Page 113 of The Irresistible Distraction

Brody shakes his head and leaves to get us tissues before coming back and wrapping us together into one giant hug. Long minutes pass and several tissues are used and discarded before Sebastian’s capable of continuing.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I wanted to, and then I think Mackenzie freaked out about the whole thing and I figured it was a moot point, but then the other day . . . Dad asked me if I’d like to live with just him, if he moved back.”

My grip on him tightens to the point that he starts to complain.

“I’m sorry,” my son whispers.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I should have known something was wrong. I did know, I just didn’t ask.”

We’re all quiet for a moment, Sebastian crying again while I’m fighting back tears. There’s a tiny part of me that wants to not believe this, to think that perhaps Sebastian misinterpreted . . . but I know better.

This explains so much.

This explains everything.

Not just Sebastian’s moodiness over these past few months—first with the burden of a secret he couldn’t share and then later likely the guilt of not telling me—but also Jesse’s oddness, Adeline’s aborted comment about Arthur’s expectations.

“If you’d like to live with your father, part-time . . .”

Seba shakes his head. “I don’t think I’d want to, but I also really don’t like it being a secret.”

I nod, holding my face in what I hope is a calm expression, even though I have a surfeit of energy and anger.

“If you want to move to Beverly Hills with Brody, you should be able to. Dad’s been making decisions that are best for him, sometimes for him and Mackenzie. You should get that too.”

Brody raises his hand, because staying quiet for this long has probably given him a small aneurysm. “Speaking for myself, I would love more time with your mom, more time with you, and more time with the both of you.” He loops his arm around my back and looks down at me and then my son. “It doesn’t have to be Beverly Hills. We can decide together what makes sense for us.”

His words settle between us, more solemn than usual.

It doesn’t take long to realize the truth of it, that Brody wants us to be happy, is willing to contort his life to fit ours.

Seba breaks the tableau, eyebrows furrowed. “Did you just propose to my mom?”

Around us, Brody’s entire body trembles with laughter. “Yeah. It’s possible you didn’t notice because I’ve fudged it up a little, here and there, but I just proposed to both of you. ”

I laugh, even as I’m still tearing up. “I distinctly remember someone telling me that that’s one, gross, and two, illegal.”

“It’s not a very romantic proposal,” Sebastian notes. “Dad got Mackenzie a ring and was going to film this whole thing with flowers.”

“And it’s Brody’s second attempt,” I share conspiratorially.

“OMG,” Sebastian says, and I realize it’s the first time he’s talked in the text-messaging language of his peers. Oh. Em. Gee. I’m oddly thrilled by this, the conversational artifact that proves Sebastian is making friends.

My son’s attention is still focused solely on Brody, though. “You really proposed over a poker game? Dude.” Sebastian says this last word in a way that’s laced with supreme disappointment, in a I’m never going to get over this way.

“It was a momentary lapse of judgment.” Brody squeezes us tighter.

“Dude,” Sebastian repeats, this time with a slight smile on his face.

“Technically, I do have a ring, which was purchased before the credit card ban. But . . . considering how fake poor I am, I was wondering if this might be the right moment to say that, with access to my credit cards . . . money can solve a lot of problems.” Brody’s more gripping us to him than hugging by now; he grins broadly, looking so absolutely brimming with joy that I can’t help but grin back, even though my face is still tearstained. Brody looks like he already knows the answer, but he asks again. “Is that a yes?”

I look at Sebastian, because it feels like a joint decision, a permanent expansion of our family. “I mean, it’s not my marriage, but yeah, I vote yes . . . if you, you know, if you proposed a little better.”

Brody gives me a brief, hard kiss, and Sebastian makes a disgusted noise while he tries to disentangle himself. “That’s your one kiss for the day. Respect the IHDA quota.”

“No proposal day exception?”

“Nah. This wasn’t the real proposal, this was just your second attempt,” my son deadpans, even though I can see that he, too, is emotional.