Chapter Text
“So you’ve got sixty hours to do, that’s it?”
Rey Johnson looked down at the manager of the soup kitchen she had been assigned to. He looked unkempt; not dirty, just, out of shape, with old clothes, and a long overdue haircut. The office looked about the same: a cheap desk, mismatched chairs, old computer equipment. Everything looked at the end of its useful life. The chair he had offered her looked dirty. She had preferred to stand.
“Yeah.”
He looked up from the paperwork. “We’re open here every day, even during the holiday. Day off on the 26th and New Year's day. It’s a six-hour shift. You can do one or two days a week, or you can do it all at once.”
“I’m between semesters at school. I can do it all week, get it over with.”
“Christmas day too? That’s our busiest time. It’ll count double.”
With her parents home in England, and her roommate out of town, Rey could go to her uncle’s family. “I’ve been invited somewhere.”
The manager, Pierre-Luc, got up.
“Alright. Let me know if you change your mind. Now, let me show you the ropes.”
He led her to the kitchen where people were already bustling about. She’d come early, as requested. Rey looked around, a bit lost. Her previous job was in her uncle’s bookstore, but he’d closed last year, unable to compete with online distribution. She’d also worked in an office, doing some clerical work, but that wasn’t the type of work she would do here.
“Everyone, this is Rey. She will be helping us this week,” Pierre-Luc — Luc for short — announced.
People turned from their tasks to greet her; some waved or gave her a little smile. “She has sixty hours to do with us,” Pierre-Luc specified, “so this is just temporary help like you know the sort. Therese, will you get her started?”
A middle-aged woman stepped forward. “Ok, Boss. Rey? Tu parles-tu Français?”
“Un petit peu Française, pas très bonne.” Oh, no, she thought, I wasn't ready for French immersion.
“Bon, c’est pas grave. Don’t worry,” Therese switched back to English, to Rey’s relief. “Do you know enough to understand if someone asks you for ‘Soupe poulet’ ou ‘légumes’?
“Soup… chicken or vegetables, right? I can understand, I just don’t speak it well.”
“Ok, check with us to be sure, then. There’s a big difference between ‘haché’ and ‘tranché’ when it comes to food prep.” Therese gave her an appraising look. “That’s ‘chopped’ and ‘sliced’. Have you worked in a kitchen before?”
“No, not really, just at home, I cook a bit.”
“Ah, calvaire. You can peel potatoes?”
*
They gave her a stained, but clean, apron to protect her wool pants and silk shirt, but her manicure would be ruined by the end of the day for sure. Her feet would be killing her by noon. I should have known I would be doing manual labour, Rey thought. Stupid idea to break that window. This is Rose’s fault. She knew I’d get mad at her boss. Now, I’m stuck here for the holidays.
While she inwardly grumbled about her circumstance, another worker joined her, Éric, an older man who gave her a better paring knife. “What did you do to get here?”
“I broke a window.”
“Watch for the eyes, Rey, they ruin the taste,” he commented, watching her work. “Sixty hours?”
“Big window. You?”
“I like it here.”
Rey looked at him. He had crinkles at the corner of his eyes; laughter had creased his cheeks. He had a toothpick tucked in one corner of his mouth. His eyes were a warm blue. His hands were veined and a little crooked, but looked strong. He looked content, something she didn’t expect from someone working for the ‘unwashed masses’.
She gave the kitchen a better inspection. There were five of them in a space big enough to be a school cafeteria. A lot of schools had closed over the past decade. Rey guessed this one had been repurposed for the homeless and some refugees that crossed into the country during the winter.
Of all of them, she was the youngest, but by their reaction, they had young delinquents fairly often. The ‘regulars’ did their work, bantered about who’s grandchild was giving them the most trouble, and spoke softly of ailing relatives.
Together, she and Éric made quick work of the mound of potatoes to be mashed for today’s main meal: ‘Paté Chinois’, something Rey knew as ‘Shepherd’s pie’, but this version was made only here, in Québec.
They cut and rinsed the potatoes to boil them and she was tasked with other things: opening huge cans of corn for the main dish and then tomatoes for the soup, chopping celery (don’t waste so much, girl!), things like that. Therese coached her while they put together a meal for a hundred people. Whoever she worked with told her a bit about themselves, and Rey started telling them about herself too.
Where she was from, what school she went to. They seemed surprised that a privileged girl like her would be breaking windows ‘to make a statement’, but they quickly shrugged it off. They got all kinds, Rey understood. Work-crew and clients.
When every dish was either simmering or baking, it was time to wash the first batch of huge pots and pans. The hot water and harsh soap bit at Rey’s hands, and her back soon ached. Her feet hurt; her leather shoes were ruined and then the bell rang.
“Ah,” Therese said, “Benjamin’s here.”
“Bit early. Do we let him in?” asked Pauline, the dessert specialist whose true passion was cakes.
“Sure. It’s cold outside.”
In lurched a tall man, almost as wide as the doorway he had to stoop to pass under. His military-style green coat was covered in new-fallen snow. A thick red scarf, that looked like it had been fixed a few times with strings of other colours, was wrapped around his hooded head. He took it off, revealing a long shaggy mane of dark, greasy curls that almost covered his face. He shook the snow from his shoulders and scarf and wrapped it around himself again.
“Ohhhh, thanks,” he said in a deep but soft voice, “I wasn’t sure you’d let me in.”
“You’re a little early, Ben.”
“Sorry, maybe I can start early?”
“No, your job is after the rush. Hang up your coat. Do you want to eat with us?”
Rey suddenly felt a hush, an expectant silence.
“No, it’s alright. I’ll eat with the others. Mind if I sit near the window?” He took a phone out of his pocket. “Battery’s almost dead.”
“Battery’s always ‘almost dead’. You have to change your phone,” Therese said, but he had already moved to a table near the wall and plugged it into the socket there. Ben sat down and went very still.
Rey could see him thumb-typing furiously on his phone. Hustling, she thought, he needs that phone.
She watched the others stare at him for a moment before they returned to their tasks.
*
The lunch service itself was a blur: a long line had formed outside by the time noon was displayed on the clock. Pierre-Luc went outside and called for those that needed to return to work to come in first. From her place at the soup station, Rey could see a little shuffling in the line, then the first people came in, and she served bowl after bowl of warm nutritious soup.
A sixth staff member — Armand — showed up to help put together some boxed meals for delivery to a few people that were too disabled to come in.
The people were of all kinds: all races, all ages. All poor and downtrodden. Some obviously still had a place to live, some not. Those people had matted hair, stained hands, smudged faces, and stank. Rey watched them, fighting revulsion for the worse off. When she finally looked into their faces, she saw their eyes ranged from dull and lifeless to sometimes wild and frightened.
As they progressed up the line and received their food, she realised their agitation calmed; some smiled. They thanked the staff, took their tray to sit with their friends, and, for this moment, they were in a safe place, warm, and eating hearty food.
People were mostly orderly. There were regulars, known by name, who helped maintain order in the cafeteria and noticed the ‘new girl’. One man started shouting at another, and Pierre-Luc walked over to calm him down.
Then, as if by a common signal, the working poor got up and left to go back to whatever grind they were slave to, that maybe paid enough for a place to live, but not enough for food.
Progressively, people went back out, piling empty plates and trays or giving them to Ben, who had finished his meal and was now helping clean up. There was little waste.
Regular plates, bowls, cups and cutlery went into the industrial dishwasher where near-boiling water ensured some kind of sanitation. Trays were sorted into ‘sturdy’ (that could withstand the same treatment) and ‘new’ (that warped). Rey had to clean those in the great big sinks. It took little time and soon she joined the others for a well-deserved post-service lunch. The food was good, made with care from whatever they received in donations.
While they ate, Rey watched Benjamin wipe down the tables and chairs, and then go out before coming back with a mop and bucket full of warm, soapy water to clean the floor.
He’d finally hung his coat up on one of the hooks that lined the wall, but kept his red scarf. Ben kept his face turned down so Rey didn’t get a good look at him, except to see an over-long nose peek out. His rolled sleeves showed strong, tattooed forearms as he went about his work. He wore a hopefully warm dark-green wool sweater over a denim shirt that was frayed at the cuffs. Baggy and stained work pants were tucked-in over worn-down combat boots. There was something about his posture that reminded her of her grandfather and her uncle Poe.
“He’s a vet?” Rey asked Therese beside her.
“Yes; medical discharge soon after he was deployed; shattered knee. He recovered, but not enough to stay in.”
She waited for more, but Therese changed the subject back to Rey’s life. She told them she was in her final year at school, getting her MBA. She didn’t much like it, but didn’t know what else she could do.
“Tough choices, these days, either do something that makes you happy, or make enough money to be comfortable. Hard to do both.” Pauline had joined in the conversation. “I was lucky my husband — may he rest in peace — agreed to have fewer children so once they were in school, I opened a small catering service.”
Dec 23rd
It was even colder today, but at least she would be dressed comfortably. She’d trimmed her nails, braided her hair, and chosen cheap jeans and an old t-shirt. She only had one pair of trainers, expensive ones at that, but they were still almost new. She’d never picked up the habit of running like her roommate, who tried to get her to accompany her. Rey liked to bike; that was more her thing. And go dancing on the weekend. That was how she stayed in shape. She’d put her bike away for the winter and so it was the bus and the Metro underground train until April.
When she got to the kitchen, the windows were frosted over and the sun was blinding, casting some rainbows in the dining room; she quickly got to work. Pauline was making pink and blue cupcakes. While Rey was chopping up lettuce — throwing a lot of it away due to frost — she learned why the pink and blue frosting: Pauline’s daughter was pregnant again. She was almost giddy with happiness: it would be her fourth grandchild and everyone congratulated her.
Armand and Benjamin showed up almost at the same time. Armand was a tall and thin red-head, maybe in his thirties, who looked disdainful until Therese made a remark that made him smile a warm smile. He worked an early shift at the nearby clinic and usually finished at noon.
Benjamin lumbered in line, looking even quieter than the day before, distracted.
At Rey’s soup station, he looked up and focused on her face for a moment before he looked down at his tray again. He had almond-shaped brown eyes.
Rey gaped and stood silent, shocked by the intensity of his gaze: it smouldered with life. Then he spoke in a deep, dark rumble she almost felt in her gut.
“Minestrone, please.”
“What? Oh— yes, here.” And Rey just managed to ladle the soup into the small porcelain bowl. He took it from the top counter. He had huge hands. They looked clean. When he passed she discovered her heart was galloping in her breast.
“Mamzelle? Poulet, svp.”
She snapped her attention back to the woman before her. Poulet… that’s chicken.
*
By the end of the shift, she was helping Armand put the final boxes together. The cold was keeping more people inside.
“Do you drive?” he asked her.
“Yes, but I don’t have a car. Too much trouble and I like the Metro, and taking my bike.”
“Do you want to do the deliveries with me? It would go faster than just me alone.”
Rey felt heat flush her face. Go to people’s houses? Miserable, disabled people who probably lived in unsanitary conditions? She looked at the ones still in the cafeteria area, sitting in a warm place and sipping coffee. They had removed some clothing and she could see the line where clean hands stopped and dirty wrists started. There were fewer people today than yesterday. Hungry people that needed warm food.
“All right, I’ll come,” she suddenly decided. “But you’ll still have to drive, I don’t know this district.”
“Luc,” Armand called out, loud enough for the manager to hear him, “I’m taking Rey for deliveries!”
“Alright!” came the answer from the office. They heard Pierre-Luc talk on the phone: “Five turkeys would be very generous of you, sir. We have enough potatoes. Cranberries? Mr. Bouchard from IDA offered me a crate of fresh. With some apples mixed in, it should be delicious…” His voice faded while Rey got dressed to do the day’s rounds.
The worst of the cold had passed as the sun hit its zenith, but yesterday’s snow still crunched loudly and Rey’s eye stung with cold. The little car hadn’t had time to warm up enough while they packed the insulated crates in the backseat and her own seat was hard and cold. Rey wished she had worn her overpants.
Armand drove his route, asking her about what trouble she had got into.
“My roommate’s boss made some ‘inappropriate gesture’ on her,” she said, suddenly self-conscious of being alone in a car with a strange man.
“That sucks,” Armand clucked in sympathy. “But what does that have to do with you?”
“He fired her. So I broke the café’s window.” Rey was having trouble sounding remorseful, remembering the judge looking all judgmental at her.
Armand laughed.
“Pretty girls like you are always getting in and out of trouble. And you got caught, obviously.”
“Obviously. You?” Rey figured if he was calling her pretty — which made her nervous — she could ask questions too.
“Place like this saved my life when I was a kid. So I give back.”
Rey considered him. She suspected Éric was the same. Any of them. She herself had been lucky. When things at home had turned ugly, her Canadian aunt had taken her in for the summer.
“When you were a kid?” She spoke, the fact registering just now. “Why would you need the kitchen as a kid?”
“Dad threw me out. Caught me making out with my best friend. My boyfriend.” He emphasised, claiming the right to his orientation. He glanced sideways for her reaction.
Rey felt sad for a moment, wondering how many youths ended up on the streets because their fathers were afraid of what ‘their father might think’.
“You look like things got better after.”
“It was a terrible autumn. Moman found me just before Christmas. I’d been squatting in some abandoned buildings, cleaning windshields to get enough money for the soup and smokes… and other things. Good thing the soup was cheap and would let me in.”
“A squeegee!” Rey exclaimed.
“Yeah. Mom took me back in. She’d kicked the old man out.”
“She loved you more than her husband.”
“She did. He came around later. Anyway, this is your first stop: her name is Mrs. Mercier.” He pointed at a door, calling the number. “She’s almost deaf, you’ll have to speak up.”
“What do I say?” Rey cringed, shyness creeping up.
“Just ask her how she’s doing. Take about two minutes. We deliver lunch, but we check in on them.”
*
When they made it back, Pierre-Luc was standing in the kitchen, the staff in a circle around him. Rey joined them, she was hyped up with the good feeling of having spared some people the trip through the still frozen streets of the city to get food and warmth.
“And they’re back.” Pierre-Luc acknowledged them. “Alright folks, we need all hands on deck for X-mas day. We have six turkeys to cook, so we’ll have to start at five AM. Who’s available?”
They all raised their hands. Rey decided she could sacrifice some sleep. She raised her hand.
“Good!” Pierre-Luc said. “Armand?”
“I’m still stuck with that shift. Someone else will have to go.”
“Rey, you want to do it? My knees hate those stairs. You can take my car,” offered Pierre-Luc.
“I’m not sure I know the route well enough.”
“I do.” A deep voice rumbled from the dining area. “Or I did. You’ll have to mark out the changes from last winter.”
“Right. You’re on, Ben.”
Dec 24th
It was warmer still and Rey woke up wondering if the weather would turn to rain for Christmas, like it often did. It was grey and dreary on the way in and it seemed people had taken the day off from work only so they could do last minute shopping. After hearing a lot of complaining from people with long lists of gifts to buy, she put on her headphones and listened to old 90’s pop until her station. She’d just missed the bus, so she walked the rest of the way.
Therese opened to her and she saw the turkeys set to thaw on one of the counters: half of them. The others were already in buckets of brine set underneath. Plastic sheets protected them from the day’s bustle.
The day’s menu would be simple, ‘Macaroni Chinois’, a greasy dish of pasta, onions, green peppers and strips of cheap beef who’s only link to its namesake was an abundance of soya sauce. Together with the first day’s ‘Paté Chinois’, it spoke of a history of immigrant labour. It was a popular dish with French Canadians; a comfort food.
A friend of Pauline came in to help with the pie crusts for both ‘tourtière’ and apple pie. With the donations, the women wouldn’t have to make as many. Cranberry sauce, more of a jam than a sauce, was also made in advance. It was a bustle and when Armand arrived early, Rey almost felt bad leaving with him to help with the day’s deliveries.
“I thought Ben would ride with me so I could show him the new route,” he said when they rode off.
Ben hadn’t shown up today, Rey realised.
“Do you know why he might not show?” she asked, wondering if the lumbering hulk had more problems than it appeared. She had a flash of his golden-brown eyes and suddenly flushed. He had a big nose, but it was nicely shaped… a strong, bold line that led the eye to his—
“He’s sometimes late, and I was early. But he’ll show. He keeps to himself, but he needs the company.” Armand fell silent for a moment. “He gets lonely.”
Between clients, Armand shared more of what he knew of Benjamin with her, in bits and pieces.
Rey got the feeling Armand appreciated Ben maybe better than most. “You… know… him?” she asked, hopefully in a ‘delicate’ manner.
Armand gave her a quick glance. “Aye. When he started coming to the kitchen, he was in a bad state. He’d lost his job, and then he lost his place. You could say he lost his place in the world.” Armand was wistful, telling the story. “For a while… we got close. I don’t know if I should tell you this…”
“It’s alright, I won’t judge,” Rey said, feelings she couldn’t quite name falling in the pit of her stomach. Maybe Ben was cast out the same way Armand was, she thought.
“Anyway, he was crashing at my place… you have to understand,” Armand explained almost apologetically, surprising Rey with the unexpected emotions, “He’s very attractive — at least to me — and I… misinterpreted his signals.”
Armand let out a long sigh. “He was just so needy.”
“I don’t understand,” said Rey, unsure what Armand was sharing with her.
“He lost his wife and unborn child in an accident.” Armand choked out. ‘It made him lose everything. He was vulnerable and I… didn’t know how to comfort him and… I guess things got carried away.”
“Did he beat you?” Rey exclaimed, thinking of his military background and obvious strength. He could be dangerous.
“Beat me? Oh no. No!” Armand quickly corrected her misinterpretation. “No, he was very gentle. But he’s not for me,” The red-head added, wistful. “I realised that the next morning when he was so embarrassed. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I told you such an intimate story. I don’t, usually.”
“It’s alright, you meant well,” Rey responded, her heart once again galloping in her chest. I think. “I can understand,” she suddenly felt the need to express something. “He is attractive.”
Armand nodded in agreement. “I have a good boyfriend now,” he added, almost as an after-thought. They spoke of the challenge of getting up on time tomorrow for ‘the big day’ as they finished their run.
It was disheartening how some of the Soup Kitchen’s clients would still need their service on Christmas day, but a few did tell her family would come see them, or take them to their home. Not all of them, though.
*
When they got back, the place was still serving lunch and Rey took up a station serving the main dish. She could see Benjamin in his usual place by the electrical outlet in the wall, where his phone was plugged in. He picked it up, fidgeted with it, then put it back on the window sill. He did so twice before Rey understood the phone was dead. He finally got up and picked up his dish tray, a bit abruptly, and walked to the counter to sort and clean out the trays. People were getting up to leave, their reprieve from the cruel winter over.
Rey stood there, staring at Ben for a few seconds until she saw Armand was also standing and looking at him before walking to the manager’s office.
She went out back to start washing the cooking pans, a bit absentmindedly, stealing a look at the dark man whose face was becoming familiar to her; a long, curved crescent moon. Full lips perched precariously upon a delicate, if crooked, chin. A sparse, badly-trimmed goatee and moustache gave him an almost latin air. His neck was big, and she could see the play of muscles under his worn thin grey shirt while he loaded the heavy porcelain dishes into the washer.
“Enweye, finis ça, on mange!” Pauline poked her in the ribs, snapping her back to hurry so they could eat.
“Oui, madame!” Rey laughed, embarrassed, quickening her scrubbing.
The team sat together, exchanging their plans for the evening while they ate. Ben was rolling the mop bucket in when Pierre-Luc ordered him to stop and join them, if only not to hear water sloshing around as they spoke. The big man stood unsure for a moment, then chose a seat at the far end, sat down, and fidgeted.
Éric spoke up:
“My invitation still stands, Benjamin. My son has come by a few times, he knows you. My wife would be happy to help you out. The little ones won’t bother you, they have their games.”
“Kids… don’t bother me, Éric.” He shook his head softly, locks waving, revealing an oversized ear. Oversized, but consistent with his nose, his lips, his hands…
Rey’s breath hitched.
“But I do have plans,” he finished.
“Ah. Plans.” There was disappointment in the older man’s voice. “If you change your mind, let me know. I’ll be here at least part of the day.”
The others returned their focus to more preparations. Pauline would pick Rey up at four-thirty AM.
“I doubt you want to call a taxi at that time,” she explained, and Rey was grateful for the offer.
They extended the shift by another two hours, checking the state of the thawing turkeys. As huge as the ovens were, they only had room for a couple at a time. Pierre-Luc would come in to start a couple around midnight.
*
When Rey got home, the place seemed even colder than usual. It hadn’t rained — thank goodness for small mercies — but the damp hung in the air, and she felt chilled. Her phone rang: did she want to go to her aunt and uncle’s tonight, or tomorrow instead? Her cousin would be there tomorrow. Finn! she thought.
She would go tomorrow. Just as she was putting something on to watch before she ate supper, London called.
“Dad?”
“Hey sweety, it’s already Christmas morning here.” Her dad’s voice was hoarse, and Rey imagined he had smoked most of the evening to stay awake. “People here want to wish you Happy Holidays — if that’s alright and no one is offended, that is.”
“Daddy, I’m in Canada. French Canada. They’re not so easily offended here.”
“I should cross the pond again soon, then. Before… Oh here’s your mom.”
Convenient, Rey thought, maybe a bit unfairly. At least it meant they were back on speaking terms if they were in the same house for Christmas Eve.
“Rey? Oh Rey! Your cousin’s daughter is here and she is just adorable and she looks just like you and oh, here she comes running down the stairs straight to the presents under the tree.” Her mother was a little drunk. She only spoke in that rhythm when she was nervous and drank a little too much. “She looks just like you at that age, with the hair and everything...”
Ah. Here it comes, thought Rey.
“I don’t know why you didn’t want to fly over for the holidays, Rey. We offered to pay for the ticket.”
“What ticket? I got community service, I couldn’t leave the ummm”
Oops.
“What’s that? I didn’t catch that. Rey, some kind of service? Did someone die!?”
“What? No, mom… I’m helping out at the local soup kitchen.” There was nothing wrong with volunteering; all her aunts did that, now that they were retired.
“Oh did you hear that, everyone,” Pride sobered her mom right up, “Our darling Rey is doing some volunteer work in a soup kitchen.” Rey heard some cheers of approval, not many, maybe only her Dad’s sister and her family were there.
They spoke of school, and business, and how her grandma still wouldn’t move into a nursing home but hadn’t wanted to see them tonight, preferring a brunch-like visit tomorrow. In the evening, though, they would go — together! — to a business friend’s manor.
Her parents always seemed to have something going on, and wondered why she didn’t go out more and ‘meet people’ — which meant ‘networking’.
Rey knew the kind of people her family wanted her to ‘network’ with. She didn’t like those people very much. For all that they had the keys — in some cases the whole door — to good career opportunities, she didn’t like the kind of hoops she would have to jump through to get ‘in with that crowd’.
When they hung up, Rey was exhausted. A few text messages from friends — single like her — had come in during the call, asking her out for the rest of the evening, but Rey turned them down, remembering she had to get up at 4am. She would party for New Year’s Eve, she promised.
She dug up something to eat from the pantry and re-watched episodes of her favourite space-opera before going to bed early.
She dreamed of a Space Prince and a Pauper.