Page 19 of Under Construction

"That's great!" Dennis is actually super thrilled for their little one. He bounces on his toes a bit, pleased with the news. “I don’t want to be biased,” he leans in like he’s sharing a secret, voice higher and happier now before he can stop it, “but sheisthe prettiest kitty there!”

"Yeah!" Chris barks out a laugh, slapping the back of his clipboard. His shoulder bumps Dennis’s as he rocks back. "It's 'cause we have great taste in pussy!"

The laughter from both of them spikes, then fades out.

Then Chris scuffs his boot against the floor, clipboard tapping against his thigh as he shifts his weight. "Listen," he starts, "about the other day—"

"Progress report!" Jason bursts into the room, his voice cutting through the construction noise.

He stops dead in his tracks when he sees Dennis and Chris standing together, all their limbs intact. "Whoa," he breathes in disbelief, papers clutched to his chest, eyes darting between them, "you two can be in the same room without killing each other?"

"Um, apparently?" Chris tucks his clipboard under his arm, chin-nods at Jason in a casual hello and goodbye, then makes eye contact with Dennis. "Later, princess."

He shoulders past Jason and walks off without looking back.

"What was that about?" Jason asks, wide-eyed and interested. "Last I heard, you punched him in that gorgeous face of his, and your dad waspissed."

Dennis shrugs in response. It’s notthatgorgeous, though—is it? “Who the hell knows.”

Chris is a weirdo at the best of times, after all. There’s no knowing what goes on in that head of his.

"Come on, Den," Jason walks in towards the fold-out table they’d been using to review plans and shuffle endless stacks of paperwork. "You need to see these."

He dumps the pile of papers on the table as Dennis approaches. “You’re not going to be happy about this,” he warns, “but I’ve racked my brains and I don’t think there’s anything we can do about it.”

Dennis picks up the papers and flips through them. Then he’s narrowing his eyes, eyebrows getting scrunchier as he scans the pages. "What thefuckis all this?"

“Yeah, uh,” Jason scratches the back of his head, one eye closed, bracing for impact as he searches for the words with the lowest probability of getting messengers shot. “Your father wants changes to the sustainability features?" he ends up squeaking out.

Godfuckingdamn it, ofcoursehe does.

"No!" Dennis’s voice booms over the sounds of men at work around them, loud enough to make everything stop for a second before it all resumes. He drops the papers.

His father’s words echo in his head: "Stop playing with toy blocks and build something real."

Jason at least has the decency to flinch. "Come on,” he squirms, eager to escape this conversation in one piece, “they're notthatbad—"

"I saidno." Dennis snaps his head to Jason, but he’s glaring so Jason shrinks back, terrified for his life.

Argh! The weight of tonight's family dinner, of his mother's arrival, of Chris's stupid, disgusting, annoying, really, reallystrangelingering looks and half-sentences—it all crashes down on him at once.

"Your father—"

"Isn't the architect." Dennis sweeps his arm at the window overlooking their work of the pavilion—at the sustainable materials being hoisted up, at the innovative support system taking shape, at the dream slowly becoming reality right outside. "This ismyproject."

Jason slumps against the table wearily, making it wobble, crossing his arms and legs. "Not for long if you keep fighting him."

"Then I guess I better make it count." Dennis snatches his tablet from the makeshift desk, papers scattering in his wake. "Meeting in ten. Get everyone into the office."

"Everyone?" Jason's eyes widen. "Even Chris?"

"Especially Chris."

Ten minutes later the site office is packed, bodies crammed into the temporary space. The sharp scent of sawdust mixes with coffee and sweat, while the constant thrum of machinery filters through the thin walls. Metal folding chairs scrape against the floor as workers squeeze in, some still dusted with the day's work.

Chris leans against the wall by the door, behind everyone, arms crossed over his safety vest. Watching.

"The designs stay as is," Dennis tells them all, his hands planted on the rickety table, knuckles white against the metaledge. "Anyone who has a problem with that can leave. Anyone who stays, commits to the original vision."

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