The trip I stopped waiting for

The group chat had been planning a beach weekend for eighteen months. We had a name for it, a shared list of restaurants, and absolutely no reservation.

Every time we found a date, somebody had a wedding, a work deadline, or a child who needed to be driven somewhere. Usually, that somebody was me. I kept saying we’d go when things calmed down, as though calm was a season that would arrive after soccer.

One Tuesday, I looked at a small guesthouse by the water. Two nights. One room. I checked the price, arranged things at home, and booked it before I could turn wanting to go into another committee meeting.

The first dinner alone was awkward. I studied the menu like there would be a test. When the server asked if I was waiting for someone, I nearly said yes. “Just me,” I said instead. Nothing terrible happened. She brought bread.

On Saturday, I walked until I wanted to stop. I ate lunch when I was hungry. I spent forty minutes in a shop nobody else would have wanted to visit. Once, I reached for my phone to ask what we should do next. There was no we. I put it back in my bag.

I missed my family. I also stayed for the second night. Both were true, and I was surprised by how much room there was for that.

When I came home, there was laundry. The group chat was still negotiating dates. I sent a picture of the sea and the name of the guesthouse. I hope we all go together someday. I’m glad I didn’t wait.