Page 54 of The Woman with the Target on her Back (Grassi Family)

“They send us home with platters of everything and then there’sstillleftovers,” he agreed.

I didn’t mean to be envious right then.

But I couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to sit down at a giant table loaded down with food prepared with care from people who loved you.

A dozen conversations going on at once, playful arguing, kids running around being crazy, a football game on in the other room. Sitting down after cleaning up the meal to have pies and coffee.

It sounded amazing.

“You have a sister, right?” I asked, trying to remember the complicated Grassi family tree.

“Yeah. Valley. Valentina,” he clarified.

“Is she like your mom and aunts? With the cooking?”

“She cooks. I don’t think she’s fully at their level yet, but I figure maybe that comes when you have a family you really enjoy cooking for. That’s what my mom says anyway, that she really gets a lot of joy out of watching us enjoy the food she made for us.”

“I can see that,” I agreed. It wasn’t exactly the same, but I loved watching people enjoy the cookies or sweets I baked.

“Do you want a family?” I asked before I could think better of it.

“Yes,” he answered immediately, surprising me. No hedging. NoMaybe if I meet the right woman. “What?” he asked.

“You’re so sure,” I said.

“Yeah. I don’t know if it’s because I come from a family that is very… family-oriented or what, but I’ve always known I wanted my own. Wife. Kids. The whole thing. I think all my brothers and cousins feel the same.”

“It’s kind of refreshing how sure you are about it,” I said.

“You’re not?”

“I honestly just haven’t thought much about it. It never seemed likely. I haven’t exactly had successful relationships in the past.”

“I haven’t had any relationships in the past, but that doesn’t change what I know I want,” August said, shrugging as he turned to mix the sauce on the stove that I was reasonably sure he’d made from scratch.

“I guess I always liked the idea of having a kid. Doing it right, y’know? Home-cooked meals. Big holiday meals. No bitterness and arguing with the kid’s father. What?” I asked at his pinched brows.

“The way you said that. The kid’s father. Like he’s not in the picture.”

“You said it yourself,” I said, shrugging as I took a sip of the wine. Which was leaps and bounds better than anything I’d ever bought before. “I’m a pain in the ass, a pill, difficult…” I said, rattling off various things he’d called me, unsure why I had committed them all to memory when I generally didn’t care that much what others thought of me.

“You know what, you’re not that bad after all,” he said, giving me that cocky smirk of his.

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, I mean it. You’re easy to rile up, sure, but only when someone is trying to get a rise out of you. It’s not like you’re walking around snapping at everyone over nothing. We’ve established that I purposely poke at you. Kinda my own fault if you snap back and wound my pride,” he admitted.

“I mean, you usually do have it coming,” I said, giving him a smile.

“Think maybe you sell yourself short, Trav. I don’t know if I know anyone who gives a fuck as much as you do. About everything. Your community, the planet, mental health, recovery programs. It’s got to be fucking exhausting at times to give a shit about so much all at once.”

“You called mesanctimoniousonce,” I said, bringing it up simply because that one had hurt when he’d said it.

“Yeah, that was out of line,” he admitted, surprising me. “Because it implies you’re a hypocrite,” he added. “When you really do live, eat, and breathe this shit. I thinkholier than thouwas what I meant,” he said, chuckling when I reached over for a cooked, but empty, shell, and tossed it at him. He caught it and plopped it into his mouth. “I think I might get up on my soapbox too if my arguments for a better world were constantly falling on ears that refused to listen.”

“It’s exhausting,” I admitted.

“I bet,” he agreed.

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