Brendan scowls at me, and doesn’t even dignify what I said with a response. He’s even more of a redhead than I am, with freckles and everything. But he keeps his hair buzzed, military-style.
I sigh. “But I guess that’s more fun than shopping.”
“That’s right,” Brendan says, setting another piece of wood on his chopping block. He brings his axe down hard, cleaving the wood in a single, powerful stroke. After tossing the new pieces onto his growing pile, he pauses and leans on his axe. The sleeves of his flannel are rolled up and he actually looks the part — like some kind of super manly lumberjack. Not that I’d give him the satisfaction of saying so.
“You know, chopping wood is great for core strength. You could use a little core work. You’re all arms, bud.”
I scoff. “Core schmore.”
“Brilliant retort. Are we five?” Brendan says.
“Yeah, well . . .”
He grabs another piece of wood.
“Jeez man,” I say, “take a break, will you? I’m trying to have a conversation with you here.”
“I can chop and talk at the same time.”
I exhale loudly through my nose. My brother’s always like this — unable to sit still. There’s a restlessness in him. It drives him from woman to woman, fire to fire. If there’s not something on his horizon, some challenge to be overcome, he gets antsy.
“So, what do you think?” I say as Brendan positions another block.
“About what?”
“Dude, seriously? Everything I’ve just been telling you. Should I go for this chick or not?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Uhh . . . she’s Jax’s sister. Have you not been listening at all Mr. I-Can-Talk-And-Chop-Wood-At-The-Same-Time?”
“Oh, I was listening,” Brendan says with a little grunt, as he puts away his ax and bends down to grab the split wood from his lawn. “You just weren’t saying a whole lot.”
Brendan lives in a middle-class neighborhood, and behind him is a row of similar yards, enclosed by chain-linked fences. It’s an overcast day. Feels like a storm might be brewing. And there’s already a storm brewing inside of me too. I squeeze my near-empty can of beer.
“I can’t go after my lieutenant’s sister, right? Especially behind his back. And there’s the code to adhere to.”
“Sure,” Brendan says, as he grabs a beer from the cooler on the patio and takes a seat in the other lawn chair.
I shake my head in exasperation. “Come on, bro. I’m trying to get some advice here.”
“You are?” Brendan raises his eyebrows.
“Yes.”
“Oh, that’s funny. I thought you were, you know, looking for someone to justify your bullshit rationalizations.” Brendan gives me smug smile. It’s the same look he’s given me since we were kids.
“Wait — what’s that supposed to mean, dude? I think you need to chop some more wood, because you’re clearly angry and need some kind of outlet.”
“No,” Brendan says, “I’m fine. I’m just speaking the truth, brother.” He takes a swig of his brew, and sighs with satisfaction.
I shoot him a heavy-lidded gaze. “Come on. Just spit it out.”
“What, my beer?” Brendan smiles again. He knows he’s getting on my nerves.
“No. Whatever the hell you want to say but are too smug to just say it.”
“Sheesh,” Brendan says, takes another gulp, wipes some sweat from his forehead with the can. “AndI’mthe angry one.”
