Free Other Broken Things by C. Desir

up by six. You can meet her at seven.”
    â€œA.m.?”
    â€œJesus, Natalie, a lot of people are up at seven in the morning.”
    I know. My dad is one of them. A long time ago I was one too. But that was when I boxed and had training and thought I might be something other than what I am. Now, even the idea of a Sunday-morning chitchat with my dad before I have to go freeze my ass off at the crack of dawn to meet with my sponsor makes me want to spew venom.
    â€œMaybe I’ll figure out a different time to meet her,” I mumble.
    â€œThat’s between you two. But we need you here by eight. Now put on the hairnet.”
    I tug my hair back into a half-baked braid and slide the hairnet over it. I don’t even want to think about what I must look like. I slip back beside Kara, who’s been completely ignoring us. I look at her wide smile and wonder if maybe she’s a little dim.
    She shows me the vat of syrup and hands me the ladle. “I love syrup so much, but some of the guys say that I sometimes overdo it.”
    I bite back a retort and instead offer my own smile. “I’ll do my best.”
    *  *  *
    Two hours in and we’ve had a steady stream of people the entire time. I’ve gone through two packs of gum and had three cigarette breaks, and luckily, Joe or Kara hasn’t said a thing about it. Calvin comes from the back and replaces all of our food just when it’s getting low, as if he has a Spidey sense about it.
    He blinks in surprise when he sees me.
    â€œCommunity service,” I mumble.
    He grins and I see he’s missing one of his top teeth. “Joe’s taken on another pet project? That guy never learns.” He chuckles to himself and I feel my face flush.
    I want to argue I’m no one’s project, but I’m speechless over the idea that I’m not Joe’s first effort at helping someone. And now I wonder about him and Kathy and what the real story there is. And worse, I’m sort of really feeling the vodka from last night.
    I grow increasingly sullen as I put half a ladle of syrup on every plate. The people in front of me are friendly, but probably more because they get to taste their food without so much syrup. They ask how I’m doing and I mumble “fine” more times than I can count.
    I don’t even realize it’s noon until Joe nudges me. “What’s wrong with you?”
    â€œWhat? What do you mean?”
    â€œWhere’s the snarky girl who has something to say about everything?”
    â€œWas Kathy a pet project?” I blurt out.
    He runs his hand through his dark blond hair, and I wonder if it’s soft or smells like dude shampoo. “Kathy’s my ex-sister-in-law. She was married to my brother until she fucked it up by becoming a drunk. When he finally left her, he gave her my number and told her I could help.”
    â€œHow long has she been sober?” I ask.
    â€œAbout two years, I think. Maybe a little more.”
    I nod. “So I’m your pet project?”
    I don’t know why I care about this. I don’t know why it would matter. He’s older than me. By a lot. So’s Kathy. None of these people can be real friends to me. I’m not even sure what I want from any of them.
    â€œGrab the syrup. We need to take these back to the kitchen to clean.”
    I nod and follow him to the kitchen. Calvin’s there with two of his buddies. Sous-chefs, I guess. One of them is the Hispanic guy who slept through my first meeting. He looks sober and lucid right now. And young. Younger than I thought.
    â€œYou look like shit, querida . You allergic to work or hungover?” he says.
    â€œBoth,” I answer, and his face breaks into a huge grin.
    â€œI’m Alex.” He holds his hand out and I shake it. He’s tall. Like over six feet. And his skin is a beautiful brown. “You working the program?”
    I nod. “And doing community