Page 16 of The Guy in the Alley

Damn, that was good to hear. “We gotta celebrate, then,” I said firmly.

Tommy lit up. “Do kids under thirteen still get ice cream?”

I chuckled and winced. “In this cold? You gotta wait till spring. But I got somethin’ I think you’ll like. I’ll see you up at the table.”

I returned to my station between Ben and Marisol, and I reached under the table to grab a plastic bag. Then I filled three containers with goulash for Monica and Tommy to take home. I added a couple kits with energy bars and, last but not least, extra servings of cocoa and marshmallows.

Next week, I had to order more takeout containers for liquids. We had thousands of lids, but the cups ran out fast.

When it was Monica’s turn, I handed over the bag to her while Marisol served them the food they could eat here, and I gestured at an empty booth.

“Thank you. Really. Thanks.” Monica smiled and lowered the bag for an impatient Tommy, who beamed at the sight of marshmallows.

“Fuck yeah! It’s the minis!”

“Let’s go have a seat, baby.” Monica ushered her boy over to the booths, and we shifted our focus to the next man in line.

A few minutes later, we closed for the day, and it felt mad good we didn’t have to turn anyone away. It happened here and there, and it always sucked.

Those who were still eating could stick around while we started cleaning up, and Marisol changed to cartoons on a couple of the flat-screens. The kids liked that.

I liked that I was about to have a two-hour nap before I went back to work.

As if on cue, I heard Ma in my head, but I didn’t need the reminder. Petey would get his rest in the office.

Marisol and Sandy offered to stay behind until the last people had left, so Ben and I began lugging the stockpots out of the Green.

“You know what comes now?” I nudged the kitchen door open with my hip. “Food and a well-deserved nap.”

He chuckled under his breath. “I admit, it got more hectic than I anticipated.”

Warmer months were a lot easier, that was for damn sure.

When all was said and done, the kitchen staff, Ben, and I had our own containers of goulash—plus I grabbed a serving of cheesy bread—and he and I headed upstairs.

“I think on Sunday, we’re gonna serve ramen and grilled cheese,” I said. “Costco’s running a promotion on block cheese and bread that even our wholesale suppliers can’t beat, and our ramen cup storage is getting full.”

He’d noticed our donation initiative in the restaurant earlier. We kept tip jars scattered about, our most popular being the one at the host’s desk and then the ones at the bar. We called it the Clover Cup, and basically, we asked people to consider donating fifty cents for a ramen cup and other food that went to the soup kitchen. So every time I saw a good promotion or we got coupons, we took the money and stocked up.

“Doesn’t it require much more work to make grilled cheese?” he asked.

I shrugged and dug out my keys. “Not really. We just have more people in the kitchen, ’cause the ramen is essentially self-serve. We hand over a cup, and they pour the hot water themselves.”

With limited resources and time, we couldn’t offer a wide range of foods like some soup kitchens could. We did our best to provide both carbs and protein, but they usually came in soup, the occasional casserole, or stews. Then bread. Grilled cheese, plain bread for dipping, PB&Js, toast and beans in tomato sauce… A lot depended on sales and donations.

Last week had been really good. A local grocery store had donated fruit and eggs that were about to expire, a women’s group at a church had stopped by with baked goods, and I’d come across an insane sale on canned ravioli at Jewel. I’d had to call Adam and Everett down there to help me clear out their entire display.

Kids always loved ravioli in tomato and meat sauce.

And so did I.

I came to a stop in my hall once I’d thrown the keys on the side table, and I noticed Ben was staying outside.

“You comin’?” I tilted my head.

He hesitated, then nodded and stepped in. “I didn’t want to assume.”

Oh. Well, fuck that.

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