Page 108 of The Irresistible Distraction

I hold myself still at this, trying to match my reaction to my son’s.

“They offered to teach Brody, not. . . Dad?” I ask carefully, wondering what the repercussions are if the other fathers accept Brody, as opposed to Jesse, into the fold.

“Don’t overthink it, Mom. Brody was there when they were giving out the jerky.”

Then he starts telling me about the hawk feather he found, which he’s technically not allowed to keep, and I listen, thinking how wonderful it is that Seba’s at that age where even a simple hike through the woods (when it’s with friends) is . . . intrinsically awesome.

Cally’s email comes in while Sebastian’s still showering. She tells me she’s about to board a plane and so she’ll be out of service for at least the first part of her vacation, but that Brody (apparently, on his own and without her knowledge or assistance) has called in some favors and at least two influencers will be coming to the diner tomorrow. They’ll take pictures of themselves and tag #KeepCalmAndToastOn, which Cally assures me will boost business. She emails that she’s sorry this is so last minute, but Brody only told her . . . basically now. She warns me to prepare as much popcorn, cookies, etc. as possible because “Brody doesn’t know anyone not at least medium famous.”

Just as every sale is a good sale, every new like and follower is, I assume, also a good thing? And at 115 followers (three of which are Maggie, Tyler, and the newly illegally created Angelina Alessandra’s accounts), no influencer is too small or too unknown to help us out.

I’m sure I could text Brody to get more details, but I suspect it’s what he’s trying to push me to do (make first contact), and so . . . I don’t. When I’m ready, I need to have a long conversation with that man about boundaries and which things he’s not supposed to do without my blessing. Until then, I apparently have cookies to bake—my son and I spend a quiet afternoon together, mass-producing probably way too many batches while he rewatches Live Free or Die Hard in the background, because he’ll never be sick of Bruce Willis.

Because I’m weak, I have my phone out already and am considering whether I should message Brody when I see his text bubbles popping on and off, suggesting he’s composing a treatise.

Finally, his message comes through.

BRODY: I want to give you space. I also want to admit in writing (which I advise my clients to never do): I fucked up. Sometimes I feel like you’re my physics PhD, the thing I most craved but don’t deserve. May never earn. Will never deserve. The more I try, the more disastrous my mistakes. That said, I’m not giving up. It doesn’t matter if you need a week or a year, I’ll wait. I’d rather spend a lifetime waiting for you than . . . any other alternative I can conceive.

My fingers hover over the words there, as if I can absorb them into my bloodstream, tattoo them on my palm so I can read them each morning as I wake.

Only Brody inspires this level of emotion. Passion.

I want to answer so badly my fingers are shaking.

And I know, already, that I want to marry him, which is crazy.

So I remind myself that if I’m going to consider being with Brody for real, I need to learn to set and maintain some boundaries so that I’m not just subsumed by him.

Right before I fall asleep, a more true-to-Brody text comes through.

BRODY: And you should know from experience I can be quite creative.

BRODY: Especially while negotiating.

The first sign Brody’s influencers might be more than “medium famous” is when I get to the diner the next afternoon only to find that the parking lot and the extra-large overflow lot are both full. More than that, people are illegally double-parked and I see no sign of Brody’s car.

Fifty parking spaces, which we’ve never filled, even the one time we hosted a Christmas party for a local church, and today? I park two blocks away and hoof it in my old faded sneakers.

I’m sweating a little by the time I arrive, my bangs a bit damp with exertion because I parked downhill and lugged my camera equipment (two portable photography lights Vera gifted me and an extra lens).

Then, when I reach the diner, I find myself wishing I had asked Brody directly, so I’d know who might have generated more than fifty cars of interest. If I’d been thinking clearly, perhaps I would have guessed.

Because Brody has said, several times now, that he’s friends with all his exes.

And it’s perfectly in line with everything Brody’s ever told me about himself: Go big or go home. Why get a medium-level influencer when you can get Vi Shindler and also, apparently, Vi’s twin, Khloe.

33

THE TRUE REASONS HE AND I WERE ENGAGED

Afterward, when I finally unsilenced my phone, I understand what people mean when they say their devices are “blowing up.” The thousands of notifications Keep Calm and Toast On’s Instagram account has received feels like an explosion.

We get over a million subscribers, and my inbox is flooded with orders for cookies and popcorn I don’t have any hope of fulfilling.

Because the twins—separately, combined, whatever—have more than a hundred million followers.

But these are problems I’ll think about and worry about later today.