Dinner time. The sound of water splashing echoed in the first-floor bathroom.
Shane was showering inside, standing quietly, tilting his head back, feeling the hot water running over his body.
If it were the old, half-dead water heater from before, in less than 10 minutes, he would have to run out like he was being exorcised.
Because everything after that would be freezing water.
But now it was different; the hot water was consistent and stable. Shane propped himself against the wall, slicking his hair back.
The messy thoughts in his head—course arrangements, Facebook private messages—were all being washed away into fragments by the water flow.
Inside the bathroom, he heard the clatter of pots and pans outside, Carl's footsteps, and then Fiona's voice coming through the door.
"Shane, if you don't come out, you won't get to eat tonight!"
"I'm starting to suspect you're doing something in there, washing for so long."
...
Before long, Shane dried himself, put on a tank top, and walked out.
The dining room looked like a small banquet scene. Chicken legs and breasts just out of the oven were sizzling with oil, their skin golden and shiny. Next to them was a large bowl of mashed potatoes and a plate of sautéed green beans and carrots.
The most outrageous thing was the fruit on the table. A pile of fruit was stacked on a plate, along with a few boxes of blueberries that didn't look like something South Siders could afford.
At this moment, Fiona passed by carrying a dish and finally couldn't help saying, "Shane, can you not buy a whole pile of fruit every time? If you buy too much, Carl will use them as grenades. Not many will end up being eaten."
Carl, who was building a tower with his fork, immediately looked up to retort: "Hey, I was conducting an important experiment to save the world!"
"..."
Debbie added in a whisper: "He also used apple slices to set up a magic circle, saying he wanted to summon a talking puppy."
Next to her, Ian held back a smile: "Ended up summoning a stray dog that almost bit him."
Shane waved his hand indifferently. "It's fine. Play however you want, eat however you want. These fruits are very cheap."
For Shane at this stage, although he couldn't make the Gallaghers incredibly wealthy immediately, he could ensure their food and clothing surpassed most American families.
At this time, Shane noticed the unconcealable joy on Fiona's face. He sat down and asked, "What's up? Did you pick up a wallet today?"
Fiona looked happy.
"The breakfast revenue today was good, almost catching up to our best days."
This morning, they nervously used the food truck to sell breakfast. The result was a success; the income was directly much higher than the day before yesterday.
"Oh, oh." Shane nodded and asked again, "Did you run into any trouble? Like some blind hooligans?"
Fiona answered with some pride this time: "No. I called Tony over to buy breakfast. Now no one dares to wander in front of our stall."
At this time, Lip, who had his head buried in his laptop, looked up.
"Speaking of which, I made a spreadsheet template for our breakfast stall."
He turned the computer screen towards Fiona and Shane as he spoke.
"From now on, we just input the data every day, and it will automatically calculate our profit and how much everyone should get. Also, Fiona, not to criticize, but what era is this? You guys actually used paper and pen to calculate before. Slow and error-prone."
Fiona leaned over to take a look. The neat grids on the screen made her a bit dizzy.
"It looks clear enough, but I have to learn how to use these things first."
"Simple, I can teach you in 5 minutes." Lip's tone carried a hint of pride.
Debbie asked at this time: "Then can you calculate for me how long I need to save money to buy another ballet skirt?"
"Of course, little manager."
Shane forked a piece of chicken into his mouth and chewed, saying to Fiona: "Wait until we save a sum from selling breakfast, then we'll rent a small shop directly."
Fiona turned her head: "Rent a shop?"
"Yes." Shane confirmed.
"To sell food, drinks, or some daily necessities. Anyway, I have many channels and varieties over there, and I can get cheap and easy-to-use goods."
Although Shane still had concerns about selling goods on a large scale using Pinduoduo—because in the US, many things were fine if not checked, but once checked, it would be very troublesome.
The best-case scenario would be treating it as smuggled goods and paying a fine; the worst case could mean spending a long time in prison and attracting unnecessary trouble.
At least in this initial stage, Shane wouldn't ship large quantities, but he dared to supply goods for a small shop.
Lip spoke sarcastically.
"Wow, sounds like the South Side Walmart startup plan. Is the next step to schedule shifts for us, set KPIs, and paste 'Customer First' slogans on the wall?"
Shane glanced at him, not wanting to bicker.
"Our small stall's income will be just like that even if it stabilizes. We might earn today and lose tomorrow. If we get a shop, at least it's stable."
Fiona was silent, her brain already starting to calculate: "The shop idea actually sounds doable."
"Not sounds," Shane's tone hardened a bit.
"It's a roadmap. We take it step by step."
Finally, Shane emphasized again: "Remember, stability comes first for the breakfast stall. When we save enough money, we'll go rent a shop. By then, we can sell whatever we want."
"Okay, I got it. Stability first."
An unnatural look flashed across Fiona's face.
But Shane had already lowered his head to fork chicken again, thinking about the location of the shop, and didn't see it.
And Lip next to him heard Shane's tone again and couldn't help being sarcastic: "Big Boss, is this 'stabilize-expand-formalize' process the same rhetoric Frank used to fool people back then? Give a little sweetness first, then tell you to double your efforts to keep up with the great plan."
These words were a bit harsh. Fiona frowned: "Lip."
"The difference is that in my plan, every penny earned in every step is shared with everyone. So what good idea does our genius Lip have?"
"Fck..." Lip wanted to argue. This preaching rule made him feel the discomfort of being co-opted.
But Fiona kicked him under the table, and his words didn't come out.
Dinner proceeded in a relaxed atmosphere. The food was plentiful, and the conversation was light.
Even Carl temporarily gave up his military exercises, concentrating on tackling the chicken leg. He cut a slit in the meatiest part of the leg, pretending he was operating on a big blessing.
This could be counted as one of the few dinner scenes in the Gallagher household approaching a normal family.
But amidst this gradually rising warmth, Debbie felt herself sinking bit by bit.
Her older brothers and sister were discussing the future, a future that sounded great. But in her mind, a person excluded from this future emerged—
Frank.
Children often can't remember hatred, but they will remember the love that occasionally flashes amidst the hatred for a lifetime.
These past few days, she secretly asked some regulars at the Alibi Room, pretending to casually inquire with Kevin, but the answers she got made her panic.
None. Nowhere.
This time Frank disappeared very thoroughly.
In the past, even if he didn't come home, you could always find him under some bridge, by some stinking ditch, or in a bar toilet. There were always traces to follow.
But this time, even some homeless people who often helped him or tolerated him shook their heads.
"We haven't seen that piece of sht for several days either."
Debbie didn't know why, but she felt her nose tingling. She quickly lowered her head, pretending to be burned by the food, so people around her wouldn't see anything unusual.
She was wondering, was Frank beaten up by some gang or kidnapped by some organization now? —
And what was Frank doing right now?
He was currently sitting in a very clean living room, wearing pink pajamas, with a warm smile on his face.