Five People, Four Cups, One Who Walked Away Chapter 01

Five People, Four Cups, One Who Walked Away Chapter 01

The four of us grew up in the same group home.

Once we were adults, we rented a place together. Whoever got off work first made dinner.

If one of us got sick, the other three took turns staying up with them.

My boyfriend, Cole, said this was going to be our home.

The day we moved in, we agreed to eat dinner together every Sunday. If someone was late, we would wait.

Last year, Ethan’s younger cousin Mia got kicked out by her family and moved into our spare room for a while.

The first time she worked overtime until nine, Cole wouldn’t let us start dinner.

“She just moved in. Let’s not make her come home to find we’ve all eaten.”

The second time, her phone died, and she didn’t get back until eleven.

The four of us snacked to take the edge off our hunger, but we kept dinner warm on the stove.

With reddened eyes, Mia said no one had ever waited for her to come home before.

That Sunday, I was on duty at the childcare center.

Just before my shift ended, one of the kids came down with a fever. I had to wait for a parent to pick them up.

I told the group chat twice that I would be home by 9:40 at the latest.

At 9:38, I opened our front door.

Only four dirty plates sat on the table. Even the pots had been washed.

Mia looked a little embarrassed. “I was so hungry my stomach hurt, and Cole said we should eat. You’re not mad at me, are you?”

Cole took my bag. “There are still eggs in the fridge. Want me to make you some pasta?”

I said no.

Ethan chimed in from beside him. “You used to make your own food when you got home late, didn’t you? We figured you were used to it.”

I was used to it.

But just last month, when Mia came home late, I had saved her a plate of her favorite garlic butter shrimp.

The next day, our landlord came by to ask about renewing the lease.

I told her I wouldn’t renew the lease on my room when it expired.

Over Sunday dinner, they were still discussing whether to get a bigger dining table next month.

…

After the landlord left, they were still gathered around the dining table, taking measurements.

Mia measured with the tape for a while, then said excitedly,

“Let’s get a six-foot one. That’ll give four people plenty of room, even with a big pot of chili and all the toppings.”

The living room fell quiet for a moment.

Lily was the first to laugh.

“Five people at a six-foot table, with plenty of room? You might want to check your math.”

Mia seemed to remember I was there and quickly waved a hand.

“That’s not what I meant. I meant the four of you usually… No, the five of us.”

The more she explained, the redder her face got.

Cole took the tape measure from her, sounding perfectly casual.

“Nora usually works the late shift. She can’t always make it home on Sundays, either. Six feet is enough.”

Ethan nodded, too.

“If we run out of room, we’ll pull up another chair. What’s the big deal?”

Another extra chair.

When we first rented this place, there had been just four of us.

Back then, the table seated four, too.

Cole complained that it was too cramped and insisted on a table for six. Home, he said, meant having a place waiting for you whenever you came back.

We hadn’t even replaced the table, and my seat was already something to add as an afterthought.

I didn’t respond. Back in my room, I took out my phone and checked the move-out confirmation our landlord had sent.

[Ms. Bennett, the lease on your room expires on October 31.]

[Your security deposit will be returned after the move-out inspection.]

I replied, “Okay.”

Suddenly, Mia squealed in the living room.

“These mugs are so cute!”

She had bought a set of mugs.

There were four. Set side by side, their designs formed a complete picture of a little house.

The orange one was for Cole.

The blue one was for Ethan.

The green one was for Lily.

She kept the pink one for herself.

Lily paused when she saw me.

“Mia didn’t realize how many of us there were. Don’t take it personally, Nor. You can use mine.”

Mia pressed her lips together at once.

“I’m sorry, Nora. This is the first time I’ve had a home of my own. I saw the set and couldn’t help myself.”

Cole washed the pink mug and set it beside Mia.

“You already bought them. Why apologize?”

As he spoke, he dug an old drinking glass out of the back of the cabinet.

The rim had a small chip. It was a company freebie from two years earlier.

“Nora barely drinks any water. This’ll do for her.”

I looked at the glass in his hand.

When Cole had a high fever last year, I ran three blocks in the middle of the night to buy him medicine.

When I got home, my glass fell and shattered. He held me and promised to buy me the very best one when he got paid.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t gotten paid.

The “very best” had simply gone to someone else.

I took the old glass.

“Sure.”

Cole visibly relaxed. He even smiled and gave my cheek a little squeeze.

“I knew you wouldn’t make a big deal out of this.”

My phone vibrated in my palm.

Dana Brooks, our regional director at the childcare center, had messaged me.

[The new Southside center needs a manager. Housing included, with a 40% raise.]

[When I asked before, you said you couldn’t bear to leave your place. Would you reconsider?]

Back then, I hadn’t been able to bring myself to leave.

I hadn’t wanted to leave Cole or the home we’d all chipped in to furnish.

But now someone else was there to take my place.

I looked down and replied,

[Yes. How soon could I start?]

Dana replied immediately.

[In a week.]

I typed one word.

[Okay.]

Mia was holding up the four mugs to take a picture.

Cole, Ethan, and Lily crowded around her, working out how to arrange the mugs so the whole house lined up.

No one noticed me drop the chipped glass into the trash.

That night, Mia posted the picture in the group chat.

The caption read,

[Finally, a home! Four mugs for four favorite people!]

Two minutes later, she deleted the part about “four favorite people” and posted again.

[The five of us, together forever.]

Cole replied underneath,

[Don’t be silly. Why delete it? Nora isn’t going to overthink one little sentence.]

I closed the group chat and saved the move-out confirmation to my favorites.

This time, he was right.

I really wasn’t going to overthink it.

Because I had already decided not to stay.