No Matter, You Don't Have to Wait for Me novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: Not Four
At a decluttering party her friends throw her things out, then at the wedding tasting they change her menu for another woman. Justine cancels the wedding and learns the refund is hers alone.
At our decluttering party, Gemma held up my face wash and asked the room if anybody wanted it.
Nobody did, so Dario's roommate dropped it in the trash bag.
My fiance had come up with the game himself, the day we left the apartment the five of us had shared.
That afternoon we were moving to a place downtown that he had leased on his own, as a surprise.
The rule was that if nobody claimed an item, it got thrown out.
I opened my mouth to say that one was mine.
Then his other roommate pulled a gray scarf off the closet shelf and turned it over in his hands.
I had spent six weeks knitting it for his twentieth birthday.
"Whose is this?" he said.
"I gave that to you," I said.
Gemma was already holding the bag open, and the scarf went in.
The work bag I had bought the first roommate went in after it, and then the candle I had picked out for Gemma's birthday.
When the last box was taped, Gemma looked at the stacks and laughed.
"How do four people own this much stuff?"
Dario ruffled her hair. "Not four."
For a second my heart went up, because he was finally going to say my name.
Then he pointed at his two roommates, Sergio and Sal, and then at the old grey cat in Gemma's arms.
"Five. Counting her."
Six years, and there was a place in his head for a cat.
I took out my phone and emailed the wedding planner: please cancel everything.
The movers carried out the last box, and Dario stood in the doorway checking the empty rooms.
"Got everything?"
"I have all my stuff," Gemma said.
"Then let's go."
The four of them went down the hall laughing, and I stayed in the living room with my coat on.
Dario came back a minute later, and my heart did a stupid hop.
He walked right past me, reached under the couch, and came up with a frayed felt mouse.
"Knew it was here. The cat won't touch anything new."
"You came back for a cat toy," I said.
He turned around and looked surprised to find me there. "Why are you still standing here? Everybody's waiting in the car."
I didn't answer.
They had noticed a three-dollar toy was missing before they reached the sidewalk.
None of them had noticed I was missing from the hallway.
"Come on," Dario said. "We have the tasting at the hotel. Don't keep people waiting."
I followed him down.
That was fine.
Soon they wouldn't have to wait for me at all.
The tasting was at the Brooklyn Harbor hotel, in a private room with a long white table.
The general manager, a tall man named Donovan Reeve, put the menu in my hands.
Dario slid it across to Gemma before I could read the first line.
"Let her look. She's the pickiest. If she likes it, it's good."
Sergio and Sal leaned over her shoulder.
"Not that one," Sergio said. "She doesn't eat cilantro."
"Dario doesn't either," I said, because it was true.
Gemma turned the page and wrinkled her nose. "Why is the fish sweet?"
Dario drew a line through it with a pen.
It was the fish he had ordered for me the night his first investor wired the money.
He had told me then that it would be on the menu at our wedding, because it was my favorite.
Then they crossed out the soup, two desserts and the wine.
Of the twelve dishes I had chosen, seven were gone.
The manager leaned toward Dario and said, very quietly, that today was mostly for the bride and groom.
"It's fine," Dario said without looking up. "They have similar tastes."
I laughed.
Then Gemma looked at the seating chart and winced.
"Won't it be weird for me to sit with your parents?"
"Then sit next to me," Dario said.
He took the pen and moved my name one chair over.
I put my hand flat on the paper, and the table went quiet.
"Dario. Which one of us is getting married?"
Sergio frowned. "It's a seat. You're overreacting."
"It's our wedding, Justine," Dario said. "Not just yours. You can't have it all your way."
At my own wedding, my favorite fish was a problem, and wanting to sit beside my groom was a problem.
If Gemma disliked a dish they changed it, and if she disliked a chair they moved the bride.
I slid the chart back across to them.
"Fine. Do it however Gemma wants."
Dario's face loosened. "See? That was easy."
They bent over the desserts again, and nobody looked at me.
In the hallway, the manager caught up with me.
"Ms. Halstead, the cancellation came through this morning. Are you certain?"
Through the glass wall, Dario picked the nuts off a tart and put them on Gemma's plate.
The four of them laughed together, and nothing in that picture was missing.
"Yes," I said.
The manager nodded and tapped his tablet.
"Then the deposits go back to the card that paid them. That's one card, in your name only. Mr. Benedetti hasn't paid for any of it."
"I know," I said.
Then I thought of the Tribeca apartment we were moving into tonight.
Dario had said the keys were all ready.
He had never said whose.
"Mr. Reeve, please don't send Mr. Benedetti the cancellation notice until tomorrow."
"He's the second contact on the file, Ms. Halstead. It goes to him unless you tell me otherwise."
"Then I'm telling you."
He nodded once, and I went to find out whose name was on the door.
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