Walking into the soup kitchen felt different this time. My eyes kept flicking to the shadow near me, but it was clear quickly no one else could see him.

Part of me hoped they would... prove I'm not truly losing my mind. Most of me, though, was thankful that they couldn't. You know... because of the 'running away screaming' thing that probably would have come out of it.

The soup kitchen was one of the things that drew me to this town. It's an old, remodeled restaurant they repurposed for making meals in bulk. Walking in, there's a small serving area for locals or travelers. Several long tables with mismatched chairs take up the space that used to house booths for anyone who needs to come in for a warm meal. Behind the counter the containers are stored in glass-door coolers, and a young teen trying to earn credit for school usually mans it when the kitchen is open to ensure everyone takes only one.

A small counter to the side has a microwave, utensils, and condiments, though sometimes we run out of those things toward the end of the month when the budget runs out.

The back kitchen can be seen over the counter through the glass walls, and it's been hodge-podged together by donations and smart purchases... but it's got everything we need to make hundreds of individual servings each weekend. Most of the meals will end up being picked up by different services in the city on Sunday, and they'll pass them out at the domestic abuse shelters, the homeless shelters, and one of them even goes to the streets to give them out directly to those in need.

"May, darling," Martha greeted me warmly, looking up from the industrial stove with a broad smile as I walked into the large kitchen, "how are you doing?"

Martha is an older woman, her grey hair pulled back into a twisted bun and the lines around her eyes deepening when she smiles. She and Omi were close, and I know her death hit her hard.

"I'm okay," I said, trying to smile but failing as Omi's smile floats into my mind, "just... miss her."

"Me too, honey, me too," she said quietly, nodding and returning to the pot in front of her.

After washing my hands and putting on my gloves, I walk up beside her and look at the menu. We're making stew, rice, and sautéed vegetables today - so, it looks like I'm going to be chopping vegetables until my arms fall off.

"The rice already in the pot?" I ask Martha, confirming what I already know.

"Of course, dear," she chuckles, "what do you take me for?"

"A Godsend," I reply without missing a beat, walking over and giving her a small hug before moving to the large fridge and pulling out the peppers.

Her light laugh lifts my heart a bit... it reminds me of Omi's chortle when she truly found something amusing.

It doesn't take long to get into the rhythm of it all... wash, de-seed, chop, repeat. The time flies by but also seems to crawl, and my mind wanders to Omi often.

She should be here with me... chopping and cooking, cursing in German at American recipes...

A small touch on my shoulder pulls me from the memories, and I realize I've stopped chopping - just staring through the cutting board like it isn't there. When I look toward Liam and his hand cups my cheek, I force myself to take a shaky breath.

"May?" Martha asks softly, and I tear my gaze away from Liam so I can fix it on her, "are you okay?"

I nod slowly, "yeah... just... thinking about Omi."

She presses her lips together into a thin line, her eyes reddening slightly. Leaving the spoon in the pot, she walks over quickly and wraps her arms around me in a hug.

"She was so proud of you, May," she whispered, "she'll always be with you."

I wrap my arms around her hesitantly, trying to find comfort in the touch and her words... but I don't. Not really. Nothing can erase the pain in my chest and the hole Omi's absence has left in my heart.

When she releases me, she gives me a small nod of encouragement and returns to the stew she's working on. I can only take a deep breath, and turn back to the chopping... trying desperately to clear my mind.

"I'm here, May," Liam whispers, his touch returning to my shoulder... grounding me.

"Thank you," I whisper back softly, the tension releasing a bit when I hear his voice.

I don't know how many hours I worked, but I know time was passing quickly because in no time at all Lisa and Betty had joined us. They usually arrive an hour before lunch time, since that's when we'll have a few people drop by to eat.

I knew it was around noon when I heard the bell ding telling us someone had walked in.

And given the day and the time... I knew who it was immediately. I suppressed a groan, but I felt my face tighten in preparation.

"Well, good afternoon, ladies!" Roger's voice echoed through the empty space and it sent a shiver up my spine.

"Roger," Lisa replied coolly, "it's stew day. Do you want a meal?"

The ladies all know Roger makes me wildly uncomfortable, his insistent pursuit toes the line of going too far, so they all play interference when he drops by each Saturday afternoon. He doesn't need the meal - not when his father is the mayor - but he often comes and uses it as an excuse to stay for a while.

"I'd love one, thank you Lisa," he chirps, his voice dripping in the charm that likely wins him attention from everyone else he's ever set his eyes on.

Everyone but me.

"Is this one of your Omi's recipes, May?" he asked, accepting the meal and stepping to the side so he can see me through the glass.

I freeze, my heart jumping into my throat at the mention of Omi.

"It's one of mine, Roger," Martha speaks up quickly, walking away from the stove and placing herself between me and Roger so he can't see me, "it's the one with the snap peas you like."

Her voice is calm and friendly, but I can tell it lacks the warmth it usually has. Roger, on the other hand, doesn't notice.

"Ah," he replies, stepping slightly to the side in an attempt to clear the line of sight, "I do like the snap peas."

Martha shifts, blocking me once again, "I'm so glad! I know the meals can seem repetitive, but we try to focus on a good nutritional balance."

"And you do a fabulous job!" he laughs, "it'll be sad to see this place shut down."

It's like time freezes, and my head snaps up in horror at his words. A chill falls over the space, and we all hold our breath for his next words.

It's the first time I've seen him since he walked in, but he always looks the same. He's only a little older than me, but he looks young. He has the 'I was the quarterback in high school' vibe to him, with sandy blond hair, deep chocolate brown eyes, and a smile that's melted the panties off every willing woman in the tri-city area. He's stayed kind of fit, even as he's aged, but he definitely has more of a 'dad bod' than a 'jock bod' these days. Still, he's not bad looking... he's just insufferably arrogant.

"Oh, haven't you been told yet?" he asks, fake shock taking over his face as he looks between us, "I assumed you heard about the budgeting committee's decision."

"What?" I choked, knife hovering in the air, "what decision?"

His eyes snap to me, and his grin spreads slowly. His eyes twinkle the same way they always do when he manages to get me to speak with him.

"They've decided to pull the community funds for this place," he says, his voice dripping with fake sadness, "after all, the benefits aren't for the town but for the city. They've decided to move the funds toward something more appropriate."

"More appropriate," I rasp, placing the knife down slowly.

He nods solemnly, holding my gaze.

"The truth is that the school facilities need an upgrade, and the budget is being pulled for that. A shame, really, but the kids in town have to come first," he shrugs.

"Our funding doesn't only come from the city budget," Betty speaks up, her voice tight, "there are companies in the city that contribute too."

Betty's younger than Martha, but only by a decade or so, and while she usually plays nice she'll fight for this place just like any of us would. She's a cafeteria lady at the schools during the week, and she's been known to take meals to the kids who can't afford lunches - she's particularly invested in it continuing.

"Hmm," he hums, looking at her briefly with a serious nod, "maybe it'll be enough, then. Let's hope, yeah?"

Let's hope... the words feel a stone in my stomach.

"Although," Roger continues, furrowing his brow, "I suppose I could have a word with the committee, see if they could spare at least some funds to keep things afloat."

"I thought you said they'd already made their decision," Martha asked slowly, suspicion bleeding from her tone into the creases on her face.

"They released their decision," he says nodding, "but the budget hasn't been formalized yet. I believe the finalization is pending in a couple of weeks, technically."

"We could go speak to them," I spoke up then, looking toward Betty and drawing Martha's attention, "we could attend their next meeting or-"

"Ah, no more public meetings regarding the budget are planned, I'm afraid," Roger interrupts, lifting his hands in exaggerated defeat, "if you'd hoped to impact their decision, you'd have needed to attend the last one."

"Why... why weren't we informed this was up for discussion then?" I choke, looking to Martha helplessly.

"Well, I mean every year the budgets have to be reviewed. It wasn't so much up for discussion as part of the annual review," Roger answers for her, shrugging casually.

My shoulders slump, a new wave of defeat sitting heavily in my chest.

I feel a warm hand on the small of my back, and I take a deep breath, straightening. Fixing Roger with a firm gaze, I lift my chin.

"You said you could speak with them? You are able to do that even though it's not public, or whatever?" I ask, forcing my voice to sound stronger than I feel.

"Of course," he smiles, probably with what he thinks is charisma, "I could try."

His smile sends a cold shiver through my spine, and I have to fight not to grimace.

"And what would you want in exchange for this service," Lisa's voice is icy, and the look she gives him shows his little act isn't working on her either.

She's young, a senior in high school, and standing at the desk to pass out meals may not be her favorite job... but she works here because she believes in the cause. Her piercing green eyes and frizzy red curls embody just the little spitfire she is.

"Oh, I'm not sure," he says thoughtfully, as if it didn't occur to him to ask for something, "but perhaps it would be beneficial to understand why it's so important to save."

His eyes snap to me, and he brightens as if he's just had an idea. Punching a fist into his hand, he smiles widely.

"May, why don't you and I talk over dinner. Tonight, perhaps. You could explain the operation, the goals, and we could discuss why it's important to you. We'll discuss Omi, too, and how it's a tribute to her memory - you could explain why she cared so much about it. Everyone knows her, it might help sway their opinions. I'll take it to the committee, see if we can convince them to save some of the budget for this place. What do you say?"

I blanche, fighting the urge to curl in on myself, my eyes snapping to Martha.

"Since I worked so closely with-" Martha begins, but Roger interrupts.

"No, I think it's important to hear from her granddaughter directly," Roger insists, his smile fixed on his face in a way that feels forced, "it's different to simply come from her friend. Her granddaughter's memory and emotion would have more sway over the committee, I'm sure."

"That son of a..." Liam's harsh whisper near me reflects the feelings I wouldn't dare speak aloud.

Yet... this soup kitchen and the work we do here... it's one of the few things I have left of her. Something we did together. It was how we gave back and helped people...

I can't give up on it.

"Okay," I agree, my voice squeakier than I'd prefer, "if... if you promise to speak to them... I'll... I'll go to dinner with you."

"May, you don't have to-" Betty begins, concern in her brow at the turn of events.

"Perfect!" Roger says suddenly, his voice loud as he drowns out whatever she was going to say.

He claps his hands excitedly, a look of victory clear in his eyes, "I'll pick you up at 7. I know the perfect place. Dress nice."

And without waiting for a single argument or confirmation, he spins on his heel and leaves without a glance back.

The meal he'd asked for sits untouched on the counter.

"That slimy, sniveling weasel," Lisa growls, glaring at him as he moves across the parking lot.

"Let me confirm what he said is even true," Betty says softly, looking at me meaningfully, "he might be full of shit, May."

"He's not," I say softly, looking down at the vegetables, "he's been trying to get me to agree to go to dinner for a long time... but he's never lied. I have no doubt what he said is true."

"But I wouldn't be surprised if he's the reason it's true," Martha grits out, her fists so tight at her sides her knuckles are turning white, "he's got the influence to orchestrate this."

"Seems a bit much just for a date," I murmur, though I'm not really convinced by my own words.

"He's been obsessed with you since you moved here," Betty sighs, looking at me sadly, "but he's gotten more... insistent... lately."

"Since Omi passed," I nod, my voice small, "she always kept him at bay. He's been... pushier... ever since..."

"He has his pick of any woman in town," Lisa seethed, "why the fuck won't he leave you alone?!"

"Language," Betty scolded, though her voice held no real bite, "and... good question."

"Because you don't want him," Martha sighs, returning to the stove, "you're a challenge, and men like that have egos the size of a small country. You don't throw yourself at him like the others do, and he finds that interesting."

"I'm the most uninteresting person in town," it almost comes out as a whine, and I flinch at the sound of my own voice.

Sighing, I look up at the ceiling and try to gather myself.

"That's the most untrue thing you've ever said," Liam whispers in my ear, his steady hand on my back wrapping around to my hip as he stands close against my back.

I have to fight the smile that threatens to break through on my face, and I feel my lips twitch at the effort.

"Maybe he'll leave you alone after this," Betty considers, looking my way, "if it's the challenge he truly wanted, then maybe now that he's gotten what he wants he'll back away."

"Here's hoping," I murmur, shaking my head and returning my attention to the vegetables.

The tension in the room is undeniable after that, but we all have work to do... so we get back into the rhythm, the silence weighing heavily on us all.

"I'll be with you," Liam says softly, a soft caress along my cheek helping ease some of the tension in my shoulders, "you won't be alone, May."

I nod subtly, trying to control my breathing.

At least if Liam is there... maybe I can get through this without things being too suffocating.

It's just dinner, after all... 

--

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