Page 99 of The Irresistible Distraction

“No.” My voice is quiet and cuts through his tirade, because that’s really all it is, the tantrum of a man who’s used to getting everything he’s ever desired. “You left us, Sebastian and me, because you wanted to live your college life. Then, when it was time to apply to medical school, you chose based on your wishes, even though medical school in Michigan meant you almost never came home. You missed a whole year of Sebastian’s life⁠—”

“The first year of medical school⁠—”

“I get it. Or—” I huff out a sound that approximates a laugh, thinking through Brody’s words while trying to explain his view of my life, that it’s never possible to completely walk in another’s shoes. “I don’t get it because I’ve never gone to medical school or a four-year college even. But no one forced you to go to UMich, no one forced you to be a doctor. You made decisions based on the life you wanted to build for yourself, and it was embarrassingly apparent that Sebastian and I were an afterthought. Worse, we were your backup plan. The day of our divorce, you told me you still thought we were endgame. In the years after, you were always promising you’d come back. You told Seba you’d teach him how to ride a bike, and he put off learning with Vera, with the other kids, because he was waiting for you.”

“You never told me that.”

“I did.”

This time he pauses, gathers himself. “Medical school and residency meant that sometimes I⁠—”

“No.”

I sound a tad angrier than I intended to. These aren’t new thoughts, but in the past, they were my inside thoughts, the ones I would hide in the corner of the closet with a box of tissues so Sebastian couldn’t hear me cry thoughts. And always before, the primary emotion I felt was sadness, that we weren’t worthy of Jesse’s love.

I really never thought of it from the other perspective.

That Jesse never tried to sacrifice or be worthy of us.

“Sebastian is a great kid—a little moodier these past few months—but he’s awesome. He’s kind and intellectually curious and thoughtful in a way you never see from ten-year-old boys. I’ve been so busy supporting and worrying about him, I’ve accidentally missed some of it. But you’ve chosen to miss all of it.”

“Why do you think I want to move back?”

“I don’t know, honestly. It’s not a decision you discussed with me, and it’s not something I expected.”

Jesse pulls over, because it’s not a smart conversation to be having while driving. He sounds bitter when he asks, “You haven’t thought about the possibility of us getting back together again? If so, what was our weekend four years ago?”

The Mistake.

It wasn’t my name for it initially. Maggie was the one to label it such, in the days and eventually weeks after Jesse left again, when it became clear Jesse wasn’t coming back anytime soon.

“Because I remember what I said to you—and more importantly, what you said to me.”

I close my eyes against the rush of shame. I remember too. How grateful I was when Jesse showed up, unannounced, to help with Sebastian’s birthday party. Vera was sick and Maggie was away on a last-minute second honeymoon, airline tickets to Cabo, the deal of a lifetime.

Even though I was twenty-four at the time, I felt ancient. Jesse texted, initially saying he didn’t think he could make the party, and then when he heard how much I was struggling, he swapped shifts and came back for the entire weekend.

“You told me you were considering taking a position in San Bernardino and”—I swallow because this next part doesn’t reflect well on either of us—“I was lonely.”

“You were lonely,” Jesse repeats, his handsome features twisted into a grimace.

“Of course, a small part of me thought it would be romantic, that it would be great for Sebastian if you came back to us.”

“And you’re sure that’s a past tense thought?”

“Yes.” Even I’m surprised by the lack of hesitation on my part, how sure I sound.

“Because of Brody Branca.”

I spend a moment thinking about this because, like Jesse, I’m an overthinker. I want to get this answer right. “Brody helped me realize I’m capable of having serious feelings for someone else, and so yes, that part is Brody. But . . . I have to be honest. When you didn’t come back? That killed a part of the dream. You never even told me you were considering a position in Newport Beach, because you didn’t think of me as a partner worthy of helping you make those decisions, and you didn’t give me the basic respect of just letting me know you changed your mind. Do you know what it’s like to be ghosted by your own ex-husband a week after he talked about getting back together?”

What I don’t say, because it’s just not necessary, is that he continued to send mixed signals. During the months and years after, when he remained single, he’d suggest the three of us go out together during visitation, continued making comments about maybe, eventually, us being a family again.

“I screwed up,” Jesse admits after a long moment. I watch as his fingers flex and unflex on the steering wheel, even though we’re parked to the side of the road. “But come on, Sophs. Didn’t a small part of you also believe we were always meant to be endgame? Even when we divorced, I tried to make it clear I just needed a little time, that I always wanted to be there for you and . . .”

“Yeah,” I say, trying to forestall the rest. There was a time when these were the exact words I dreamt of Jesse saying, but . . . “I believed you when you said that. And I waited while you went out into the world and explored, but . . . whatever opportunity might have existed to mend this has passed. There’s no way to chase it back, and if I’m being completely honest, I wouldn’t want to.”

“Even though I’m coming back? Even though we can be together as a family again? Because I get how someone like Brody might seem like grand romance to someone like you⁠—”