“I won’t,” Trevor agreed immediately.
His grandma removed the carafe and stuck a cup in the coffee machine to get a cup while the coffee was still pouring, then replaced the carafe and went to add the milk.
“It’s possible that G.G. is the kind to respect your heart. He might understand the problem and maybe that’s why he’s careful with himself. And Sky… Sky tries so hard not to take from you that he will askmehow you’re doing because he doesn’t want to pressure you.”
“What?”
His grandma muttered a secondtskinto her coffee as she had a sip. “And you never ask me for anything, except when you finally wanted to know about cooking, of all the unexpected things. But you got involved in gardening too, so maybe that’s just you.”
“I can figure out most stuff on my own. And it… You know how everyone gets when I mess up. I don’t like to, not where they can see.” Trevor made a face at the realization, though he tried to stay focused on his grandma and what she was telling him. “It’s not because I think you’re incapable or anything. You know that, right?”
She looked up, her lips twitching in a small smile that vanished a second later. She raised her chin. “The rest of the family, your parents and your uncle, the cousins, they think they will handle everything when my time comes. They think they’ll get my house and they’ll probably sell it. Not because they’re cold or greedy. My children love me. But owning another house would be a burden they don’t need. They don’t want to live here and they’re not suited to be landlords. They’ll sell, and use the money for retirement or for a nest egg for you and your siblings, even if your siblings don’t especially need one. Maybe a college or wedding fund for the great-grandchildren. If they’ve thought of it, that’s more than likely what they’ll do.”
“Oh.” Trevor nodded along, unhappy but not really in a position to argue about it with her or with his parents. But he did scowl as more occurred to him. “Our garden in the hands of strangers?” That was… unsettling. “I guess that’s the way of things. But it’s bullshit.”
He gave a start, then quickly glanced over.
Trevor’s swearing seemed to amuse her. She smiled and had another sip of coffee. “I’m telling you this because I think I’ll leave the house to you. Not that I plan on dying anytime soon.”
“Not if I can fucking help it,” Trevor promised vehemently. Then flinched, both for swearing in front of her again and for what she’d told him.
“Family matters to you,” his grandma said before Trevor could put together some sort of protest or comment or… something. “What it takes to have one, not only blood. You can keep the house or sell it or give it away, but you’ll make the choice based on more than convenience. I’d also like you to know what it means to me that you’ve been here. That you’d stay with me. You’re a good boy, Brian Trevor. I’m glad I got a chance to know you better too.”
“Shit,” Trevor said, swearing in front of her yet again, then shutting his eyes because they were stinging as though he’d cut into the onions. He didn’t sniffle, but he could have. “Destroy me and then expect me to cook, huh?”
“A lot of great meals have been made with a few tears in them,” his grandma insisted, coming over to rest her hand at the center of his back. “We just leave it out of the recipes.”
The next few hours were spent either doing intense, precise labor or watching a pot of sauce simmer. Trevor didn’t just have to be worthy of his grandma’s recipes, he had to make the Barsotti side of the family proud.
His grandma didn’t say that, of course, but Trevor thought he should do his best anyway. Even if the Barsotti side of the family were not the kind of cooks they might imagine they were.
He made the tomato sauce, a ragu, a béchamel sauce, and the pasta itself, then had to assemble it all.
He and his grandmother both collapsed onto the couch while it baked, and despite the delicious scent wafting through the house, his grandma fell asleep before it was time to take it out of the oven.
Trevor put an afghan over her and patted the couch so Mr. Tams would join her for a nap, leaving Ellie to pout from the floor. Then he went to the kitchen to do the dishes and stare anxiously at a cooling lasagna.
It was early for dinner, but he cleaned himself up enough to remove the stray streaks of flour or dried tomato and most of the garlic smell. Then he sliced up the lasagna and, trusting in his grandmother’s supervision and his limited skills, put two generous portions into a casserole dish and gently set the glass lid on top.
He and G.G. had to talk. Might as well have dinner too. They could decide afterwards if it was a date or not.
Chapter Twenty-One
Trevor hadn’t had time to think about what he’d been advised to think about: what he wanted. But it rattled around his mind as he carried his armful over to G.G.’s.
It would be nice to sit with someone in the yard he’d helped build, and to cook for them sometimes. It would be nice to know G.G. was enjoying the garden even if Trevor wasn’t there. The thought unlocked a deep feeling in Trevor’s chest, a rich, purring contentment to think of his creation being enjoyed by a particular person or persons. Sky needed the sun and fresh air even if he pretended otherwise. He’d like to see flowers and growing things. G.G. thought a garden could be paradise on earth.
Trevor wanted them both there. That wasn’t really news to him, although he had avoided thinking it directly. He was demanding the attention of two amazing people when he wasn’t even sure about having the attention of one amazing person.
He’d done the right thing, Sky had said. But Trevor wondered as he continued down the sidewalk to the largest house in the court. Maybe, like Sky, he’d been doing things for reasons he hadn’t wanted to admit to.
He didn’t have anyright, he decided. But hewanted. So he’d ask. He’d try. To make Sky happy long distance and to coax G.G. into the garden and get him to smile. And get him all soft-eyed and wide open again. And fuck him.
And then introduce him to Sky. If Trevor was that lucky. If he worked hard.
But first things first.
He knocked on the door.