Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“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 me sanctimonious once,” 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 think holier than thou was 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.
“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 of all chocolate 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.