Page 100 of The Irresistible Distraction

“Someone like me.”

“Less experienced, more innocent. Which is honestly what I’ve always loved about you. It wasn’t until I was with Mackenzie that I appreciated how special your worldview really is. You’re kind in a way that a guy like Brody will never appreciate. It won’t last, Sophs.”

Most days, I can barely control my own insecurities; the last thing I need is for Jesse to reflect and intensify the doubts already simmering there.

“Maybe I’m not looking for someone who’s meant to last. I’m twenty-eight, maybe I’m just having a casual relationship.”

Jesse looks at me and shakes his head. “You’re not capable of it, baby.” He takes my hand, which is suddenly ice-cold, in his and holds it firmly, squeezing my numb fingers to emphasize his point. “It’s probably why I kept talking about our future, because even though I was young and not ready to settle down, I always thought it would be you and me. I’m not giving up hope on our love story.” He looks at me with a sidelong glance and a shy smile that is so perfectly Sebastian’s I can’t help but feel a small squeeze of my heart, a small pang for what might have been. “But separately, as your friend, I have to tell you I don’t see how this thing with Brody can last.” He pauses in a way that feels less like a necessary conversational break and more the type that’s meant to build drama and suspense. “Mom said he’s working at the diner? I mean, it doesn’t add up, why a guy like that goes from banquets and Vi Shindler to Lake Arrowhead and . . .”

“Me.”

“It’s not that you aren’t pretty, Sophs. I always thought you were one of the cutest girls at Rim High.”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out how Jesse will finish. “But Vi Shindler is one of the most beautiful in the country?”

“In the world, Sophs.”

“Thanks for that.” I don’t bother to keep the resentment out of my tone. “Your argument, then, is that if I can’t hold your attention, how will I hold Brody’s?”

Jesse huffs out a frustrated sigh before continuing. “I’m saying that man is used to a completely different world. He’s the ultimate tourist, only he’s not just going to leave behind litter on our trails. He doesn’t care what he uses up while here, but you know whatever you have can’t last.”

I think about our one night in the two-story presidential suite, the access to Brody’s assistant, Cally, and his cook, Cynthia. I think about the new entertainment center he bought for Vera, these large transactions that were done with seemingly as much thought as selecting a head of lettuce, and I can’t help but agree a little. Life with Brody feels like a surreal vacation, a joy ride that’s so intense it can’t possibly be sustainable.

“I don’t mean to be hurtful,” Jesse says now, pulling me back out of my thoughts. “But you need to think this through. Especially because Seba is involved⁠—”

“I am always thinking about Seba.”

“But are you always making the best choices for him? Encouraging him to spend time with a guy you barely know. Letting him take US history over the summer, even though it’s foundational if he ever wants to consider law.”

“Seba doesn’t want to be a lawyer.”

“He’s ten. The point of parenting is that we know better.”

If Seba was here, he’d see me going through all my tells. Jesse doesn’t seem to notice that I’m counting, calming myself down, battling away the desire to fight my ex over the word we, or that our son deserves at least a modicum of agency. “If Seba changes his mind later, he can take AP US History or community college.” I don’t say that I’ve thought through these things on my own. That I’ve borne both the burden and the criticism, because in parenting, especially when you’re a single mother, there is never a path that does not garner (or even invite) critique.

“Community college,” Jesse says, with all the pride of someone who went straight to a four-year.

This time, there’s a small wobble I can’t quite control. “I’ve loved my classes there.”

“You don’t need to be so defensive. I haven’t had time to talk to you about it, but Dad and I have been talking . . .” Jesse trails off, lips tightening, gaze flickering to me guiltily.

“What does Arthur have to say?”

“That it’s a bit abnormal, the way you’re letting Seba skip so many grades, that we’re not allowing him to be well rounded and⁠—”

In a previous life, I might have apologized here, answered the unvoiced question.

Pre-Brody, I might have done these things. Now, all I ask is, “Maybe?”

“Maybe you haven’t really thought it through or let yourself be swayed by bad advice. You’re sometimes shortsighted. Remember in middle school when you convinced half of us to shave our heads?”

It takes a moment to locate the memory. Our seventh grade teacher was diagnosed with leukemia, underwent intensive chemotherapy, and I was the one who convinced almost a dozen of us to shave our heads in solidarity.

“That was . . . a good cause,” I say, wondering what Jesse’s memory of it is.

“My parents still complain about my class photo from that year.”

I look away and then belatedly remember to remove my hand from his grasp.