there is less prep and cleanup for me.

He starts training Spock and Kirk, so I’ll never have to spend any of our time together walking (if I don’t want to) or cleaning up after them. It’s too early to know if it’s actually working, but Brody tells me he’s integrated some secondary runs into their routine, and he’s proactive about taking them out (or cleaning up the evidence), meaning that there are no messes for me to see to, and thanks to some bougie, singly-wrapped dog treats Brody ordered, Spock and Kirk have become slavishly devoted to the man.

And he tells me he’s going to slowly figure out how to help with Sebastian, which I take with not just a grain of salt . . . but perhaps a salt lick’s worth of sodium chloride. It’s almost exactly what Jesse says each time I speak to him: that he’s going to sit with our son and go through the homework, that he’s going to encourage Seba to exercise more, spend some time at the local park and basketball hoop.

Jesse means well, but by the time he actually comes to visit, their time together is so short (and Seba is so naturally inclined against exercise), that the reality is . . . it never happens.

But either because Brody plays chess, is still novel and interesting, or just via sheer charisma, by Tuesday night, Brody has bamboozled Sebastian into joining him on morning walks/jogs. I watch some of these negotiations in real time, and yet . . . I remain impressed. Of all the strengths my son has, willingness to exercise, or even maintain any baseline awareness that physical health is important, has never been one of them.

Brody starts with science-speak (that dopamine helps with not only focus and attention but also regulating goal-directed behavior, and that such delayed gratification is the type of longer-term strategic thinking that will help Seba be better at chess). He then adds in a healthy dose of guilt (that this permits Brody to sleep in, since he won’t have to jog before I bring Sebastian over). When my young son looks skeptical, Brody gives a sly smile before delivering what was likely his original offer: bribery (that a well-rested Brody means they can play chess both before and after I come home, meaning double the chess time).

In between all of this, Brody texts me constantly, even though he diligently follows our no-phones-at-the-dinner-table policy. Throughout the day, he sends messages that are by turns charming (pictures of the dogs or Seba doing homework, or sweet references like a Shawshank Redemption quote he thought of) and inappropriate (mainly, the various body parts of mine he would like to kiss or caress, that much as he enjoys time with me and Seba, he cannot wait for when he’ll get me alone). Given how much time he seems to be devoting to us, it’s almost as if Brody doesn’t have any other responsibilities.

Which . . . he might not.

Though he claims to be working part-time, dealing with clients and wrapping up meetings while Seba’s at school, I never see any specific evidence of this.

And throughout the course of that first seemingly endless week, whenever there’s even a semblance of alone time, Brody sneaks in as much physical affection and flirtation as is possible. In the mornings, Brody greets me with a latte (he alternates between lavender, my stated favorite, and a variety of other flavors, just in case another favorite is lurking around the corner), and depending on whether he thinks Sebastian is looking, he gives me anything from a lascivious wink to a firm kiss. If he has a few minutes, he massages my feet, because he knows they’re always aching. He’ll pull up my shirt just enough to kiss me on my waist and, far too often, he’ll give me what I assume people label as a panty-melting smolder.

It is one of the dumbest descriptors ever, and yet I finally understand it, because the way Brody smiles at me feels like heat. Intense, focused heat that ought not to be possible through a mere look or brush of his fingers against mine.

The worst (best) part?

It’s clear Brody knows his effect on me.

He’s always watching how I react, always teasing me during long nightly text message exchanges that have become our norm. Given how I’m definitely not ready to talk to Sebastian about whatever this is, Brody pushes for small concessions: constant small touches, grazing my fingers when he hands me the salt, a utensil, a latte, tackling me into a hug and/or kiss whenever Seba goes to the restroom or leaves the room for more than a minute. He treats every giggle, smile, or blush as a victory, but there’s no smugness in it. Just joy.

And yet . . .

What affects me the most, what worries and touches me more than anything else, is how attached Sebastian’s becoming. It’s not just the chess or the walk-jogs the two go on. It’s the way Brody works to get my son to engage in every dinnertime conversation. It’s not that Vera and I didn’t work to invite Seba into our nightly talks, it’s that Brody works to make every conversation an argument. They argue MCU versus DC with an intensity I’d be unable to even imagine faking, with jargon and details they excitedly explain to me, each trying to convince me of their side (whether Franklin Richards is massively FTL+ and the difference between a reboot versus a reimagining, the consequences of recasting within a comic universe). At times, I’m almost positive Brody is playing devil’s advocate on purpose, but I can’t deny how animated Seba is, how he rushes to assure me his homework is finished, because he wants to savor every minute of our meals together. They talk through riddles about prisoners, spaceships, and pirates and seem to revel in conversational tangents.

Tonight, they’re in the midst of a long debate over the scientific inconsistencies of sci-fi movies (specifically: if you’re ever jettisoned out of a spaceship, you’re going to die, but exhale, don’t inhale, on your way out).

“Boyle’s law, right?” It’s silly, but yes, I took high school chemistry, and even though I’ve never watched any movie (ever) closely enough to think through the scientific inaccuracies, I’m happy to just contribute.