On the way home, Shane thought about it. He decided to "hand over" the majority of Aunt Ginger's money to the family fund, ensuring the Gallaghers could have a better winter.
As for Karen's car, that would have to wait until his "fitness influencer" career took off. Or maybe, since it was only mid-November and the plot where Jimmy/Steve gives Fiona the van happens in mid-December, he could wait a bit.
Maybe he could save up some money or trade something to get "Brother-in-law" Jimmy to steal a car for Karen?
Whatever, worry about that later.
Before he knew it, he was at the front door.
He pushed the door open to the familiar noise.
Carl and Debbie got out of school early and were already home.
Carl was fully focused on tinkering with his homemade "shock device"—a few batteries and a mess of wires—trying to electrocute that poor, limb-missing Barbie doll from this morning, providing his own sound effects:
"Bzzzt! Feel the pain!"
Debbie was watching cartoons while rocking Liam in his stroller, occasionally making exaggerated faces to try and make him laugh.
Ian and Lip were nowhere to be seen, probably out hustling or working. Fiona wasn't back from work yet either.
The house was currently guarded by the "little soldiers."
Shane tossed his backpack on the sofa, glanced at Carl's dangerous "science experiment," and helplessly reminded him:
"Carl, don't burn the house down."
"Relax, I got this! I'm saving the world," Carl said without looking up, continuing to torture the doll.
Shane walked over to Debbie and checked on Liam in the stroller.
The little guy saw his brother and reached out, babbling.
Shane checked his diaper. Dry. Good, no code brown.
"Did he eat?" Shane asked Debbie.
"Fiona left milk in the fridge. I fed him an hour ago," Debbie answered like a competent little housekeeper. Early-season Debbie was truly an angel.
Shane nodded and scanned the kitchen.
Dinner was nowhere to be found. Usually, Fiona would be back by now, but she was missing. Her shift today must have been brutal.
Thinking for a moment, Shane walked into the kitchen and pretended to rummage through the cupboards. In reality, he redeemed a carton of eggs, a pack of ham, and a few jars of generic pasta sauce (making sure there were no labels) from the system. He muttered to himself:
"Guess I gotta make something. Starving. It'll be ready right when they get back."
He tied on Fiona's apron and got busy at the stove.
Soon, the clatter of pots and pans and the aroma of food began to chase away the cold emptiness of the house.
Carl, attracted by the smell, abandoned his mission to save the world. Debbie picked up Liam and peeked into the kitchen.
...
When Fiona dragged her exhausted body through the door, she wasn't greeted by the usual cold silence or the smell of cheap takeout. Instead, she was hit by the warm scent of home-cooked food.
She saw Shane serving a large platter of ham and egg pasta. It looked rustic but hearty. Carl and Debbie were already at the table, forks in hand, staring at the food with wide eyes.
"Whoa..." Surprise washed over Fiona's tired face, the warmth of the scene melting away some of the day's fatigue. "You... you made this?"
Shane wiped some non-existent sweat from his forehead and smiled. "Yeah, threw something together. Just in time for you guys."
Besides the pasta, Shane had made something more "American."
He remembered the system sold pre-marinated roast chicken breast packets and vacuum-sealed chicken breasts. Cheap and easy.
So, while Carl and Debbie were watching TV, he'd secretly redeemed them and shoved the seasoned chicken into the oven (the second-hand one Fiona bought that miraculously still worked).
The kitchen was filled with the smell of stir-fried pasta and the rich, savory aroma of roasting meat. Fiona immediately jumped in to help Shane, washing vegetables and handing him spices.
When Lip and Ian returned home, dragging their tired (or excited, depending on the day's take) bodies, the mixed aroma perked them right up.
Lip sniffed the air hard and yelled exaggeratedly:
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! What's happening? Are we throwing a party? I smell chicken! Did Thanksgiving come early, or did Frank finally win the lottery?"
Fiona, setting the table, laughed and tapped a spoon against a pot—Clang, clang, clang—directing everyone's attention to Shane, who was checking the oven like a pro chef.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Tonight, we have the honor of being served by the mysterious chef from the East—Mr. Shane Gallagher! Let's await his masterpiece!"
Ian and Lip exchanged a glance, then dramatically dropped to one knee in unison, bowing in worship, dragging out their voices:
"Whoaaaa—! Oh, Great Chef from the East! Please make extra! We're starving!"
Shane didn't even turn around, waving his spatula at them.
"Fck off! If you have energy to be idiots, go clean your pigsty of a room. I can smell it from here!"
Just then, Fiona remembered something she'd been meaning to ask.
"By the way, who smashed the panel in the upstairs bathroom cabinet? I saw it yesterday but was too busy to ask."
Lip immediately raised his hand. "Not me! I swear, I haven't been home during the day."
Ian waved his hands too. "Not me either. Between ROTC and work, I'm dead on my feet."
Fiona turned to Carl. "Carl, was it you?"
Carl was staring intently at the oven. He shook his head like a rattle drum.
"I was perfecting my shock device all yesterday! executing justice!" He pointed to the mangled Barbie doll.
Debbie was out of the question; she was still in her angel phase.
So, everyone's eyes slowly focused on the only back in the kitchen that hadn't spoken up.
Shane felt the gaze on his back. He turned around, saw the accusing eyes, and immediately put on an innocent face.
"Sigh, why are you looking at me? God, do I look like the kind of person who destroys furniture?"
He paused, then delivered his prepared excuse:
"When I was watching Liam yesterday morning, Frank came back. He was banging around upstairs looking for stuff. I ignored him. Then he came down, grabbed two beers, and stumbled out."
"Sht!"
Fiona slapped her forehead, looking exasperated but convinced.
"I knew it! Had to be him! Guess we need to find a board to patch it up."
Shane immediately volunteered:
"I'll do it. No school tomorrow, Sunday. I got nothing going on. I'll find some wood and hammer it shut. Should be an easy fix."
Fiona sighed in relief. "OK, you got it."
A few minutes later, the oven dinged.
Shane put on thick mitts and pulled out the golden-brown, perfectly roasted chicken breasts. The aroma instantly detonated in the living room.
"Dinner's ready, Gallaghers!"
"Woohoo—!"
Amidst the cheers, everyone crowded around the table.
Even though Shane had "bought" plenty of chicken, Fiona still portioned it out strictly. With a main dish like this, the rule was no waste, and ideally, save some for leftovers.
There was no helping it. Even with Shane's $800, the winter electric and heating bills were insanely high, and daily expenses were a bottomless pit.
In the show, that "Squirrel Fund" tin can looked impressive, but it was mostly tens and twenties. It looked thick, but it was really only a few thousand dollars.
Surviving a Chicago winter comfortably on a few grand was impossible.
Shane sat at the table, watching his "family" wolf down the food and praising the meal. He made a silent vow:
Don't worry. I'm here now. Next winter, the Gallaghers won't be struggling like this.