Page 157 of Terms of Exposure
I stomped his foot under the table. He didn't even flinch.
The table was a battlefield of Italian abundance.
A massive wooden bowl of salad sat in the center, greens shining with oil.
Steam curled from a loaf of fresh bread, rosemary baked deep into the crust.
A platter of stuffed mushrooms gleamed under the kitchen lights—rich, glossy, borderline indecent.
And beside them, Rosie's chicken cutlets were sliced so thin I could practically see God through them.
Two enormous ceramic bowls anchored the spread—pasta shells drowning in red sauce, meatballs the size of baseballs.
And a pitcher of wine Rosie insisted was "the cheap stuff."
It tasted like it had been blessed by saints.
The whole table felt alive—chaotic, overflowing, impossibly inviting.
Rosie took her seat at the head of the table.
Beside her, Sebastian didn't bother waiting. He stabbed a cutlet with his fork.
"Sebastian!" Rosie barked, smacking the back of his knuckles with a spoon. "You know better than that."
Sebastian threw his head back dramatically. "Ma! I'm starving!"
"You ate an entire hoagie two hours ago!"
"It was SMALL."
Candace giggled—an actual, surprised little sound—before she clamped her lips shut.
Sebastian noticed.
He wiggled his brows at her. She turned crimson.
Damien leaned toward my ear. "This is going well."
I elbowed him. Hard.
He winced silently, still grinning.
Rosie released a long-suffering sigh and lowered her head. We all followed suit, the room settling into a reverent hush broken only by Sebastian's stomach audibly growling.
"Dear Heavenly Father," Rosie began, hands clasped dramatically, "thank you for bringing these two beautiful women into my boys' lives."
Damien snorted. I elbowed him. He bit down on a laugh, shoulders shaking.
I peeked across the table.
Candace looked like she might faint.
Sebastian looked like he wanted to faint, escape, or simply surrender himself to the tomato sauce.
Rosie didn't even pause.
"Thank you for guiding my sons to women with patience—because Lord knows they need it—"
