Five Plates, Four Sets Of Cutlery, Zero For Me Chapter 01

Five Plates, Four Sets Of Cutlery, Zero For Me Chapter 01

After graduating from college, the five of us rented a place together.

On move-in day, we made one rule: every Friday, no matter how busy we were, we had to wait until everyone got home before we ate dinner together.

The first week, my cousin Sadie was swamped with a project and did not make it home in time. My brother said, “No rush. What kind of family dinner is it without Sadie?”

The second week, she was late because it was her best friend’s birthday. My boyfriend, Evan, said, “We’ll wait. Worst case, we’ll eat it as a midnight snack.”

This Friday, I was the one stuck at work until nine. When I pushed open the door, the smell of broth filled the apartment, but four neat place settings sat on the table.

I froze for a second, then turned to the cabinet and took out a fifth set.

My brother poked his head out of the kitchen.

“Don’t bother. The four of us are eating. We thought you wouldn’t make it back from work, so I only bought enough for four.”

I stood beside the table, dishes in my hands, suddenly unsure what to do.

Evan pulled me into a chair.

“It’s fine.Just give us a heads-up next time so we know to set a place for you.”

Sadie nodded with a little pout. “So I guess I’d better give you a heads-up next time, too, if I’m going to be late.”

Dylan, my oldest friend, put a slice of beef in Sadie’s bowl.

“When have we ever let you go hungry?”

The whole apartment broke into laughter. Inside, everything went dead quiet.

I barely spoke through dinner. One leaf of greens. One mushroom. One slice of beef.

As everyone was leaving the table, Dylan said, “Natalie, let us do this properly next Friday. All five of us.”

I said nothing. I swallowed the word yes.

If this home could not even make room for one more place setting for me,

then I should have enough sense to leave that family table before next Friday.

…

After dinner, I set down my fork. Before I could get up, my brother had already stacked the four bowls in front of me.

“Nat, wash the dishes.”

“Evan, Dylan, and I spent all night getting dinner ready. You didn’t do anything, so it’s your turn.”

He said it as if it were obvious.

I hadn’t done anything. That part was true.

I’d worked until nine and only just made it home. I hadn’t bought any of the food on the table, and none of it had been prepared for me.

Even my seat had been added at the last minute.

I gave a soft “Okay” and got up to collect the dishes.

Sadie stood, too, rolling up her sleeves at an unhurried pace.

“Owen, I can do it. I eat the most.”

My brother stopped her and gave her an indulgent smile.

“Sit down. Those hands are for drawing design concepts. What if you get grease on them?”

“It’s okay. I can get them clean.”

Evan patted the couch.

“Don’t fight her for it. Let Big Sis handle the dishes. The baby of the family shouldn’t have to do the dirty work.”

I was the older cousin, and Sadie was the younger one, but we were only two months apart.

Sadie glanced at me, then at the stack of dishes. Finally, she put on a disappointed face and said, “Oh.”

She obediently sat back down and stuck her tongue out at Evan.

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

Evan laughed.

“You sure know how to sweet-talk people.”

The whole room broke into laughter again.

I stood at the sink and turned on the faucet.

The water was cold. Grease shimmered on the surface beside a few floating scraps of vegetables.

Sadie’s hands were for drawing design concepts.

So were mine.

Her hands couldn’t touch grease, but mine could wash the dishes for everyone in the house.

I washed every dish, put them away in the cabinet, closed the door, and dried my hands.

In the living room, they were discussing what to do the next day.

My brother’s voice carried in from the other room.

“Nat, tomorrow’s Saturday. The five of us should go out for brunch.”

They made the decision without asking me. They were just informing me.

“Sure.”

I answered softly.

I did not go to the living room right away. I leaned against the kitchen counter for a while.

My chest tightened.

I opened my phone and found my department manager’s chat.

I typed a message, deleted it, typed it again, and deleted it again.

In the end, I closed the chat.

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

“Evan, wake me up in five minutes.”

No one answered.

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

When I walked out of the bedroom, the entire apartment was empty, too.

I sent a message to our five-person group chat:

[Where are you guys?]

Evan replied:

[You’re awake? Same old place. Hurry over.]

Not one of them explained why they’d all disappeared together.

The same old place was the little breakfast café at the end of the block.

By the time I got there, they were already eating.

The window table only seated four, and the four of them had filled it perfectly.

Sadie saw me and waved.

“Over here, Nat.”

She scooted closer to Evan, making half a seat for me at the corner of the table.

I sat down with one elbow braced against the wall. I could barely reach the sauce dish in the middle.

“What took you so long?”

My brother picked up a piece of the breakfast crepe without looking up.

“Traffic was awful. It took forever to get here.”

“We thought you weren’t coming, so we started without you. Your order…”

He paused.

“Never mind. Just order something yourself.”

I got up, ordered a breakfast crepe at the counter, and returned to the corner they’d squeezed me into.

Evan pushed a basket of shrimp dumplings toward Sadie.

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

Sadie took a bite and said around a mouthful,

“Evan waited in line for forty minutes to get these. You should try one, Nat.”

I looked at the basket, which was even farther away than the sauce dish, and gave up on reaching for it.

No one asked what I wanted to eat.

I kept my eyes down and finished my crepe.

It cost four dollars, and I paid for it myself.

On the way home, Sadie held up her phone and called out,

“Look! Aren’t these edits great?”

I opened Instagram. She’d posted a new nine-photo grid.

The caption read: [Sunrise with the four of us.]

Nine photos of the four of them together on a mountaintop. Not one of me.

I stopped walking. At last, I understood why they’d all vanished that morning.

“Why didn’t you invite me?”

After I asked, every one of them turned to look at me.