CHAPTER FOUR: CRACKS IN THE WAIT
1167 Words
I checked my phone for the fifth time at the last minute. Nothing.
No call. No text. Not even a "Hey, I landed" from Damien.
He was never this late. Not unless something went wrong.
I glanced at the clock in the kitchen-just past six. My heart fluttered, but it wasn't the good kind. It was the kind that happens when you feel the air shift before a storm.
Mrs. Jackson was still humming, stirring one of three pots on the stove, excited like it was Christmas Eve. She'd gone all out-roast, casseroles, that weird family pudding Drake hated.
All for Damien.
And I'd helped with every part of it. I'd even worn the blue floral sundress he liked-no hoodie today. I was ready. I had to be.
Drake walked in then, hair damp from a shower, in a clean t-shirt. He looked at me and, for once, didn't roll his eyes or say something annoying.
That should've been my first clue.
"Any word from Damien?" I asked, pretending to scroll through my phone.
He blinked. Just once. "Oh... yeah. Didn't I tell you?"
Tell me what?
"What?" I asked, throat already tightening.
"Flight got cancelled." He said it like it was the weather. "Storm or whatever. He's not coming today."
I stared at him. Blinked.
"What?" I said again, like maybe my brain didn't register it the first time.
"Yeah." He shrugged, taking an apple from the fruit bowl. "He told me earlier. You didn't know?"
I shook my head slowly. My mouth went dry.
Drake bit into the apple. Crunch. No emotion. Just him being him.
"I-I should've gotten a text. He always texts."
"Well maybe he forgot." He said it with a straight face, like that was something Damien ever did.
My stomach dropped. No text. No call. And now a casual, oh by the way from his little brother?
I turned away from Drake, back to the stove, trying to keep my hands busy. I felt the heat rise behind my eyes.
He's not coming.
And I'd worn the dress. I'd stirred the damn pudding. I had made peace with everything just to see him. And he wasn't coming?
I didn't say a word. I just picked up the spoon, and it kept stirring. If Mrs. Jackson noticed my silence. She didn't comment.
Behind me, Drake let out a soft sigh. Not mocking. Not amused. Just... quiet. Like maybe he knew.
Like maybe he saw exactly where it hurt.
---
Mrs. Lawson came into the room, drying her hands on her apron, her eyes bright with excitement.
"Everything's ready," she said, looking around the kitchen. "Table's set, food's warm. All we need is Damien."
Drake didn't say anything. Just stood by the counter biting his apple like we were in a sitcom rerun.
"He's not coming," I muttered.
Mrs. Lawson paused. "What?"
I repeated it louder. "He's not coming. His flight got cancelled."
For a second, everything was still. The clatter of a spoon dropping broke the silence.
"What do you mean?" she asked, voice thin, eyes scanning my face like I was joking.
Drake finally stepped in. "His flight got delayed because of the storm. He told me this morning."
Mrs. Lawson blinked at him. "He told you?"
"Yeah."
"Then why didn't you tell me?" she asked, voice rising, hands on her apron like she didn't know where to put them.
"I thought you knew." His voice was flat. Careless.
Stacey walked in just then, all dressed up, heels on, lipstick fresh. She paused at the tension hanging in the room. "What happened?"
"Your brother's not coming," Mrs. Lawson said, barely above a whisper.
"What?" Stacey echoed, stunned. "But the food-Mom, you've been cooking since morning."
"He knew, Stacey," Mrs. Lawson said. Her voice cracked at the end, and suddenly, she was sitting at the edge of a stool, face buried in her hands.
Her husband ran over first, holding her tightly, and then Emily followed, as if sensing the shift in the air, and wrapped her tiny arms around her mom. Stacey followed, kneeling beside her and holding her tightly.
It was a rare sight - Stacey rarely let herself be soft. But there she was, trying to hold up the woman who always held them together.
The room was thick with disappointment. And something unspoken - anger.
"Why didn't you tell us anything?" Mr Jackson yelled at Drake.
"Don't blame me, I just forgot."
"Drake." He called out, he was angry, seeing his wife heartbroken made him mad.
"What? It's not like he died or anything . He's just not coming back today. Everyone should just chill."
"Drake." I warned him as softly as I could to stop but I was too late, Mr Jackson had heard enough, he left his wife in a fit of rage and walked over to him in a fit of rage. I didn't want to intrude even though I felt the need, too.
"That's enough out of you. Why do you always have to be so difficult? Why can't you be-
-"More like Damien?" He asked, completing his father's sentence, and Mr Jackson paused.
"I'm sorry that I can't be the perfect son dad. I'm sorry that I'm me."
Everyone had turned to Drake. This conversation felt familiar.
"You're grounded!" He told Drake and left back to his wife, no more yelling, all his anger hseemedeem to evaporate.
I turned back to the food. Trays of roast, vegetables, sweet peas and casseroles - all warm and untouched. The smell made my stomach twist. It all felt... pointless now.
"This is such a waste," I whispered. "All this... for nothing."
"No," Stacey said after a pause, brushing her mom's hair back from her face gently. "We eat it. Let's just eat. We'll call it Thanksgiving."
Mrs. Lawson looked up, eyes red, a watery laugh escaping her. "Thanksgiving in June?"
"Why not?" Stacey said. "It'll be fun. We'll invite some friends over, call it a weird dinner party."
It was her way of fixing things. She always had one - a bandaid, a plan, a snarky joke. But this time, it felt different. Like she was trying to prove that the family could still matter, even when Damien didn't.
I looked around at all of them - Mr Jackson holding his wife,Emily tugging at her sleeve, Stacey going back to the table and even Drake... standing off to the side, chewing his apple slower now, like maybe it wasn't so sweet anymore.
I knew they were hurt. I , as too.
And the conversation with Mr Jackson made me feel bad for Drake, made me peek into the past when he was the only one I talked to and the countless things he told me about feeling overshadowed by Damien.
But what stayed with me, what echoed as I helped Stacey set the table again, was that one little detail: Damien told
Drake. Not his mother. Not me. Drake.
He knew.
He knew and said nothing.
- Writer
