Her husband sat beside her. He was a huge, frighteningly handsome man I vaguely recognized. I eventually remembered he was Sebastian St. James, the famous author. He had dirty blond hair, brooding and artistic features, and a powerful body. He was the type of man who should have been my type. He seemed serious and grounded. The kind of man who wouldn’t try to turn everything into a joke.
And somehow, I was letting myself get connected to the maniac in the kitchen who couldn’t stop whistling show tunes while he made lasagna. He was also the man who had the weirdest assortment of pets on the planet roaming his apartment and every drawer was stuffed with thrift store “gems” he’d collected. I’d nearly screamed when something scaly brushed against my foot, but I realized it was just Rat, his monitor lizard. Every few minutes, his parrot, Windbag, would screech and happily let out a string of swear words. I could also hear Mr. Meatball the cat wrestling with Minnie, Sebastian and Kenzie’s puppy, in the other room.
The place was a madhouse.
But... it was also oddly endearing to be part of it. I’d never been in a chaotic household like they showed in movies. I’d been fascinated as a kid when I saw the opening scenes in Home Alone. I’d thought of my clinical, quiet childhood and compared it to that warm chaos in the movie. Voices everywhere, something going on in every room, and a messy family bond holding it all together.
It had seemed like fantasy, except it appeared Travis and his family all had their own version of it.
Travis eventually emerged with an apron that read “I gave the chef a handjob. I’m also the chef. And yes, I washed my hands,” and two oversized oven mitts. He set the lasagna in the center of the table and clapped his hands together. “There it is!” he said.
I waited for him to bring out sides or more portions, considering he and Sebastian alone looked like they could’ve polished the thing off by themselves and still been hungry. But he sat down and started passing out plates.
“Didn’t think we’d need sides?” Kenzie asked.
“Oh, there were sides,” Travis said. “I burned the bread, though. And Rat jumped into the salad bowl. He was using it to scratch off his molting skin. I gave up trying to figure out which parts were iceberg lettuce and which parts were monitor lizard skin.”
Kenzie looked like she was about to gag.
“Good call,” Harole said.
“Wonderful,” Sebastian mumbled.
“Well! Let’s eat.” Travis cut hilariously small squares of his lasagna and served everyone up a portion.
Even though I was fairly sure everybody was going to need to sneak some take-out food on their way home, nobody complained, as if they had all known not to come to a Travis catered dinner too hungry. Conversation flowed easily from Hal explaining the work he was doing constructing a chicken coop at his place to Kenzie talking about the book she was working on and even a brief detour into the finer points of storing frozen breast milk.
Travis and his parents went out of their way to make sure I was included in even the most obscure topics by asking my opinion or giving me a chance to respond.
“So,” Kenzie asked. “How the heck did you and Travis wind up together?” We had all long since finished our food and our plates were all pushed away and stacked with napkins.
“Uh, well,” I said. “It was just one of those things, I guess.”
“Yeah,” she said, leaning forward to rest her weight on her elbows. “But I mean you seem way too… serious? I can’t quite picture someone like you putting up with my brother.”
“Rude,” Travis said.
“Uh,” I stammered again. Kenzie really didn’t hold any punches, did she? “To be honest, I never made much time for dating before this. I’m not even sure I have a type.”
“What do you do with your time?” Hal asked. It wasn’t an accusatory question—he was just casually curious.
“I work a lot,” I said. “I work at Glass Design. It’s a—”
“The magazine,” Sebastian said. “I’ve heard of it.”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “My goal is to run it someday.”
Hal pounded his fist on the table. “Hot damn. Run the whole thing?” He elbowed Harole, grinning wide at me. “Did you hear her, hon? She’s going to be a CEO.”
“That’s fabulous,” Harole said, smiling warmly up at me.
I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I shook my head. All they knew was that I wanted to run it some day and they were impressed? “It’s just a goal. Other people at the company want the same position. There’s this guy, Rand, and all he does is wait for me to miss a step so he can swoop in and take my place. I think he’d sabotage me on purpose if he had the opportunity.”