Page 76 of The Irresistible Distraction

I suck in a breath because, deep down, I know one of the reasons I succumbed to the fantasy of a Jesse reunion four years ago was the idea that if he came back, I could easily give Sebastian a sibling.

“That said”—Brody’s voice brings me back to the moment—“Sebastian is awesome. He’s curious, has this magnificent dry wit about him, and yeah, if I could have more Sebas, I’d sign up for a dozen.” His voice shifts now and is infinitely more gentle as he continues. “But that’s what I want for myself. What I’d love for you and your sake, is that you don’t accidentally sleepwalk through some of the best times.”

I can’t help but remember what Sebastian said to me . . . that I was present, but absent.

Brody wipes away a stray tear, “I’ll never fully get it . . . but seeing what Lorelai went through has been the foundation of all my pro bono work. It’s mostly mothers, an occasional dad. But the point is I’ve witnessed how single parents entomb themselves within not just their duties but the constant strain of being both parents at once, until there’s nothing left of themselves.” When I shift at this, he smooths his hands along my arms before continuing. “Vacation me was all about finding myself, so that’s the exchange. You find yourself. Have long walks with Sebastian—who doesn’t really jog jog, I should warn you—and talk to him about all the crazy shit he’s trying to understand. Go visit Maggie. Do your photography and think about what you really want from this life.”

“What, exactly, do you get out of this?”

“When I’m at home or at Vera’s, I get bored. Agitated and fidgety. Sometimes I worry that at thirty, law is the only thing I’ll ever excel at. When I’m not busy enough to stop the spinning, I take on . . . new clients, declare that I’m running for office. Even though I’m supposed to be part-time while here, I’ve onboarded three new clients since coming, which is a disaster. You’re the second person who knows, and the first to guess, but yes: I fucking loathe practicing law. There’s nothing more miserable than putting on my suit and going into the office early, staying late, and negotiating for hours so that I can charge . . . hours. Combing through financial disclosures is tedious and repetitive and are things I have negative interest in.” At my look, Brody elaborates. “This exchange allows me something different, forces my mind to take apart other problems, keeps me away from the laptop I’d need access to when agreeing to an ever-higher workload. Maybe I’ll hate diner work so much I never bitch about law again.” He laughs, clearly more at himself than anything else. “So I’ll try live within your budget. I’ll let Cynthia and Cally take overdue vacations and I get to prove you wrong, to show you I can be Brody, man of the working class.”

“All this to prove a point?”

“I shaved my legs and wore a tutu for a week in college because I lost a bet.”

I’m laughing, even in the midst of what I thought was a serious discussion, because I can absolutely picture Brody, maybe during one of his bearded phases, in a pink tutu, manspreading during lecture.

“Joke’s on Qi, though—it was insane how many women hit on me that week.” The smile is back in full force. The dimple taunting me.

“What if you hate it, after two weeks or two days?”

“We renegotiate. After five weeks, if it’s going okay, you promise to take us seriously. You learn to say yes, at least to me, Sebastian, and all the things that might bring you joy. You stop making me bargain for every date and kiss.”

“This is a crazy idea.”

“You’d be surprised how many people have said that to me.”

I shake my head. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“Is that a ‘Yes, Brody’?”

I don’t hesitate nearly as long as I ought to. It’s scary to know I’ll have to think actively about the future, but this would not only give me time for myself, it allows me the chance to see whether Sexy Tourist could be Sexy Diner Manager, a glimpse into whether we might evolve into something longer term.

“Yes, Brody.”

He’s quiet for a moment; he presses his lips into my hair. “If I tell you a secret, will you promise not to weaponize it against me?”

I should be offended, but part of me loves that Brody, and only Brody, brings out this response in me. I’ve always been the follower—Maggie was the troublemaker, I was the peacekeeper. Jesse had the plans and dreams that eventually supplanted and obviated my own.

Only Brody pushes at my boundaries and actively expects me to push back, to weaponize his secrets. “Can I poke fun at it?”

“Not sure that’s a normal response, given I’m trying to bare my soul to you.”

“You told me normal is a distribution.”

“Fair.” He presses another kiss against my forehead and I can feel his smile. “Let’s shower first.”

“What?”

“Sebastian won’t be home until after dinner, which means we have plenty of time to shower, indulge in some makeup sex.”

“What if I don’t want makeup sex?”

“It’ll be even better than revenge sex, trust me.”

“You were about to share something personal?”

“We have to be a lot more naked before I’m going to be comfortable enough to share.”