Chapter 2

"Meat and vegetables both, balanced nutrition, guaranteed."

Then he posted his nutritionist certificate in the group chat.

"Rest easy, everyone. I'm a professional. I'll get all of you in good shape, every one of you living to a hundred."

A few sweet words, and the old folks in the chat lit up at once.

"Oh, this is wonderful. I've been too embarrassed to say it. One time I ate a meal Evan made and I was throwing up and running to the toilet all day. But he'd put in the effort, even if the result was nothing, so I held my tongue."

That was Grandpa Gilbert talking, the greediest mouth and the pickiest of the bunch.

He never watched what he ate. Last year during the holidays I bought fresh blue crab so the seniors could have a taste.

When I dropped off his meal, he insisted I leave, then sat there and polished off three whole crabs by himself.

Two other seniors didn't even get any that day, and never mind that. Crab is cold in nature and his stomach was already weak. He got so bad that day he was dehydrated.

If I hadn't rushed him to the hospital in time, it doesn't bear thinking about.

I just never imagined that his own mistake back then would now become ammunition against me.

Three years I took care of them, and now every line of praise they heaped on my buddy landed like broken glass in my chest, driven in until I bled.

I took a deep breath and told myself: turn around now, and it isn't too late.

Five years of heart and money already wasted, and now someone was taking the mess off my hands. I couldn't have asked for more.

While all of that churned inside me, Geoffrey came straight to me.

His first line was, "Mrs. Swanson says you've got the weekly menu previews and the supplier list. Buddy! They're not letting you handle their care anymore anyway, so don't let it go to waste on strangers. Just send it all my way, saves me from having to collect and sort it one by one."

I looked at how entitled he sounded, and I could only find it funny.

But I still gave him the weekly rotation of dishes, none repeating, along with where to buy every single ingredient.

While I was at it, I transferred over the seniors' meal funds they'd prepaid to me for the month.

He didn't hesitate for even a second. He claimed the money right away.

He fired back a message: "Fist to the chest. Thanks, buddy. Once the rent starts coming in, first meal's on me."

But the moment he saw the ingredients and the suppliers, his face changed on the spot.

"Evan, who do you think you're kidding? This pile of ingredients runs a hundred grand a month. You were paying out of your own pocket to play charity?"

Reading my buddy's message, I let out a bitter laugh.

Paying out of pocket to do a good deed. That was exactly it.

I didn't need the money from those few houses. I just thought of my grandparents, gone too soon, and couldn't help the longing that welled up.

Now, watching their messages, my throat itched with disgust. It had all been thrown to the dogs. They weren't worth it.

"Buddy, this is a private chat now, quit holding out on me. Where'd you buy the prepackaged meals? Just send me the link."

In the group chat they were still eagerly working out how much money I'd supposedly skimmed off them over the years.

"Geoff's got it right, that kid. He took our houses, so he shouldn't have been taking our meal money too. Wanting it from both ends—that's an ungrateful snake."

I wanted to throw the purchase records in their faces, but reality told me: absolutely not.

Better to get out early, while they still hadn't come to their senses, before they latched onto me again like a plaster that wouldn't peel off.

I steadied myself and typed back to my buddy: "I can send you my old cooking videos. Whether it's prepackaged food or not, you'll see for yourself."

He went quiet. I don't know whether he'd caught on.

But I wasn't going to give him the chance to dump the whole thing back on me.

What I didn't expect was that Geoffrey didn't come back to say anything more.

He just went on chatting with the seniors in the group as usual, until someone pressed him for the next day's menu.

"Geoff, post tomorrow's meals for us."

Mrs. Swanson was the hardest of the group to fool, and the shrewdest.

She only believed what she saw with her own eyes.

Geoffrey's tone didn't change in the slightest. He answered as sweetly as ever: "Let's make tomorrow a surprise, ma'am. Knowing ahead every single day takes all the fun out of it."

Mrs. Swanson still had her doubts, but the others were only too eager to play along. "Sure! I've heard for ages that surprise boxes are the trendy thing with young people. We old bones have Geoff to thank—now we get to try it too."

The flattery went to Geoffrey's head. He thumped his chest and promised he'd make sure everyone ate and drank well.

Mrs. Swanson said nothing more. She only sent me one more message: "I'll give you ten more a day. Fifty-five, would that do?"

I didn't reply. I just blocked and deleted her.

The next morning at breakfast, that group chat blew up.