Page 55 of The Woman with the Target on her Back (Grassi Family)

“Do you… care about anything?” I asked. “Sorry, that didn’t come out like I meant,” I added when he snorted.

“No, I get what you meant. And, I dunno. Maybe just my family,” he admitted. Known a lot of people in my day, enough of them to know there’s no talking them into change. They gotta care in the first place. And people have a hard time giving a fuck about anything outside of their close circle.”

“That’s really cynical.”

“That’s the world we live in, though.”

“So… the answer is to do nothing?” I asked, getting a little riled even through the slight buzz I was feeling from the wine.

August reached across to give me a refill.

“No. That’s not what I’m saying. It’s good to give a shit and give back. But I’m not gonna waste my breath trying to talk other people into giving a fuck.”

“What do you care about?” I asked.

“Guess it’s my upbringing, but I care that people eat,” he said. “I always pay for a couple thousand of those meals delivered to old people. My cousin Smush knows when she does my shopping for me to do shopping for the food pantry too. And all my brothers and I get together and clear all the student lunch debt. Fucked up that exists in the first place,” he mumbled to himself as he tossed a few bay leaves into his sauce.

“I’m sorry. We have to back up. Did you say when your cousin Smush shops for you?”

“Sofia. We just call her Smush because she was a chubby baby.”

“Yeah, no. That’s not the part of the sentence I was talking about. You make your cousin do your shopping?”

“I can see those gears turning. Relax. We’re not fucking misogynists who make the girls do all our chores. Smush has a business going for herself. She will do our shopping and put it away and shit, and we pay her for it. She’s making bank doing it.”

“Oh, okay. Well… good for her. It’s a good business model. I know the stores will do your shopping for you and stuff, but you risk getting some random person who will substitute your tampons with Q-tips.”

“Tell me that didn’t actually happen,” he said, dangerously close to laughing.

“Oh, it happened. And, apparently, the store was completely out ofallchocolate bars too. I was ready to beat that man up and down the street,” I admitted.

“My only complaint with Smush was she changed my cologne on me claiming my old one gave her a headache.”

“I think Smush and I would be good friends,” I decided.

“You would be,” he agreed. “So, are we being responsible adults who make a salad for dinner, or…”

“And have less room for stuffed shells? I think not,” I said, getting a chuckle out of him.

“I like how you think,” he decided.

We chatted then about his family, with me piping in almost every two minutes to clarify who the guys were.

“It’s not my fault all their names end in vowels,” I said when he shook his head at me.

By the time the shells and cheesy garlic bread were coming out of the oven, I was pretty sure I had a decent grasp on his family tree as well as some stories involving them.

For just one night, I almost felt like I was a part of it. And, God, it was nice.

“Does Aurelio not want to get married?” I asked as we ate.

“I think he just hasn’t found the right woman,” August said. “He’s always wanted to settle down too. But I think in his twenties, he focused on getting his career and life going. Creating something stable for a wife and kids. Now, he’s got that.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing?” I asked, knowing he was one of the youngest of the Grassi men. Him and Aurelio’s youngest brother Milo.

“I’ve been working, yeah. And looking around for the right house. I want my life in order too before I have a wife and kids.”

“What is the right kind of house?” I asked because my mind immediately flashed to images of him with some gorgeous dark-haired woman in a white dress with a ring on her finger. And, yeah, I felt immediately queasy.

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