Page 101 of The Irresistible Distraction

Funny.

Because we grew up together, I always somehow assumed our memories were shared, our histories intertwined. I hadn’t seriously considered that to Jesse, I was still the little girl who was eight months younger, always looking up to him for guidance, who needed to be rescued from spiders and sometimes had ideas he deemed crazy.

I let a few moments pass, count internally. Finally, I say, “I learned something about stars the other day.”

“You taking an astronomy class now?” Jesse’s smile is indulgent, his tone relieved. He has always loathed confrontation. “Another community college course?”

I shake off the insult this time. “Someone taught me that when we look at the stars, it’s both their history and our present.”

“Because of how long it takes the light to reach our eyes, yes. Basic physics.”

I don’t need him to mansplain this part to me. Jesse forgets I was in his science classes with him, did just as well. Sometimes better. “Many of the stars we’re looking at are already dead, the fading light the only evidence they ever existed.”

Jesse nods again, but I can see that he’s getting impatient with my metaphor. He gets that way whenever he’s not yet done making his point, because he’s not listening, just waiting for his turn.

“That’s what I feel when I look at you now, Jesse. You’re my history and my present. There’s no way I can ever fully divorce you because of Sebastian. You’ll always be a part of Seba’s life, which means you’ll always be a part of mine. But our relationship is a dead star—beautiful once upon a time.”

30

BRODY IS HERE TO FLEECE US

Jesse comes in for a quick hug from Sebastian and promises that as early as next week, maybe the week after, things are going to change. I suck in a breath as I look at them because I don’t know how many more hugs there will be like this. Sebastian’s getting to an age where I can’t easily cover for Jesse, and as much as Jesse says he’ll be around more . . . I’m just not sure how much of that is wishful thinking. Just as being a single mother is a core part of my identity, without which I almost don’t know how I’d function . . . being a father is not a fundamental part of how Jesse sees himself.

Jesse comes to stand in front of me, and the hug he gives me is both too tight and too awkward, but I allow it because I don’t know how else to communicate to Jesse that he will always be family.

When he lets go, Jesse turns to Seba, voice full of forced joviality. “I’ll expect you to make time for me. We’re going to be getting a lot more father-son time soon.”

Sebastian nods, and it’s hard not to see the way my son shrinks into himself a little. Despite the love, there is also distrust, born from years of delays and missed visitations.

I take the lukewarm animal-style cheeseburger the boys saved for me while they head over to Vera’s to get the dogs so we can take them for an overdue walk.

Being left alone, even for a few minutes, feels torturous. My skin tingles from the aftershocks of what I told Jesse, all of which feels weighty and truthful. I am about to burst into tears or hysterical laughter, maybe both, in a way I don’t quite know how to settle down from.

When Brody comes back, he takes one look at me and opens his arms, offering a hug. I can feel him, over my shoulder, gesturing for Sebastian to join, and I’m soon sandwiched between them, crying and not sure why I can’t seem to stop.

“I’m sorry,” I gasp out.

“It’s okay,” my son tells me.

“Lukewarm In-N-Out just isn’t the same. I’d cry too,” Brody contributes.

I hiccup through my tears, grateful for the normalcy of a walk with the dogs, that we have this extra day where Walter’s overseeing the diner and Reuben and Mario are both helping out. Afterward, Brody offers to make grilled cheese sandwiches as a late-afternoon snack since (according to both boys) In-N-Out was breakfast and we’ve finally run out of Cynthia’s frozen meals.

It turns out that Brody, even though he thinks he knows how to make a grilled cheese . . . does not.

“I got a 176 on the LSAT,” he mutters when his third attempt comes back burnt.

“I think the trick is in paying attention.” Each time, I’ve watched as Brody starts the process correctly, but then gets distracted by the photos I’m slowly uploading and starting to edit on the iPad, or by Sebastian, who is coding at the kitchen counter, because he enjoys being around Brody more than he likes being alone in his room.

By the fourth attempt, which is almost edible, I take over, teasing that this is just his way of getting out of kitchen duty. Brody gives me his roguish grin, unperturbed by his culinary deficiencies. “If it were college, I’d just offer to tutor you through your physics, but I might be out of things to barter here.”

“You could give me physics homework,” Sebastian asks hopefully. He still doesn’t understand all the passages from the Feynman book we’ve had to renew once and will have to renew again.

Brody gives me a look, and I can’t help but laugh at the pleading expression he contorts his face into. “Sure, go give my son some homework, but also, find the cards, everything else—don’t forget, it’s your big poker party.”

“I know I haven’t been talking about it enough—” next to him, Seba laughs, because Brody has been talking nonstop about how epic this gathering will be, “—but I could never forget poker.” Brody slings an arm around Seba and carelessly offers him a package of wasabi peas. Seba’s palate probably hasn’t expanded enough to accept this new flavor, but I appreciate that Brody is always trying, that there are two of us constantly trying to play the feed-my-son game.

Later, after I’ve successfully fed us with unburnt sandwiches, we drop Sebastian off at the sleepover Brody arranged, and because there’s still a couple of hours before people show up, I expect Brody to attack me as soon as we get back to Vera’s.