Perhaps because he went to bed at a somewhat reasonable hour, Trevor woke up rested and in a thoughtful mood that his grandmother left him to for the first half of the morning, other than sending him to the store for tomatoes and spinach. He placed online pharmacy orders for Ellie, got up to date on a friend’s ongoing webcomic, and watched a video on animation without actually attempting anything.
His grandma called him to the garage with her to get some more seedlings to plant, filling him in on the family dispute about the wedding that should never have been allowed to get to this point. Trevor didn’t think people would calm down now even if he said he’d go.
Which he wouldn’t.
Then he and his grandma debated various desserts Trevor could learn to make before going over to his parents’ for dinner next week, as well as what dishes might work for a gathering of the extended family in the summer, as if that was now definitely a thing that was happening and Trevor needed to start planning this early.
Maybe he did. He had no idea how events like that worked. He’d get a new notebook for it, but if he did, he could never tell Sky. Or maybe he could, because Trevor’s scribbled ideas were possibly something Sky was interested in.
However, he didn’t think his grandmother would enjoy knowing that Trevor had a notebook full of her medical information sitting next to a book for Sky with notes on how to make Sky beg. So Trevor nodded along and resolved to write down what she was telling him later, and then leave her and get back to his room.
She stopped him before he could go, waving him toward the kitchen.
“Lasagna today, with noodles from scratch.” Her tone said this was mandatory.
Trevor frowned in confusion but nodded and started cleaning off the countertop since they would need all the space, as she further informed him. Then she rifled through her recipe cards so she could slap the recipe for her lasagna down on the bare counter.
She probably didn’t need the cards anymore. The cards were for others. Others like Trevor, who very much needed a recipe in tiny, scrawly handwriting giving him step-by-step instructions.
“I’ve barely started learning. Are you sure?”
“If G.G. is any good for you, he can tolerate a beginner’s meal and be polite about it. And I’ll be here to make sure you don’t mess anything up too badly. Don’t want to poison him.” In spite of her promise to keep an eye on things, his grandma sat down at the kitchen table several feet away.
Trevor studied her from the other side of the counter. He’d known she was upset about him seeing G.G. instead of Sky, but this was still a lot. Of course, explaining the situation to her would have been easier if Trevor knew more about what G.G. or Sky wanted.
He was supposed to be thinking about what he wanted as well. Sky thought so, anyway. And Sky was always—well, mostly always—right.
Trevor cleared his throat. “That’s hardly a fair way to judge him. Sky likes good food but Sky will also eat crap and not really notice.”
“I don’t know enough about G.G.,” his grandma returned, as though she hadn’t been happily waving to G.G. and keeping his spare house key for him for years now. “He doesn’t talk much. Does he talk more with you?”
Trevor lowered his head to stare at the recipe card. The first ingredient was Roma or San Marzano tomatoes. Of course. She had planned this while he’d been stewing yesterday.
More people in their family should appreciate her craftiness. But maybe she didn’t want them to.
“I’m glad I got a chance to know you better,” Trevor said, looking up again. “And yeah, G.G. does talk to me. More and more each time. He’s… slow to open up. But if you look at him closely, at his house and his cat and everything, you can see who he is. He doesn’t show it to a lot of people, but so what? A lot of people feel entitled to other people, to their business.” He didn’t reference the family chat directly but it was on his mind. G.G.’s family didn’t bother with that, but he and Trevor’s families both managed to be intrusive and ignore them at the same time. “I get the impression that he had it rough for a while. I don’t know the details but I wouldn’t share them if I did, unless he wanted me to. But… I want him to have nice things.”
“You want that for everybody.” His grandma didn’t harrumph, but she did tell grumpily him that he could rinse tomatoes while talking to her. “Everyone who deserves it,” she allowed a moment later. She was glaring at nothing in particular, but Trevor was beginning to think it wasn’t exactly about G.G. “It reminds me of your grandad. He had to be saved from himself a few times. Coworkers. Family members. Everyone he wanted to take care of. They often don’t appreciate people like that and ask too much without ever returning anything.”
“And you stepped in to save him?” Since he was already fussing with vegetables, or fruit, or whatever tomatoes were, Trevor set out onions and garlic too.
“Damn right I did,” his grandma said, then gave a start and shot Trevor a guilty look. It took Trevor a second to realize that was for swearing in front of him. Then she seemed to remember Trevor was an adult with an active sex life they were skirting around discussing and maybe also that Trevor had been the one to introduce her to medicinal weed.
Trevor decided to act like he’d seen and heard nothing untoward. “Are you telling me this to save me from myself? I’m not giving too much of myself to others. I’m not doing anything.”
“You want to do so much.” His grandmother got back on her feet and shuffled around Trevor to make herself more coffee, decaf at least. “I love my children.” She said it with agitation, smacking the lid back on the container of coffee filters. “But they seem to think I don’t know why you’re here. And, in case you don’t know it: they are planning on you being my carer for as long as possible. I doubt they’ve said as much to you. I doubt they’ve even said it out loud to each other, but they’ve never been ones to think long-term.”
Trevor twisted around. “Grandma.”
She shook her head. “And you would stay with me, because you’re a good man and it’s in your nature. But they didn’t ask either of us, did they?” With nothing else to do but wait for her coffee, she finally faced him. “Planning requires being able to look at a situation as it is, as well as a certain amount of ruthlessness. Life requires that, Brian Trevor. You can do that, but they…. I love my children and their children, and maybe I wouldn’t have thought this before you came here and I got to know you as an adult, but they don’t think of you that way. You’re giving, and people take advantage of giving people—you should get to work. That sauce has to simmer for a while.”
Trevor gaped for several moments, then turned around to face the counter. He reached for the recipe card and stared at it blankly.
His grandma continued, her tone light despite what she was telling him. “They’ve sent you here so they don’t have to watch me themselves. You’ve been here for years already and no one has mentioned relieving you so you can go have a life, have they?”
Trevor briefly closed his eyes. “No,” he admitted. “But I don’t mind being here anymore. Anything I’m missing is my own fault, or because of the plague.”
“What you were missing was friends and lovers. Though you seem to have those now, don’t you?” His grandma made a tsk sound, then went to the fridge for milk for her coffee. “I just want you to be wise about it. Don’t go crazy now that things are opening up again. Or give away all of yourself for people who aren’t any smarter than the rest of the family. Don’t tell your mother I said that.”
“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 ask me how you’re doing because he doesn’t want to pressure you.”
“What?”
His grandma muttered a second tsk into 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.