Lawn Boy(22)

“You know that’s not even ham, right?”

“Says ham right on the package.”

They’d snigger, which was the closest I’d ever seen them get to actual mirth. Austin almost seemed to have a personality. When I told him I was a topiary artist, he seemed impressed, albeit in a not-very-demonstrative way. I told him about my mushrooms and my pom-poms and my hot-dog-eating elf, and of course my merman, though I didn’t mention the erection.

“You should come check it out,” I said.

And to my surprise, he actually consented to have a look. So, after work, Austin hooked his fixed-gear bicycle onto the front of the metro bus, and we made for Suquamish. It felt strange riding the bus and not reading a book. I was accustomed to having some dead guy to keep me company or at least some MFA grad, who was in love with sentences. Instead, I had Austin, who mostly checked his Facebook page while I looked out the window, thinking I should have offered him the window seat.

“You read?” I said.

“What, like books?”

“Yeah.”

“Not really. You?”

“Yeah, quite a bit.”

“You must have a lot of time on your hands.”

I guess I was a little nervous. Not that I was trying to impress the guy, but when had I ever invited somebody I hardly knew to my house? I wouldn’t even let Remy see where I lived. But I figured since Austin liked dive bars, maybe his tastes extended to squalor in general, in which case he might like the res or our house.

He was visibly unimpressed by our humble abode, averting his eyes as we walked past the moss-encrusted Festiva, the tarpaulin-draped swamp cooler, and the bevy of broken shit strewn willy-nilly under the sagging canopy—everything from engine parts to empty bleach bottles. He seemed particularly uneasy about leaving his bike out front. And of course I couldn’t blame him.

Freddy had his fat taco parked on the sofa next to Nate, watching Wreck-It Ralph with his Gibson knockoff bass propped in his lap. It had to be getting on my mom’s nerves having him around, the way he was always in the house, eating Cheetos in his underwear. But now that I’m employed, the writing is on the wall for Freddy.

“Freddy, this is Austin.”

Freddy played a couple farty notes on his bass before giving Austin a stony-eyed once-over.

“Boy, how come you wearin’ your sister’s pants?”

Austin glanced over his shoulder to make sure Freddy wasn’t talking to someone behind him. “Uh, hey.”

“Don’t look like no lumberjack to me. Why you wearin’ all that facial hair, boy—that to keep you warm?”

“Um . . .” Austin appealed to me with his eyes.

“Ever swung an ax?”

“Don’t mind Freddy,” I said. “And that’s my brother, Nate.”

“Hey,” said Austin.

Nate belched under his breath, never taking his eyes off the screen.

“Don’t mind him, either. C’mon, I’ll show you my merman. You want some grape soda or anything?”

“I’m good.”

“Stay out of my grape soda,” Freddy called after us.

I took Austin out back and showed him my work. The pom-poms were a little rough around the edges, and my merman was a bit shaggy from neglect, but as far as I could tell, Austin was mildly impressed.

“I’m thinking of adding a little school of sucker fish near the bottom of the merman,” I told him. “You know, like circling suggestively around him or something.”

“So, like, this is ironic, right?”

“What, you mean because mermen don’t really get erections?”

He sniggered at that, shaking his head bemusedly, while running his fingers lazily through his beard. I was hoping he’d have more questions about my merman, but he only fished out his phone and checked Facebook again.

“You sure you don’t want some grape soda?”

“Nah.”

“Let’s walk down to the Tide’s Inn,” I said. “It’s a dive—one of the diviest, actually.”

He checked the clock on his phone and petted his beard some more. “Nah, I gotta hit the road here pretty quick.”

“You want a bong toke?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“We could walk down to the pier. You like fireworks?”

“Not really.”

Austin was a tough nut to crack. His curiosity didn’t seem to run very deep. But I’d be lying if I said my heart didn’t sink a little when he left ten minutes later, following a few more stilted exchanges.

I’ve never been much good at the social thing. And that’s actually rare for siblings of special-needs children. We usually have to develop strong social skills in order to help our siblings navigate a world that is generally unprepared to accommodate them. I was pretty good in that respect. I made sure Nate didn’t get arrested when he dropped trou in the middle of a traffic island. I made sure he didn’t shoplift or smoke cigarettes or do any of the other stupid things I did. I acted as his liaison and translator and diplomat. I read to him, I made sure he ate, I made sure he dressed warm. You’d have to call me a good brother. But in every other respect, I was a dud socially. How else would I end up with a best friend like Nick?