“Yeah, she still gets tired out easily, but I might be able to find someone else. The tattoo shop or piercing studio might be slow enough that Andy or Angie would be willing to cut out early. I’m not sure who else is working tonight, but I can message everyone and find out.” I watch the part of his forearms I can see flex as he turns the steering wheel to take the corner to pull in behind the butcher’s shop.
When we left the hospital, he tossed his coat in the backseat instead of putting it on and shoved the sleeves of his black thermal shirt up revealing the bottom of the ink on his forearms. On the arm closest to me, I can see the handle of the meat cleaver on the back of his forearm with an octopus’s tentacles wrapped around it. I wonder how he would react if he ever learns that we named his octopus Oliver. Oliver lives on the inside of his forearm and fascinates me, mostly because I still haven’t found out why Anthony got him.
“Let me check on how everything is in the shop and I’ll take you home. If you feed me, I’ll walk around the city with you.” He doesn’t bother looking at me just keeps staring out the windshield calmly.
I stare at him in shock at his announcement. Everyone in our group knows, I’m not talented in the kitchen. I’ve taken classes, followed recipes, and just can’t seem to master it. Luckily, I have Frankie who feeds me and sends leftovers to me all the time. I’m also a master at ordering food, either at a restaurant or delivery. However, with this snow, I think that’s out.
Catching sight of my face, Anthony starts laughing. “I specifically said feed me not cook for me, Linds. I know you have to be hoarding something delicious in your freezer or fridge we can heat up.”
“I don’t want to keep you out too late. Don’t you need to get home to Boomer?”
Boomer is Anthony’s big slobbery English Mastiff. I know Boomer is bigger than me and definitely weighs more than I do. At 5’ and a little over 100 pounds, I am definitely fun sized. Anthony insists he’s a big gentle lug and I’ve only been around him a few times, but I’m still convinced Boomer was thinking about how few bites it would take him to eat me.
“No. When I got the call about my dad, I had my neighbor take him to his house for a visit. I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it home tonight and I didn’t want to have him left alone that long. He has an auto feeder for food and water, but he’s used to me being home around six every night and would get worried if I didn’t come home.” He pulls into the loading dock and shuts his truck off after shooting me a dirty look as I erupt in giggles.
“Wait, you mean to tell me your big beast of a dog would worry if you weren’t home on time? I wouldn’t think he would worry until he was out of food. And even then, he would just open your fridge and freezer and help himself to whatever he found.” Hopping out of the truck I almost slip since I’m still fighting laughter over the mental image of Boomer sitting on the floor staring forlornly at a clock.
My laughter cuts off like a switch was thrown when Anthony quickly grabs me around the waist to keep me from hitting the ground. With a hand on either side of my waist, I can feel his fingers overlap on my back. I know how tiny I am, and how big Anthony is, but it’s the rare moments like this that really demonstrate the size difference. He’s a full foot and a half taller than me, and he isn’t one of those guys who is skinny and lanky. He’s massive all over and I really think the only reason he started wearing a beard was to hide his pretty face.
“Don’t pick on my dog, Lindsay. He might be a big brute, but he’s still sensitive.” He winks as me after letting go of my waist and heading to the back door.
When I reach him, he quickly unlocks the door and disarms the security alarm, before motioning me through. I’ve only been ‘in the back’, as everyone calls it, a few times and I am always shocked. The first time I was back here, I was astounded. When you hear ‘in the back’, you likely think a small back room section, maybe some storage. In this case, it means an entire building and is bigger than the shopfront. It has freezers, curing rooms, smokers, coolers, and meat grinders. There are also the tables where meat is weighed and cut down before being packaged to be shipped to restaurants.
This is where Anthony is in complete control. This is his kingdom. I have no idea how many employees he has directly underneath him, but he’s definitely in charge. He’s normally in charge of the food service side of the business and the butchering of the meat for the shopfront. His dad has been in charge of the shopfront, and then years ago they stopped doing any butchering in the front. If you had a customer special order, you told Big Tony, who, brought it back to Anthony to prepare. I have to wonder, what will happen with the shop now, while Big Tony recovers?
Anthony walks out of his office and double checks clipboards next to various storage rooms. I think he’s double checking the count of the different types of sausages and meats stored in them. He has to predict what he thinks his customers will buy well ahead of time. Especially considering, some of the stuff he makes has to cure for a decent chunk of time. This big strong silent man walking around looking tough is what most people see when they look at Anthony, but they miss how intelligent he is, and how when he does speak more than a few words, it’s almost always eloquent and moving.
“Come on, mio Inferna Gattina, after we forage for food we can take you for your walk.” Glaring at him, I amend my previous thought. He’s eloquent and moving when he’s not harassing me! He better watch it or I’ll show him how sharp his little hell kitten’s nails are.
3
Lindsay
Crouching down, I balance on the balls of my feet trying to line up my shot. I really don’t want to put a knee down to brace myself since that would mean walking home with a wet spot on my pants. Startled, I jump when I feel a hand on the back of my shoulder bracing me. Logically, I remembered Anthony was with me, and you would think you couldn’t lose track of a giant, but he’s been completely silent standing back just letting me get lost in my photography. He’s currently to the side of me with his hand on the back of my shoulder, and I can feel my eyes sting wanting to tear up at the way he makes sure to avoid any of my triggers. He knows I can’t stand feeling people directly behind me. The entire time I’ve been taking photos of the Irish Famine Memorial he has moved with me, making sure he’s close to me, but not behind me or in the frame of the shots.
I nod at his raised eyebrow letting him know I appreciate the help. I’m loathe to break the silent bubble we are existing within. Also, I don’t know if the emotions bouncing around in my chest would be evident in my voice, so I don’t trust myself to talk right now. I let some of my weight rest on Anthony’s spread hand and get just the angle I want to showcase the snow on the Celtic cross that tops the tombstone. I slowly push to my feet, since I’m done taking pictures for the moment. Anthony reluctantly pulls his hand back to fist at his side.
“Are you Irish like Frankie?” Anthony shockingly is the one who breaks the cookie jar and talks first. He’s looking down at me with his rich brown eyes looking soft and warm again, a huge improvement over the stark look from earlier.
“Bitch, I might be. Sorry, I can’t help myself sometimes.” I chuckle at his eye roll. “Truthfully, I don’t know what ethnicity I am. I’m an all American mutt. Someday, I might get one of those DNA kits that traces your origins. But right now, I’m not too worried about it. I know you guys all have ties to your history and are proud of them, but I never had that.” I shrug at his confused expression. His family is rightfully proud of their very Italian heritage, as they should be. So it might be hard for him to grasp that I don’t know my family history and don’t have anyone to ask, even if I want to.
I reluctantly break eye contact and start walking south back to my place. I glance to my left to quickly take a picture of the waterfront, abandoned and covered with snow. There’s already a foot on the ground from the past 24 hours, with more expected to come down tonight. I’ve seen Philly through hurricanes and blizzards in the past, and these seem to be the only two extremes that can make the
city a ghost town. It seems like as soon as SEPTA stops the buses, all the shops close down and the streets clear.
“The one thing we never talk about is your family and anything about before you moved to Philly. I need to know if the subject’s off limits.” He reaches out to grab my arm to stop me from walking off, and I don’t miss the painful look on his face when I pull my arm back sharply. Instead, he steps in front of me but makes sure he’s back a few feet so he’s not inside my personal space bubble.
I want to howl at the feeling that shoots through me. I fucking hate this. I hate the fear that is always lingering in the back of my mind ready to jump into control. I hate that I need special treatment from people in my life. The thing I hate most of all, is knowing with one hundred percent certainty, the man in front of me would gladly cut off his hands before he ever caused me a second of pain. But the fear won’t listen to logic. I can trust him in the forefront of my brain, but the instinctual part just sees a big man with big hands that can hurt me. It’s been ten years and more years than that in therapy, but I’m still damaged and not good enough.
“It’s… so fucking complicated and something out of a daytime cable movie for women. Thinking about it and talking about it doesn’t change anything, so I just don’t bother.” I walk closer to him and reach out and pet his beard soothingly. I don’t know if it soothes him as much as it does me, every time I touch his beard I’m astounded by how soft it is. I know he uses enough stuff in it to make it soft and shiny, in fact, I think it’s the same stuff he uses in his hair to keep the fade cut pompadour back. I routinely harass him that he spends more time primping and doing his hair than I do, since he has the beard too. To tell the truth, I’m reasonably sure his hair is actually longer than mine.
“Does it bother you if we talk about ours? I’ve seen the look you get on your face when we talk about growing up together and want to make sure that we’re not hurting you.” His question rumbles out and I can feel his chest vibrate with the sound. I really should stop petting his beard but frankly I don’t want to. It’s very relaxing. I wonder if I can convince him to let me pet his beard anytime I’m stressed. It’s better than the cat I got, that promptly let me know I could only touch her when she allows it.
“No, I don’t mind you guys talking about it, the look is probably confusion. You have to admit; you guys had a weird fucking childhood. Not too many kids think back fondly on playing tag in the cheese caves or hide and seek in essentially a slaughter house. It’s more than slightly strange.” He shrugs his big shoulders again and chuckles softly at me.
“Yeah, it was weird, but it was fun. I wish you had been here with us. Not only because it would have saved you from whatever it was, you went through, but I think it would have been absolutely hilarious if you screamed like a girl when you saw a frozen black chicken.” Smirking shamelessly at me, I see his eyes sparkle with mischief once again, meaning we’re back to our normal teasing.
“Dude! They’re fucking unnatural! If I see food that’s black I assume it’s burnt.” Reluctantly I stop petting his beard. I can’t feel my toes anymore so we need to get moving and make our way back to my place.
“What about licorice?”
“It’s unnatural too! Blackberries and black beans I think are the only exception.” I look up at him from the corner of my eye as we walk down the sidewalk, he of course is on the outside like the overprotective alpha male he is. He’s looking around constantly I’m assuming scanning for any potential danger. It’s hilarious to me that out of the two of us, the one without PTSD is the one constantly searching for danger.
I see the ghost town of the ice rink at Penn’s Landing ahead and to our left. I draw Anthony’s attention to it with a nod. “Let’s see if Frankie’s up for skating this weekend. You know I love going! You look like a bear on skates!” I giggle when he growls at me in mock outrage before we continue walking down the snow laden streets to the building I share with Frankie.
4
Anthony
We make it back to the girls’ building without any trouble, but I mentally curse as I look at the stairs and sidewalk out front. I made sure to shovel and salt them before we left. I know Joe was in with Frankie and didn’t want him to have to lose one of his very rare unexpected nights off dealing with it. I feel much better with Joe living in the building than I did before. Yes, I’m overprotective as fuck, and no I don’t care.
When I was growing up, I was always bigger than the other kids and the adults constantly told me to protect the smaller kids. I don’t know whether I’m the way I am due to that or if I was just born this way. Doesn’t really matter in the end, now I’m a big bear of a man, Lindsay’s words, not mine, and I feel responsible for two tiny women whose photos should be next to the word independent in the dictionary. It’s really ironic in and of itself considering how much they depend on each other. Maybe I should consider them one entity split into two bodies.
Witnessing Frankie fall in love with Joe and trust in him enough to agree to marry him, as well be his baby mama, has given me faith. For a long time, I’ve been afraid that the two of them would be single and still living together when they were old women. I know that Lindsay pays rent for the first floor for her business offices, and the third floor where she lives, but they behave more like roommates than some people I know who legit do live together.
“How big of a fight will you give over letting me shovel?” I stand at the base of the steps and fight with myself about getting closer to Lindsay, if she slipped and fell I should be able to grab her in time to keep her from getting hurt. Should is unacceptable when it comes to her safety, but I promised myself years ago I would never push her. I can tell control is necessary for her. She cannot have anyone sneak up behind her. She can’t have her wrists grabbed, and the only person who can hug her tightly is Frankie. I have a feeling if I ever do find out about her childhood I won’t handle it well.
“None, you shovel I’ll salt. You have more upper body strength and can get it done faster than me, which means we can get hot coffee faster.” Opening the front door, she grabs the shovel and hands it to me before heading back in to grab the big orange five gallon bucket of rock salt. Another benefit of Joe being here is his truck, and him going and picking up stuff like the rock salt, which is one less worry for me. I scrape the inches of snow off the stairs and onto the sidewalk before I start seriously shoveling.
The boring chore gives me time to think, I’ve managed to distract myself since we left the hospital but I have to deal with the facts of Dad’s heart attack. I know he’s going to survive this one, the problem is making sure he doesn’t have any more. He’s going to have to eat better and work out more. The working out issue is no problem. I can nag him into going to the gym with me a few times a week. Maybe if I find a gym with good looking women, he won’t complain about exercising because of eye candy. Hmmmmm good looking women…
“Hey, is Joe’s mom still helping out at the new restaurant?” I look over at Lindsay who blinks at me in confusion for a few seconds before she must realize why I was asking. The confusion clears from her eyes, and she let's loose an evil laugh that makes my heart race. I am so in love with this evil little woman, I’ve thought about trying to date other women, but that wouldn’t be fair to them. Frankie fell for Joe, so maybe another miracle will occur and I can get Lindsay to give me a chance.
* * *
“Hey, Anthony thanks for shoveling the sidewalk!” Frankie throws a pair of sweats and gym shorts at me as I reach the first landing on the stairs.
“You’re welcome, Sprout. How’s the peanut?” I look down at the clothes she threw at me, they must be Joe’s. I’m a few inches taller than he is, but the pants should fit me pretty well, our main difference in size is our shoulders and chest. I would definitely bust the seams if I tried wearing any of his shirts. Luckily I look up in time to see Frankie starting to get anxious. I’ve had years of helping her deal with her anxiety, so I can spot all the symptoms like her e
yes getting wide and looking unfocused.
“Come on Frankie, let’s go sit down.” I search my mind frantically for something baby related that I can use to distract her with logic, but fuck if I know anything about babies. I have nine million relatives and can hold a baby, change their diaper, and I’m really good at getting them to stop crying and that’s about it. I quickly realize my ignorance about the actual pregnancy side can help me out here. I guide her to her big comfy couch and get her seated before asking “So how many weeks are you? What do you need to avoid?”
“I’m twelve weeks. I just got done with my first trimester. Most people recommend not telling anyone you’re pregnant until you’re past it because that’s when the risk of miscarriage is highest. I didn’t have much choice with how I was showing already due to this freakishly large baby. There’s a ton of food I need to avoid due to of mercury and listeria.” Her eyes are starting to look more focused and her breathing is back to normal, her color isn’t the best, but she regularly looks like she could be Casper’s stand in.
“What specifically do you need to avoid? I remember that pregnant women shouldn’t have hotdogs.” I need to keep her talking and distracted for a few more minutes. We’re almost through the anxiety and if I can keep her talking we can probably avoid a full-blown attack. I know how stressed she would be about Dad and that today would have been hell for her. I already know all the foods she needs to avoid while being pregnant, that I did do research on so I can keep her safe. I meant more in general like lifting stuff, mostly because I know she would try to claim she could later.
I hear footsteps coming up on me from either side, I know it’s Joe and Lindsay but I don’t want to look away and let Frankie break eye contact with me. I need to keep her focused on me and the specifics of what she can, and cannot have. I have a thought that this might not be a great subject because it could stress her out with what might happen to the baby, but I push it aside knowing how Frankie’s mind works. Stuff she can research and find concrete information on doesn’t cause her anxiety; it’s all the nebulous stuff that could potentially happen that will consume her mind.
Big Meat (A Recipe of Love Book 2) Page 2
