We Promised to Wait for Everyone—But No One Waited for Me Chapter 01

We Promised to Wait for Everyone—But No One Waited for Me Chapter 01

After college, the five of us rented a house together.

The very first day, we made a rule.

Every Friday, no matter how busy anyone was, we’d wait until everyone was home and eat dinner

together.

The first week, my cousin Josie got held up on a work project, and my brother Wesley said,

“No rush. It’s not a real family dinner without Josie.”

The second week she was late again, her best friend’s birthday this time, and my boyfriend, Miles

said,

“We’ll wait. Worst case, we’ll call it a midnight snack.”

This Friday, it was my turn. I worked late, until nine.

When I pushed open the door, the smell of simmering broth filled the house.

But the table was set, neatly, for only four.

I froze for a second. Then I went to the cabinet and took out a fifth place setting.

Wesley leaned out of the kitchen.

“Don’t bother. It’s just the four of us. We figured you’d be stuck at work, so I only bought enough for four.”

I stood at the table holding the plate and silverware, suddenly not sure what to do with myself.

Miles pulled me down into a chair.

“It’s fine. We’ll make do tonight. Next time, let us know you’re coming so we can plan.”

Josie nodded, all pout and charm.

“Which means next time I’m late, I’d better text first, too.”

Dawson, my oldest friend, lifted a slice of beef out of the broth and set it on her plate.

“Why are you jumping in on this? Have we ever skipped you?”

The whole room burst out laughing. Only I felt something inside me go dead quiet.

I ate in silence: one piece of broccoli, one mushroom, one slice of beef.

When we were done, Dawson said,

“Delaney, next Friday, all five of us. A proper dinner, okay?”

I didn’t answer.

I swallowed the “okay” I was supposed to say.

If this house couldn’t spare room for one more place setting, then before next Friday, I should quietly excuse myself from this table.

As soon as I put down my fork, before I could even stand, Wesley had stacked four plates in front of

“Delaney, you’re on dishes.”

“Miles, Dawson, and I spent all evening on prep. You didn’t do anything, so it’s your turn.”

He said it as if it were obvious.

And it was true: I hadn’t done anything.

I’d worked until nine. None of the food on the table was something I’d bought, and none of it had

been made with me in mind.

Even my seat had been added at the last minute.

“Okay,” I said softly, and got up to clear the plates.

Josie stood too, rolling up her sleeves, in no particular hurry.

“Wesley, I’ll do it. I ate the most.”

Wesley pressed her back down, smiling that doting smile of his.

“Sit. Those hands draw design boards. What if you mess them up with grease?”

“It’s fine, I’ll wash them clean.”

Miles patted the couch.

“Stop fighting for it. Let Delaney do it. Nobody makes the youngest do the grunt work.”

I was the older cousin and Josie was the younger, but only two months separated us.

Josie looked at me, then at the stack of dishes, and let out a theatrical “Ohhh,” pretending to be

disappointed.

She sat down on the couch obediently and stuck her tongue out at Miles.

“Then next time I’ll buy Delaney some hand cream.”

Miles laughed. “Such a sweet talker.”

The room filled with laughter again.

I stood at the sink and turned on the tap.

The water was cold. Grease floated on the surface, with a few bits of vegetable drifting through it.

Josie’s hands drew design boards.

Mine did, too.

Hers couldn’t touch grease. Mine could wash everyone’s dishes.

I washed each plate clean, set them back in the cabinet, closed the door, and dried my hands.

In the living room, they were making plans for tomorrow.

Wesley’s voice drifted in.

“Delaney, tomorrow’s Saturday. All five of us are going to brunch.”

They’d reached a decision. Nobody had asked me.

I was simply being informed.

“Okay,” I said quietly.

I didn’t go out right away.

I leaned against the counter beside the sink for a while, my chest tight.

I opened Slack and found my department manager’s name.

I typed something and deleted it, typed it again, deleted it again.

In the end, I closed the chat.

Saturday morning, my alarm went off, and I silenced it.

“Miles, wake me in five minutes.”

No answer.

I looked up. The other side of the bed was empty.

I walked out of the bedroom. The whole house was empty.

I texted the group chat with all five of us:

[Where is everyone?]

Miles replied:

[Awake? Usual spot, come on.]

Not one of them explained why they had all disappeared together.

Our usual spot was the diner on the corner of Alder and Fifth.

By the time I arrived, they were already eating.

The window booth only seats four, and the four of them filled it exactly.

Josie waved.

“Delaney, over here!”

She squeezed closer to Miles and carved out half a seat for me at the end of the table.

I sat down with my elbow pressed against the wall, barely able to reach the syrup in the middle.

“What took you so long?”

Wesley said, spearing a bite of food without looking up.

“Traffic.’

“We figured you weren’t coming, so we ordered. Yours…”

He paused.

“Never mind. Order for yourself.”

I went to the counter, ordered a short stack of pancakes, and came back to my little corner.

Miles slid a warm basket of cinnamon rolls across to Josie.

“You love these. Eat them while they’re hot.”

She took a bite and said, mouth full,

“Miles waited forty minutes for the fresh batch. Delaney, try one!”

I looked at the basket, even farther away than the syrup, and gave up reaching.

Nobody had asked what I wanted.

I ate my pancakes with my head down.

Nine dollars. I paid for them myself.

On the walk home, Josie held up her phone.

“Look, did my photos turn out okay? I edited them.”

I opened Instagram.

She’d posted a new photo carousel, nine photos, with the caption: [The four of us at sunrise.]

Nine photos from the top of the ridge, four people in every one of them.

Not me.

I stopped walking. Finally I understood why they’d all vanished that morning.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

Everyone turned around.