Page 118 of The Irresistible Distraction

“But. Caltech,” Brody says again, now slightly louder. “It’s where Feynman recorded his lectures.”

“Yeah, but I won’t be able to live there, because of my age.”

“I’ll drive you,” Brody volunteers, even as Seba shakes his head.

I smile, because yes, this was a problem I considered when I let Sebastian skip all those grades. At the time, all I wanted was to keep what seemed like an increasingly morose Sebastian . . . curious and happy. And even though his educational pathway has been nontraditional, Seba is healthy, content, and kind. He’s a kid who’s intellectually satisfied and also, bonus, seems increasingly capable of making (and thanks to Brody, standing up for) his own decisions.

When my son remains quiet, my husband tries again. “I’m not against you starting at San Bernardino Valley, but⁠—”

“Then it’s settled.” Seba throws my husband a devilish grin that is 100 percent Brody.

“I don’t think you’re winning this argument,” I tell Brody.

But since my husband’s not a man who gives up easily, he pivots, using a card he rarely takes out. “What does your father say about all this?”

Sebastian shrugs. “The same thing he always does: He doesn’t want to interfere. Ask Mom.”

Within a week of our wedding, Brody renegotiated our custody agreement as well as additional child support for Sebastian at a meeting with Arthur, Adeline, and Jesse. Brody argued, convincingly, apparently, that the initial agreement needed to be invalidated because of either unconscionability (that it was so unfair it should have triggered the court’s conscience) or, more simply, lack of legal representation (considering Arthur, as Jesse’s father, clearly wasn’t unbiased). There was also the matter of my age (because I’d still been a minor when I conceived Sebastian), as well as the lack of support, relative to Jesse’s income, we received.

I needed to look up all the terms afterward, but it didn’t matter.

It was perfectly clear to everyone that Brody was more than willing to take the matter to court, that Brody would relish the opportunity to outspend the Williamses, if that’s what it took. But also, the longer we talked, the more apparent it became that when it came to networks, Brody had all the same friends Arthur did . . . but people like Judge Benson increasingly liked Brody more.

Team Brody, for the win.

Arthur folded. He even started on something that might have been an apology (one that began with “If what I did might have hurt you . . .”), but I put both of us out of our misery, waving away words that were both tardy and insincere.

Jesse looked actually guilty, apparently having never thought through how little his financial support had altered, even as his circumstances had certainly improved.

The money itself was moot, but Brody leveraged the Williamses’ discomfort to bargain on my behalf until ultimately I was granted authority over medical decisions. All of the additional support went into establishing 529s and UTMAs for Seba, so he wouldn’t have to worry about loans or living expenses, even if he decided to go to medical-law-grad school. Brody made sure my son was covered.

That said, the most life-changing part of having Brody as a co-parent was that I finally had a partner I could discuss and debate with, so I no longer felt crushed under the burden of making all the decisions. All the time.

Most tellingly, though I’ll never know if Adeline convinced him or if he decided on his own, Jesse never moved back to Lake Arrowhead; when a last-minute position opened up in Boston, he took it.

“Am I not the nominal co-head of this family unit?” Brody asks, because clearly it’s been too long since anyone paid attention to him.

“You do know what nominal means, right?” Sebastian gives Brody an affectionate pat on the arm as he walks past both of us. He’s still not the best hugger, but Brody’s worn him down over the years, normalized the idea that small touches are another way of expressing affection.

Brody, being Brody, pulls my son into a tight hug.

And Sebastian hugs him back, still a little too lanky, but increasingly comfortable in his own body.

When we hear a car pull up, Seba looks out. “That’s my ride. I’ll be teaching camp most of the day, so make sure all IHDA are over by the time I get back, okay?”

“No promises, unless you consider . . . Caltech.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes and waves at me. I’ll get my hug next time.

While I’d suggested Brody start a chess camp as a joke, it took less than three months for him to start it. In part, most of Brody’s ideas contain at least a kernel of impulsivity, and whenever he loves an idea . . . he always runs with it. It’s hosted at The House, the second-largest estate in Lake Arrowhead, a structure I hadn’t even realized Vera owned half of. Vera shared that she and her brother had deadlocked over the issue for years—he didn’t want to live in Lake Arrowhead, and she didn’t have the cash to buy him out. In what we agreed would be Brody’s last decision as a single man with Big Fun Ideas, he bought out his father’s share.

These days, The House is where Vera and I host various art and photography retreats. In the summers, it’s home to a variety of chess camps, coding competitions, and stargazing tours.

“Be honest: Did you start The House so you could justify working as few hours as possible? Once-a-week summer-only stargazing⁠—”

“With a lot of private showings, because I’m so romantic.” He leans forward for a kiss to emphasize his point.

“Seasonal camps and activities, meaning you get a burst of activity before lazing around the house.”