Page 67 of Demo
Bram’s eyes bulge and his hands go to his hair as he takes a half a step back and whisper-shouts, “It was Jenny?!”
All I can do is keep my eyes locked with his.Give it to me, brother. Let me have it.
It takes a moment for the confusion, realization, and then disgust to settle into his features. “Wow, man. Just … wow.”
“Oh, come on. You can do better than that,” I push.
He just grimaces, shakes his head, and turns away from me to pick up some boards.
“Say it,” I urge, this time it’s me who’s on his heels.
He’s silent as he brings a two-by-four over to the chop saw that’s already set up. He grabs a tape measure and marks off where he wants to make the cut, then pulls the safety shield down and cuts the wood, and chucks the two pieces onto the dirt.
He mumbles something I can’t quite make out.
“Gonna have to be louder, man, I can’t quite hear you,” I challenge.
“I said you piece of shit!” Bram shouts at me, turning so he’s in my face. “How could you do that to Lizzie? Don’t forget, you made her my sister, and that means I care about her, too. I mean, cheating on her was bad enough, but with Jenny!”
“Why does it matter who it was?” I ask, exasperated.
“Because she’s not just anyone,” Bram barks back, as if I’m stupid. “She’s not just a drunken night or a hookup. You two have history.”
“We don’t have history—”
“Yes. You do. You guys know each other, and she’s got this teasing rapport with all the guys. She’s the hot little thing at the job site that keeps things interesting, and that’s fine because she’s good at her job, and as long as it stays innocent, I guess … whatever. But Lizzie trusted you to never cross that line with Jenny. That you and Lizzie were solid enough and she didn’t have to worry. And you fucking destroyed that.”
Frustrated, pissed at myself, and at Bram and Lizzie and Jenny, and the planet for its cosmic energy, all I can do is let out a laugh.
“Oh, I’m sorry, am I missing something funny?” Bram asks as I lean down to grab a plank of wood.
“No. That’s the thing, Bram. None of this is funny.” I place the wood under the chop saw.
“So, what gives? Huh?” he asks, close to my side.
“You know what?” I turn and face him. “It must be nice to be so perfect. You met the love of your life in high school, got married, started having kids, got the house … easy fucking peasy.”
“You think everything has always been sunshine and roses with me and Em?” he fires back.
I grab a pencil and measure off the wood, tossing the pencil onto the bench. It rolls off and onto the ground.
“Yeah, I do,” I say, again turning toward him. “And you know what else, Mom and Dad always took it easy on you, too.”
“Oh, here we go,” Bram throws his hands up in the air before placing them on his hips to glare at me as I go off.
I approach him. “And what really kills me, is you have hardly been there for Dad since Mom died.”
“Bullshit!”
“No, dude. Not bullshit.”
“Did I not bring over dinner every night when he wouldn’t eat?”
“You dropped off dinner. You never stayed.”
“Did I not pick him up and bring him to our house to play with Samuel, to distract him, to remind him he still has plenty to live for?”
“You sure did,” I snap, as I turn back around toward the saw.
