Page 46 of The Irresistible Distraction

“Ugh. Chemistry,” Sebastian grumbles.

And Brody looks over at my son, a look of patience and perhaps even pride on his face as he corrects Sebastian. “Don’t worry, chemistry is fundamentally applied quantum, meaning everything comes back to physics.”

Sebastian looks over at the older man, and when Brody puts a closed fist forward, Sebastian meets the gesture eagerly.

Which is, of course, when I realize I’m probably fucked.

It’s almost impossible for me not to feel guilty, to wonder whether I’ve allowed myself to become so wrapped up in questions around Sebastian’s medication and friends/lack of friends and academic progress that I’ve somehow missed the chance to just . . . be friends with my child.

“Hey,” Brody says, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “You’re overthinking again.”

“Yeah,” my son tells me, glancing at where Brody’s hand is on mine and decidedly not commenting on the fact. “You’re always overthinking.”

“I was just”—I inch my hand away, knowing I’m blushing—“thinking that maybe I ought to be paying more attention to these movies.”

“Why?” It’s Sebastian, and only Sebastian this time, who asks.

“So we have more in common?”

“You don’t need to like the movies. Or chess. We have our own things.”

And before I can ask my son what, exactly, those things are, Brody reaches over again. “Seriously. Chess is my thing with Sebastian. Don’t be jelly.”

Sebastian snickers while I feel myself smiling reluctantly. “Did you really just say jelly?”

“Slang is in.”

“That’s not slang,” Sebastian tells him, but given the way my son’s smiling, I can’t find it in myself not to smile back, even as the rational part of me warns that this is all happening a little too quickly, that the both of us are allowing ourselves to be charmed too easily.

“Don’t overthink,” Brody whispers. His large blue-green eyes are kind as he regards me, and I crinkle my eyes back, thinking that this man is far more dangerous than I initially realized.

Thursday night, Sebastian reports that his history essay is complete, and Brody asks whether we could all watch a movie.

“Amazing!” Sebastian agrees, before I have a chance to argue. He gives Brody a sidelong glance and receives a quelling one in reply, which helps me realize, belatedly, that they’ve planned this. Vera and Maggie, even Jesse, would have known to ask me first—Brody and Sebastian schemed to ask together.

I sigh, because I’m sure Brody means well. But despite his talk with Vera and his claims of being a quick learner, he clearly likes to push against boundaries when he can.

It’s Maggie’s last week, and she’s insisted I take an extra day off. We’ll work one last Saturday together before she leaves for six weeks.

But I’m tired.

Also: I’m uneasy at how much time we’re all spending together. Sebastian has class tomorrow, and . . .

My son tugs briefly on my sleeve, still enough of the little boy in him to plead. “Please?”

“Yes, please?”

Faced with two identical expressions of puppy-dog-like begging, it’s difficult not to just agree, but I remind myself someone has to be the adult here.

“Could I check your essay first?”

Sebastian is impatient with my delay, and his tone is clipped. “Lorelai’s checked and said it’s fine.”

“Lorelai?” I look at Brody.

“Full disclosure, I tried to help first, told Sebastian all about the duel Lincoln almost fought when he was younger and just getting started in his political career. But I was getting flashback lectures of split infinitives and parallelism, and grammar is hard⁠—”

“You’re a lawyer.”