I've learned one more thing today, when it rains this hard the San Antonio soup kitchen fills all the way up, acting as an impromptu shelter. The rain rushes through the city, under bridges, past street corners, and through park benches. Flushing out the homeless, the less privileged, and the squatters sending them into shelters and women's homes. Anywhere they can go to get out of the cold.

Kate explains as much to the few people who do show up to volunteer.

"On nights like these, we have to utilize as much space as possible, even if it means turning our dining hall into a sleeping area." She continues.

"What happens to the people who don't find any shelter?" Someone from our group asks.

I bite at the hangnail on the end of my thumb as I wait for her answer.

"If they don't find anywhere to sleep most people head into their cars which is more often than not very dangerous. I don't want to scare you but sometimes we find entire families dead in their cars. After parking near a gas vent."

My heart seizes when I hear her say it. Families just like mine.

"Not everyone's lucky enough to have a car. Some people have to rough it on the streets. So tonight even though we're short-staffed I'd still like you guys to give your all, okay. I want everyone here to know your efforts are valued and it's because of people like you that we keep this place running. So thank you."

Kate's words get me thinking.

I wonder if I would still be a volunteer if I didn't need community service hours. How many people would be here right now, if volunteer work didn't look good on an application or a resume? And I hate myself for thinking it because all these people are making a difference, whether it's for the sake of doing good or for personal reasons. I know firsthand what it means to be on the other end of the spectrum. On the side of people who need help staying afloat.

With all that in mind, I wonder why it took so long, why it took so much for me to get here.

I shove my hands deeper into the pockets of Darnell's hoodie. And damn he was right because it's so very warm. If he wasn't standing across from me, I would turn my head and sniff it again. Because it smells amazing. Like cologne and a boy and clean, folded laundry. It makes me want to curl up somewhere and sink into my favorite novel.

Kate claps her hands and the dinner service begins.

The dinner rush shows no sign of slowing down and neither do any of the volunteers. It's early days but I've never met a more motivated group of people. The atmosphere here is different compared to working in a restaurant or a retail store. Believing in the cause you're working for goes a long way. Especially since the cause here is people rather than profits.

I haven't been into the dining room just yet but judging from the noise filtering into the kitchen, it's crowded tonight. The menu is almost the same as the last night, soup and sandwiches, this time paired with cobbler.

Not many people showed up so when I'm done with the dishes I'm put behind the trays of food this time, serving.

My mouth hurts from smiling so hard as I spoon vegetable soup into bowls and hand them to patrons. Everyone here says please and thank you, like no matter how hard their lives have been they still haven't forgotten their manners. After a few hours, the line slows enough for me to take a breather.

A woman walks into the hall, looking as washed out by the rain as I was a few hours ago. But instead of being weighed down by a backpack, she's holding a bawling baby and a toddler clings to her side as she walks in. Her outfit has the hallmarks of street-living: wearing multiple layers of weather-beaten clothing with a heavy camping bag strapped to her back making mine look like child's play.

Kate calls over to me from where she's stacking silver food containers, "Hazel, can you go help her out?"

"Of course," I say dropping my spoon onto the table. I walk over to the door where she stands, as though she's still debating on whether or not to come in.

When I'm close enough I say, "Hi, I'm Hazel. I uhh work here."

Not my best work in terms of introductions but they were never really my forte in any case.

"I'm Maya," but apart from that, she doesn't say anything else in response. Unless clutching her baby even closer counts as a response.

"You can join the lines over there if you like," I say gesturing to the last of the people waiting to make their plates.

"Right." The infant in her arms fusses but she doesn't even register the motions, Letting the baby wag its fists against her.

"Do you need help with your bag?"

This she takes note of and straightens, reaching to adjust the straps of her bag. The little boy who's tugging at the hem of her parka looks up at me, deigns me uninteresting, and then turns back to his mom.

"No, I'm fine."

The baby continues to fight in her arms getting more and more stressed. The little experience I have with babies does nothing to endear me to them. I've learned more about them from books and TV shows than in real life. The last time I was sure I saw a real baby was when Timothy was born. And that was nearly ten years ago. At the time I tried to spend as much time away from baby Timothy as possible. I attribute it to jealousy and the deep-rooted feeling that my territory was being encroached upon. Spoiler alert, it was.

So when I ask Maya if she needs help with her baby, know that it's against everything I believe in.

"I'll hold your baby," I say. "You and your son can go and make a plate."

She looks torn for a minute before bundling him up and placing him in my unsteady arms. At first, I wonder why she was so willing to give me her baby when moments ago she wouldn't let me take her bag. But then I understand, she probably carries her whole life in that one bag, living on the streets means she can never let it out of her sight.

Maya and the toddler walk over to the lines leaving me with the baby.

The baby stares at me blankly for a few seconds, quiet. I can pinpoint the exact moment when it realizes that I'm not its mother and starts balling.

Full-on siren-type screaming.

"Shhh," I say fruitlessly. See I did say I wasn't good with babies.

Not only is the infant heavy in my arms but it's crying like I'm some kind of child murderer. The noise pierces my eardrums and sets my teeth on a dangerous edge. What compels people to have these is beyond me.

"Please stop crying, you're drawing unwanted attention."

I try shifting its weight from my forearms to my left shoulder but the baby still feels awkward in my hold. It's only been a few minutes but I can already feel a headache coming on.

Darnell jogs over to us from where he's been talking to the patrons and watches me battle the seven-pound mass for a full minute before he tries to intervene. He scoops the baby from my side and with impossible gentleness places it on his shoulder.

"Don't drop it," I say. Because even though I'm the worst thing that could ever happen to a baby, I'm still cautious. Now that its weight isn't on me I feel a fondness for the creature.

"Not it, him." He says making careful circles on the baby's back keeping calm despite the crying. A superhuman feat.

"How do you know it's a boy?"

"The socks. Boys wear blue socks." He picks up one of the baby feet to show me a navy blue pair of socks.

"You can't tell a baby's gender from just their socks." I'm this close to launching into a lecture on gender stereotyping.

He laughs, "And his name's Eli. Him and his mom Maya are regulars."

"Ohh," I say deflating slightly.

The back and forth rocking motion hushes Eli down but he's still crying.

"Maybe he's hungry," I offer. "Every time I'm this upset it's usually cause I'm hungry."

"What do you feed a hungry baby?"

"I don't know. They normally like milk."

I sigh. "And I thought you were the expert."

Darnell frowns, he lifts the baby's legs and sniffs his diapered behind. He actually sniffs the baby's butt. It's both adorable and disgusting, I'm too torn to decide.

"Umm..." I say shocked.

"I have a baby cousin, that's how you check." He says. "It's not weird."

"Right," I reply with a healthy dose of skepticism.

"We can go look for something in the kitchen." He pats the baby one last time before saying: "I'm sure they have something to cater for the under two's."

After a thorough search of the cupboards and the fast depleting drawers, I come up with a sole jar of pureed peaches, specifically for ten months and older. I did most of the thorough searching though, Darnell contributes little spending most of his time cooing at the baby. With that voice specially designed for patronizing animals and children. I have to admit that it is really cute. Or it would be if I wasn't doing all the work.

There's just something about seeing a boy charm a baby.

I grab a spoon from the set of dishes drying by the sink and stick it into the jar, stirring the peaches.

"Here," I say trying to pass the jar into his free hands.

Darnell shakes his head. "You're going to have to help me."

"We've already established that Eli hates me."

"You'll grow on him." He says. "Kind of like how you grew on me"

"I did not grow on you."

"Like a fungus, or an aggressive mold."

Even though I laugh as we turn back into the hall with the peaches in my hand I still say, "Now that's just offensive."

"To you or the mold?"

When did he get so shady?

Darnell leads us to the table where Maya and her son are sitting with the few people left in the soup kitchen.

"Hey Maya, this Hazel. My classmate." He loops a leg over the bench and makes room for me to do the same.

Maya nods to me but doesn't try to speak to me again. To Darnell she says, "Do you have any more of those jars back there?"

"No. We're out. But I can get more if I run to the bodega next door."

"It's fine. It's still cold out." She says shaking her head. "Hold his head up."

Darnell shifts changing Eli's position. "I haven't seen you in a while."

"We had to move. There's a new patrol on our street." She takes another bite of her sandwich barely managing to take a breath. "But we'll be fine."

"If you need any help, I'm always here..."

I guess I'm not the only one bothered by his white-knighting because the next thing she says is:

"I said we'll be fine. You just need to stop your interfering." She says and the tension that sits at the table with us flares up. "I can take care of my kids without you checking up on us all the time."

I pick up on one keyword in her phrasing.

"Interfering?" I ask looking between the both of them, trying to see if there's more to that story.

Maya snorts acknowledging me for the first time. "I don't think he'd want me to tell you about that."

"I most definitely do not want you to tell her about that."

"Why?" She asks. "You don't want me to scare her away. That's new."

"Now I have to know," I say.

"He tried to call child services on me." She blurts out laughing at the last part even as Darnell rolls his eyes. Despite the severity of her statement, she says it easily. As though bygones are bygones. Their friendship is written all over this interaction. From her breezy manner to the way she lets him hold her baby. "When he found me on the street. He got the wrong idea about our living situation."

"It was not my fault, okay. It could happen to anyone."

"Yeah right. I could barely get you to put the phone down."

"Well, he's always been a snitch," I add.

Maya laughs, "Yes, he has."

And then she continues."I like you, Hazel. I like your honesty."

"Thank you," I say, even though for the past few days I've been erratic with honesty. Either being too brutal or telling outright lies. The balance that I'd found in the past few years has tilted and my moral compass is all out of whack.

"Sorry I was so stiff with you earlier. I just needed to get some food in me, that's all."

I nod in response.

Across from me Maya's youngest alternates from staring at me to staring at his plate. I wave at him and he smiles at me, mouth full, eyes content.