Page 40 of One More Chapter
We’ll be losing good weather as fall approaches, and I want the insulation and drywall finished so that we’re not freezing our nuts off while we work this winter. Which means that after school hours have consisted of late nights on the property—which translates into too much confined time with my brothers.
Grant is the youngest of us. He just turned twenty-four, and has absolutely no direction in life aside from getting phone numbers at bars on weekends. However, he’s insanely smart, and honestly could take over Dad’s business by himself while Ian’s arm heals.
Ian and I are four years apart, and with the way that he seemed to take to construction from the womb, there was no question about who would take over for dad upon retirement. There’s no one better for the job—one I wouldn’t have wanted anyway. Of course, he had to go and fall off a roof and mess up his shoulder in the middle of his transition to head of the business. The now ever-present blue sling has only made his typically foul mood worse.
Ian and I are four years apart, but somehow, he’s the more mature of us two. He’s more level-headed, more reserved, more responsible in every way. While I was sneaking alcohol from my parents’ booze fridge for high school parties, and spending too much of my after-school time in detention for dumb shit, he graduated a semester early.
I envy the ease at which life came to him. I envy the way that he was my parent’s do-over, after my dad came back into the picture, married mom, and decided to “restart the family.” They never said those words outrightly, but sometimes, that’s how I feel.
Especially with how perfect my younger brother is. Especially with how our roles—as first and second born—are essentially reversed, with him as the faultless one and me as the self-proclaimed screw up. Especially seeing how close Dad andIan are, with Ian slated to take over the business as soon as his arm is healed.
“You two are going to give me an aneurism.”
The grump himself comes out of the shadows, the only contrast to his all black attire the nylon blue sling that houses his broken shoulder.
“You just can’t help not helping, can you?” Grant smirks from his place on the ground where he’s just finished caulking the rest of the ductwork. Ian grinds his molars, his brows knit together in a harsh line. He grunts, turns on his toe, and stomps away, running his good hand through his thick, dark hair as he goes.
Grant joins me on the ground after ensuring the caulk gun is closed. He swipes my plastic bottle of water, finishes the rest of it in a few gulps, and then starts twisting the bottle to pressurize it before sealing the cap back on it.
“If you pop that thing at me, I amnotresponsible for the damage my fist will do to your pretty boy face,” I say, pointing my finger at his chest.
He snickers, points his weapon at me, then shifts it slightly over my shoulder before uncorking it and sending the bottle cap flying across the vacant interior of my soon-to-be dream house. It clatters on the unfinished floor.
“You are as bad as my students.”
I shake my head, then take the bottle from him and toss it into the nearby trash can, Larry Bird style.
“Speaking of, how’s the new gig?”
I choke on air.
No one knows that Penelope and I are teaching together. For all intents and purposes, nobody knows thatPenelope and Iexist, outside of my parents knowing that we’re bunking together.
“Fine,” I say, wishing I hadn’t chucked the bottle so that I could have something to fidget with. “I stepped in as a sort of assistant principal, actually.”
“No shit? They let you be in charge?”
Grant’s expression is more brotherly teasing. He’s the youngest of three, and is still living in his best fresh-out-of-college, bachelor boy lifestyle, which makes it easier for me to test the news on him. I’ve always been apprehensive to share my accomplishments with my family. I’ve always blamed the bees in my brain for my stupid decisions and “Oh well!” shrugs. I don’t want them to see me fail.
I explain the skeleton of the situation at school to Grant, and tell him a few stories of the behaviors I’ve already dealt with.
“I couldn’t do what you do, bro. A room full of kids all day? No way.”
“You get used to ‘em. I kind of like the more challenging behaviors. It’s almost like solving a puzzle. None of these kids are inherentlybad. They come from crap situations, and I get to try and lead them into the light for nine months out of the year.”
“Okay,Gandhi.” Grant snorts, stands, and picks up a hammer. “Less inspirational chats. More putting holes in walls.”
I take the hammer from him and stick it in my back pocket.
The HVAC system and insulation are the last two steps before we put up the drywall. My goal is to have it finished and functioning before Halloween, so that I can spend my winter break really filling out the place. Growing up basically inside of a construction company means I can install flooring, cabinetry, countertops, you name it, by myself if I have to. At the very least, it will give me a much needed reason to be out of the house.
A much needed break fromher.
I’m avoiding her right now—being at the house all day to work, and for family dinner and the Sox game on TV with my dad, my brothers, and a case of beers—when Ishouldtake anhour or two to sit down and sketch out what we want our classroom to look like. But that would mean sitting close to her, breathing in her coconut scent, being near enough to see the freckle that’s tucked behind her ear, the one my mouth and tongue became acquainted with while we were on the beach until sunrise, and I just don’t think I can take it quite yet.
I’ve been blessed with call-outs from teaching. The misbehaving kids have been my respite from watching Penelope Barker in action. But living with her is an entirely different story.
One where I can see the rotation of different pajama sets that she wears to bed, and know what kind of toothpaste and shampoo she uses. It’s a story that tells me what life might have sort have been like had I had the balls to tell Avery we were done when she showed up on my front porch. If I had showed up to the date I planned for Pen instead of leaving her out to dry. If I’d allowed her into my life for real after she single-handedly reached into my chest and rearranged the pieces so that they finally fit the right way.