Chapter 11 Most Philanthropic #2
He thinks he knows me? Connor knows nothing about me.
He might have more styrofoam boxes than me if I cave and open more peaches.
At least I’ll prove to him, and myself, that I’m confident enough to have less.
I will know that I am contributing to the welfare of people who are less fortunate, and that matters more than who wins this round.
I can barely wrap my arms around the large bowl as I carry it over to the metal shelf with all the giant cans.
I wonder how many I should open and look in the nearby waste basket to see how many are inside.
He used three to fill the bowl originally.
One by one, I open the same number and dump them into the bowl. There’s still a little room inside.
Maybe I do still care about him being better than me. Connor will have more boxes at the end of the day, there’s no way around that at this point, but I can feel smug knowing I did more for the common good.
I open a fourth and dump it in. Between the slices and syrup it’s filled to the rim.
I try to lift it, but the smooth sides make it difficult to get a good grip on the bowl.
My second attempt goes a little better. There’s about three inches of space between the bottom of the dish and the counter before it slips again.
The crash echoes through the small space, spilling some syrup and earning a glance from Connor.
The bowl isn’t too heavy for me to carry. It’s just awkward and slippery. I grab some pot holders and lift it again.
“What are you doing?” Connor snaps.
“Bringing the peaches just like you asked.”
He’s already walking toward me. “Are you trying to make a mess?”
The bowl sways in my arms. When I try to straighten it, I overcorrect, and the momentum of the syrup sends some slices to the ground. They land with a wet plop. I look down. “I’ll wipe that up when we’re done.”
“Let me take it for you.”
“Now you want to help? No way.” It would be more leverage he can use against me. Remember that time you couldn't lift a bowl of fruit? Lucky for you I was there.
“Don’t be stupid.” His hands reach for the bowl.
“I’ve got it.” I wrench it free and swing it away from him. More peaches fall to the floor. There’s enough syrup that spills to make a splash.
“You’re making a mess.” Again, he tries to take it from me.
“Only because you won’t leave me alone.” I yank it away.
Soon, we’re stuck in a game of tug-of-war.
In all the back and forth, the pot holders slide up, and I lose my grip.
The bowl falls in slow motion. I watch helplessly as Connor tries to catch it, but it drops right through his hands and falls to the floor.
The bowl bounces once. Twice. The force of impact sends the peaches flying through the air as the metal bowl spins on its side then eventually stops.
Connor and I stare down at the mess in horror before we look back up at each other. He’s the first to speak.
“You dropped it on the—”
“Only because you tried to—”
“If you weren’t so stubborn—”
“You had to act like you were better than—”
It’s a flurry of yelling and accusations thrown at each other.
The words all melt together in one giant yelling match as we both fight to shift the blame off ourselves.
This has got to be the worst-case scenario.
I don’t know how many servings are on the floor, but they’re all inedible.
We’ve just wasted food meant for the elderly. My breaths come in shallow pants.
“Connor,” I scream as loud as I can, fighting to keep air in my lungs.
He stops mid sentence and throws out his arms. “What?”
“We have to clean this up.”
“We? I’m not the one who tried to carry more than I could handle. This is your mess.”
My hands shake as I look at the explosion of fruit and syrup.
As much as I hate to admit it, this is my fault.
I couldn’t just let him have more boxes than me.
What was supposed to be a way to help others transformed into something selfish.
If Mrs. O’Riley walks in, we’re doomed. I look up at him with wide eyes.
“You’re right, but I can’t do it by myself. ”
He says nothing as he stares at me.
“Please.” The word comes out as a shaky breath.
His shoulders sag, and he nods.
I drop to my knees and start scooping peaches into the bowl with my bare hands.
Connor crouches beside me and does the same.
How could I have been so stupid? My vision blurs as I think of all the ways I messed up and what this means for the future.
Mrs. O’Riley is not going to let me come back after seeing what happened on the camera footage.
I can only hope we get this cleaned up before she comes back.
A loud shriek breaks through the room. “What is going on in here?”
So much for hope.
We both jump up at the sound of Mrs. O’Riley’s voice.
Or, at least, Connor does. I’m less graceful.
My feet slide in the syrup as I try to stand, and I lose my balance.
My arms flail, but Connor catches me with one hand on my elbow and the other on my back.
His fingers linger only until I steady myself. Then he pulls them back.
Mrs. O’Riley’s face is purple, and she shakes with rage. “I knew you were bad news. I knew it. But I had so much to do that I ignored the warning bells going off in my head.”
“I’m so sorry.” I take a careful step toward her. “We’ll clean it up and then work on the rest of the meals.”
“You’ll do no such thing. I want you out of my kitchen before you can do any more damage.”
“We were trying to surprise you by finishing up all three-hundred meals before you came back. We got a little eager and dropped the peaches,” Connor says.
She crosses her arms over her chest unconvinced.
Connor takes a deep breath. “My father is Brendan Williams. I’m sure he will be happy to pay for cleaning and loss of food when I explain my accident.”
Recognition flashes in her eyes. “Brendan Williams.”
Even after my dad stole all his money, the real estate mogul maintained his reputation. I’m equal parts jealous and thankful for what Connor is doing.
Mrs. O’Riley nods. “Yes. Okay. I’m sure we can come to an arrangement.”
Connor looks over at me. “Consider us even for Hardy’s party.”