The Woman at the Docks (Grassi Framily)

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. Why is anyone single? I guess because we don't find the right person."

"What is this right person like?" he asked, unwrapping the lasagna, tenting the top, then turning to grab a cup of water, pouring it in the sides of the lasagna, then pausing to look up at me when I still hadn't answered.

"I, ah, I don't know."

"How can you get something if you can't, first, define it?"

"I don't know. Someone smart and driven. Someone loyal and kind. My father used to beat the hell out of my mother, so I don't want someone who gets too angry."

"Does this hypothetical person want children?"

"Yes. I think I'd like a couple. Do you?"

"Yes. Several."

"So you want someone in your life too."

"Of course. What?" he asked, head tipping to the side.

"Nothing. It's just... I don't know. I can't say I've known a lot of men who are so sure that they want someone serious in their future."

"I want a family. I think when you are raised with your family values as a large part of your personality, you don't have all that wild oat sowing shit going on."

"What would that woman be like?"

"Someone not intimidated by my lifestyle. Someone who could integrate in with my family. Maybe someone who knows how to cook," he added with a boyish smile as he lifted up the lasagna, turning to slip it into the oven.

"That's not asking for too much."

"I think the first part of that list will be the hardest to find."

Someone who wasn't intimidated by his lifestyle.

Just a quick internet search told me who the Grassi family was, so I imagined women from the area would know who he was and what he did. It couldn't have made dating easy. Because who in their right mind wanted to date someone who could get caught up in some street war some day? Someone who might bring the federal government into the house they had built, tearing apart their lovely life?

"Maybe you just work too much to meet someone," I suggested.

"I've been accused of that more than a few times," he admitted.

"Your family owns a lot of business in this area, right?"

"Yeah. Famiglia. Lucky's pizza places. Some laundromats. A dive bar. The list is long," he added, shrugging it off.

"How long?

"It's a big family. Everyone runs something."

"You mostly handle the restaurant. Fam.."

>

"Famiglia. It means family," he told me. "And yes and no. Famiglia is my father's pride and joy. These days, he'd rather handle the inner workings of that than do all the dirty details about the family as a whole. So, yes, I am an owner. But I don't do much there personally. The docks are where I spend most of my time. And then going around and visiting the other businesses to make sure everything is running smoothly."

"Can I ask what happens at the docks? Like what is your job there?"