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Does he think I’m going to stab him with this? By the way he backs up another step, he must think so. “I know, but I thought maybe you could make an exception for me.”
Doesn’t he realize I don’t make exceptions for anyone? Apparently not. “Can’t, man.” I wave him off. “While I appreciate your work ethic here, you gotta have clearance first.”
Trey grumbles something I can’t hear and rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’ll go get clearance.” And then he limps away.
“You could have let him stay,” Brantley notes, wheeling the drywall lift over so we can get started on the ceiling first.
Snapping on my tool belt and grabbing my screw gun, I shrug. “I know, but with the way my week’s going, I’m not about to piss off LNI too.” I motion to the sheetrock. “Let’s get this done. I need to pick up the boys in a couple hours.”
Brantley stares at me. “You’re going to leave work early two days in a row?”
I stare at him because he can’t see it. I’m not even sure I understand what’s happening either. It’s similar to when my mother died. Not as bad because her dying was pretty fucked up, but I remember when we found out she had cervical cancer. It was a Tuesday. Ten weeks to the day, on a Tuesday, she died. I was numb for days, motions and words, everything around me was almost robot-like. I attempted life, but inside, I wasn’t there. I feel that way today.
And it’s not lost on me yesterday was a Tuesday. It’s officially the worst day of the week. Monday, you’re good now. Tuesday? Fuck. You.
“I have to,” I tell Brantley. “If I’m going to convince Madison she still loves me, I have to make an effort to be more present in their lives.”
His brows scrunch together in confusion. “Did she tell you it’s because you’re not around?”
“Yeah, something along those lines. She said a lot of things I might not have heard, but one was me not being around, and the last one was her not loving me anymore.”
“Well, that kind of shit doesn’t just happen overnight.” Brantley reaches for the other end of the sheetrock, and we lift it together onto the lift. “Maybe you’re just not seeing how much you actually fight or disagree.”
I try to think back to our last disagreement. Sure, we have arguments but nothing that stands out as a fight. I’m also not a yeller. If something’s bothering me, I usually stay quiet.
Don’t look at me like that. You think judging by the way I need answers, I’d be one to get in your face and yell until my point’s across. Am I right?
Well, you’d be wrong. Sure, I want answers, but if something’s really bothering me, the kind of shit that sparks the heated arguments where words are screamed and bounced right back, I don’t do that. I grew up with a father who yelled at my mom, me, everyone. He’d yell until he was red in the face, but not a damn thing ever made any sense to me.
In turn, I don’t yell at Madison so I wouldn’t consider any of our arguments to be fights.
Now she may have a different theory on this, which, apparently by the papers in the glovebox of my truck would attest to, she definitely thinks differently.
“I wouldn’t say we’ve been fighting.” Reaching for the handle of the lift, I begin to crank it up as Brantley steps on the ladder to screw the ceiling boards up. “You know since we took on multiple homes in the last three months, I haven’t been home much, and when I am, I’m sleeping.”
“She can’t really blame you for that though. It’s not like you’re fucking around on her. You’re working.”
“I know.” As I say that, I’m not sure I believe what I’m saying. I see it one way, but I know she sees it another. “She said we could talk tonight so I’ll head home early, pick up the boys and then see if we can talk about it.”
Brantley nods, but I’m not sure he gets it. He’s a bachelor, never been married and I doubt he ever will. He has women he hangs out with, and he fucks around with Nathalie a lot, but being tied down is not for him. He’s always been that way too.
“Ask her out on a date,” Brantley suggests, his arms above his head screwing in the drywall as I hold the crank steady.
“What do you mean? Like take her to dinner?”
“Yeah, but actually ask her instead of just taking her to dinner. Make it her choice.”
He has a good idea, doesn’t he? If this was me trying to get a girl to fall in love with me, I’d ask her out and attempt to make her see just how great of a guy I am before I take her to bed to seal the deal.
I could ask her out, get a babysitter and make her feel special but not because it’s a birthday or an anniversary but because I made time for her out of the blue.
I knew there’s a reason as to why I’m friends with Brantley. He thinks like a guy trying to get pussy every night of the week. And not just any pussy. He wants the variety pack which means he has to work a lot harder to collect all the different flavors there is to offer.
Now, how to ask her out?
Eight
Noah the cat killer