times, hurrying into a black car with suitcases. They’d probably forgotten they’d even ordered from Full Plate.
The delivery guy placed the box at the top of the neighbor’s stoop.
“Have a good one,” he said to Mandy as he trotted down the steps to his truck.
The box would probably just sit there for days, unopened, and the luncheonette was on Smith Street, which was pretty fucking far away.
“Excuse me,” Mandy called out to the delivery guy. “Um, the couple you just delivered the box to? They’re away, and they asked me to take their box. Would it be possible to carry it up to my front door for me?”
“Oh. Oh sure,” the delivery guy said with a sympathetic smile. Mandy could tell what he was thinking: there was no fucking way a chubby, out-of-shape lady like her could carry a heavy box like that all the way up to her kitchen. “Just tell me where.”
She smiled pleasantly with her hands on her hips and gazed down the street, looking out for watching neighbors and judgers. A police car had pulled over at the corner and a few people were standing around talking to the police. Something must have happened. At least they weren’t watching her steal her neighbors’ dinner. Man, was she famished. And pretty high from the weed cookie. The Full Plate box was hopefully full of something delicious.
The delivery guy carried the box right to the kitchen. Mandy fished a ten-dollar bill out of her purse and gave it to him. “You’re a lifesaver,” she said.
She found a pair of scissors and cut through the cute orange-and-white checked packing tape. Inside, the box was fully lined with four frozen gel packs, which must be full of something eco-friendly, otherwise the people at Full Plate were going to hell. There was a neatly wrapped package of frozen, sustainably harvested mahi-mahi chunks from Oregon, a stack of white corn tortillas baked in Queens, half a free-range chicken from the Hudson Valley, diced mango from Puerto Rico, shredded cabbage and arugula grown hydroponically on a rooftop in Brooklyn, some hot sauce, some orzo, a block of Vermont goat-milk feta cheese, and a bunch of beets and chives, both from Long Island. At the very bottom of the box were a ready-made flourless chocolate cake, two bottles of white wine, and two laminated cards with pictures and step-by-step instructions for how to prepare fish tacos with mango salsa and arugula and half a roast chicken with beet, feta cheese, and orzo salad. Score!
Mandy wasn’t much of a cook. She could make Bisquick pancakes and grilled cheese sandwiches that sometimes came out burned. She’d certainly never made fish tacos or half a chicken. But the instructions made both dishes look pretty easy, and she had nothing better to do. She’d cook the fish tacos for her lunch and make the chicken for her and the boys for dinner. Ted would go apeshit over the cake. Stu didn’t like white wine, so she could have that all for herself.
She expected to feel guilty, stealing other people’s food, but she didn’t. It wasn’t like she was stealing from the hungry.
Stu’s face appeared on her phone.
Crazy shit happening over at the school. Did you see?
Mandy’s mind drifted to the police car and then back to the mahi-mahi taco instructions.
Don’t bother me, I’m cooking.
There was a moment’s pause before he replied.
Whoa. Seriously? Can’t wait to taste! Sorry, gotta run, client here.
Mandy pulled the freezer packs out of the box. On each one was a warning label: THESE PACKS ARE FILLED WITH NON-TOXIC POTATO STARCH. PLEASE REUSE OR CUT OPEN CAREFULLY AND DISSOLVE IN SINK. Bingo. Mandy carried them over to the sink to dissolve them. Everything in the box was shrink-wrapped in plastic on a cute blue cardboard plate thing that she was probably supposed to reuse, but she probably wasn’t going to. Getting rid of all the packaging was going to be a huge pain in the ass, but she couldn’t let Stuart find out she’d stolen the neighbors’ food. The taco instructions said preparation time was only fifteen minutes. In fifteen minutes she’d be eating fish tacos for two and fully ready to tackle the pile of plastic wrap and cardboard before moving on to the half chicken. She turned on the TV, just for background noise. The midday local news was in the middle of a report.
“… Police are investigating a schoolyard fire in Brooklyn. An empty liter bottle of vodka and a plastic cigarette