Page 57 of The Irresistible Distraction

“Too much?” Brody asks when he sees two sets of eyes on him, and even though I’m not sure whether he’s asking about the tip or our surroundings, the answer to both is a resounding yes.

Sebastian stutters, “Not at all,” in a voice that’s a little raspy.

“Just trying to impress your mom.” I look at Brody quickly, trying to figure out if that means what I think it means. He twists his lips, grooves appearing in his forehead, as he confirms, “I asked for Sebastian’s blessing today. Permission, advice, all of the above, to get a sense of how he felt about me dating his mother.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. “I told Brody that’s an old-fashioned thing and you’d probably get all feminist-y and take offense.”

“That’s not how feminism works,” I correct Sebastian on autopilot.

“Then you don’t mind that I told Brody I’m happy as long as you’re happy?” Seba’s chin is tilted a little forward in defiance.

So much to say here. So little of it appropriate as a conversation in front of Sebastian, who could have warned me.

“I’m hungry,” I say, to buy time so I can ponder the fact that almost every part of our relationship so far has been Brody taking things farther and faster than I would have condoned if asked directly.

Brody dips his chin, head hanging a little, as if he understands (finally) that some conversations can’t happen in front of my son.

It’s while Brody and Sebastian are examining the room service menu

that a series of text messages come through from Jesse. I move to the side, telling the boys to decide for me and feeling like a cheater, reading messages from my ex while on such an extravagant not-a-date.

JESSE: Can you talk?

JESSE: I’m getting worried you didn’t reply to my last few texts.

JESSE: Sebastian missed his call with me on Wednesday too.

JESSE: Is everything okay?

Though part of me wants to ignore these messages for another day, I don’t want Jesse to worry that something’s wrong, and so I type the first thing that comes to mind.

ME: Everything’s fine!

I stare at the exclamation point, because that’s clearly a bridge too far—I can’t remember the last time I texted my ex with that level of excitement. But it’s there now, sent and read and not takebackable. Damn technology.

I try again.

ME: Sebastian and I are just having an adventure together this weekend.

ME: If you’re free tomorrow night, Sebastian could call then?

I watch as the text bubbles appear and disappear before finally Jesse responds with a thumbs-up.

Later, while the boys are enjoying pizza, because that’s what my son wanted from this four-star hotel, pepperoni and pineapple pizza, Brody goes over the plan for tomorrow: He’s arranged for a tutor to come and teach Sebastian chess in the morning, and he’s signed Sebastian up for a mini tournament the hotel is hosting.

“And of course, we’ll do the historic tour, which will finally, definitely put to rest your tedious, too-verbose complaints about history.”

“I can’t believe you like history,” Sebastian says, trying to shrug in the way Brody does, not quite yet having the shoulder width to make it look less than super awkward, especially in the holey, too-loose shirt he’s wearing.

“I’m an equal opportunity lover,” Brody says, his grin wide even though he’s not looking at me. “No subject is physics, but there are quite a few parts of history⁠—”

“Okay, okay,” Sebastian interrupts, shaking his head while he hyperfocuses on stacking Brody’s discarded pineapple onto his own slice of pizza. This is as neutral as my son has ever sounded about history. Before he puts the pizza in his mouth, he turns toward Brody. “I mean thank you.”

We go to our separate bedrooms, and Brody presses my hand briefly. “Look how well I’m behaving,” he says. “Do I get to come out of dating purgatory yet?”

“You were never in dating purgatory.”

“Sure I was. You decided to classify me as a fudgeboy, and I’ve been working, very diligently, to disabuse you of that notion.”