To ease some of my frustration and face the conflict head-on, I’ve joined James in his garage gym, which is also his workshop. In addition to crafting beer, James is a carpenter. He makes tables, benches, and other artistic wood pieces. I’m not sure if he was just extra blessed with the gene pool or if he simply channeled his rage into skills. Either way, the man is blessed. And full of rage.
Based on the way he seems to be punishing me with this workout, much of that rage is directed my way. He’s hardly done more than grunt at me this whole time. I guess he’s still angry about Dad’s purchase and my collusion.
“Why are you humming John Mayer?” James asks, his nostrils flaring.
I didn’t realize I was. I’m not sure whether he looks furious because he’s lifting a stupid amount of weight or because of my musical taste, but I’m betting it’s the latter. My oldest and surliest brother has hardly broken a sweat even though he’s got just about every plate on this bar for his deadlifts.
Show-off.
“Don’t be a Mayer-hater. The man’s got mad skills.”
“Mad skills? The early 2000s called. They want their lingo back.”
“Har, har.” While I do believe in John Mayer’s musical and lyrical ability （despite his personal unlikability）， the reason I’m humming “Daughters” is because of Jo. Meeting her stirred up all kinds of extra feelings, protective feelings. Without a better term for it, fatherly feelings.
And yes, I’m aware this is putting like fifty carts ahead of one horse. Story of my life.
I’ve already framed the Jaws picture, which is riding shotgun in my truck, waiting for its forever home. I don’t want to hang it in my apartment, which has seemed more hauntingly empty than normal this week. Seeing the picture makes me think of Jo, which makes me think of Lindy, which makes me all the more eager to get out of here. Tank and I at least are on the same page and decided to start renovating two loft spaces downtown above what we hope will be businesses. I threw a little extra cash to the contractors to finish mine first, and fast. They started demo already, and I’m itching to see.
Collin is asking actual questions now, not just launching attacks. Harper and Chase are neutral positive. Now, we just need to get my grumpiest, most stubborn brother on board.
Speaking of the grump, James drops the bar on the padded floor by the weight bench and wipes the sweat off his brow. “Need me to take off some of that weight for you, Patty?”
He’s challenging me. But I love challenges.
“Nope. I’m fine. Deadlifts, no problem.” But when I lean over and try to pull the bar up, I can’t get it more than six inches off the ground. “Okay, maybe a little weight adjustment.”
With a satisfied grin, James quickly slides off everything but the smallest plate. “That should be better for you, little brother.”
If making fun of me smooths out his surliness, fine. It’s still a challenge to get through a set. Not that I’m going to admit it and feed James’s ridiculous ego.
As my muscles protest, I remind myself of the end goal of this workout. It’s twofold. I’d like to soften James up on the idea of Sheet Cake. That’s the big one.
The other one is a little more superficial. Though Lindy isn’t just into my looks, no woman turns down a good set of abs. This is about as far as I’ve gotten in terms of plans to win Lindy back.
Step one: Get my hot bod back.
Step two: Show off aforementioned hot bod by strategic losing of shirt. Repeat as necessary.
Step three: Show her I’ve changed.
Step four: Do whatever it takes to restore the sparkle in her eyes.
The first two steps are the easiest and probably the least instrumental in actually making a difference. I’ve hurt Lindy deeply, and with everything else she’s been through, I can understand her resistance to me, even after my apology.