Page 83 of The Irresistible Distraction

“Maybe I’m about to discover a deep and abiding love for camping.”

I look toward him, because despite our days of intense conversations about everything from our life plans to our greatest regrets, we have not really had time to discuss more mundane things like . . . hobbies.

“Is that likely? Have you enjoyed camping in the past?”

“No.” Brody’s tone is certain. There’s no way Sebastian can hear, engrossed as he is in his Python lesson, his fingers tap-tap-tapping away to Lorelai’s instructions. But despite that, Brody leans in and whispers, “I’m pretty sure the whole point of having money is to buy a house with plumbing, insulation, and Wi-Fi.” I laugh, because the sound comes easily around Brody. He gaze lingers on my lips for a second before his face transforms into a look of terror. “But what if Sebastian discovers a deep and abiding love for camping and I have to keep going with him?”

I look away so Brody can’t see how intense my response is. I don’t think it’s likely my introverted, chess-obsessed, computer programming son will suddenly decide he wants to spend weekends in the wilderness, away from the internet, but you never know. The fact that Brody’s considering the possibility is willing to adapt to not just my needs but Sebastian’s, touches me more than I care to admit.

“Did you really need this entire camping kitchen?” I ask, to mask my feelings, holding up the very heavy two-burner stove while pointing to the Yeti cooler less than a foot away that he’s just unwrapped.

“First, we’ve discussed this. Rich people don’t think in terms of need. We think in terms of new and shiny and why the fudge not? Meaning I wanted to revel in my wealth while I still could. Second, if I’m going to be uncomfortable, I might as well be as close to not uncomfortable as possible.”

When we’re finished opening packages, we are completely surrounded by rechargeable headlamps and portable area lights, dual fuel lanterns, Flexlite air chairs, and even a collapsible bunk bed.

Seeing my face, Brody frowns. “It’s possible I went a smidge overboard,” he admits.

I hug him, because he’s adorable, and also I can’t help but say, “You’re going to hate being poor.”

“Didn’t you say I’d be middle class?”

“It’s going to feel like poverty to you.”

We sit down to go over diner numbers, because that’s how we agree to weekly take-home profit, an allowance he will attempt to live within.

“Is that, like, a day?” Brody’s voice is hopeful.

“A week.”

He pales a little but nods. “Okay. Remind me never to tell you my hourly rate.”

That night, for once, I’m the first to text.

ME: Enjoying your last few hours of freedom?

BRODY: Can’t talk. Pre-midnight purchasing frenzy.

ME: You know there’s no way for me to tell if you cheat, right?

BRODY: And you know I’m honor-bound to not slip, right?

BRODY: I’m not admitting it’s 4.5 weeks. I’m gonna count a day at a time, try to last.

BRODY: You think I’ll need an extra Garmin? Are there birthdays coming up? Maybe I should pre-buy presents while I can.

I’m grinning as I put the phone down and adjust my blankets. It’s not the first night this has been true.

I smile more often than not these days . . . because of Brody.

24

HELMETS ARRIVE TOMORROW

Because I wake at my normal time, even though I didn’t set an alarm, I make Brody a coffee with five creams, five sugars, and a splash of cinnamon. I use the Yeti cup he got for me, because I wasn’t organized enough to buy him his own, and then I pack him the cookies I made yesterday while Brody was teaching Sebastian yet another board game he’d purchased and had delivered, same-day, to demonstrate that he wasn’t cheating.

He’s opening the door as I cross the street, and he grins at me, full of vim and vigor. “Look at us, all domestic and shit.” He takes a sip from the coffee and murmurs that it’s perfect before he leans down to drop a light kiss on my lips. He glances at his watch and raises an eyebrow. “I bet we have just barely enough time⁠—”

“No,” I laugh, even as he allows me to push him away. “You cannot be late for your first day.”