The Sunday Routine

Every Sunday, like clockwork, Rosa, Ben, Claire, and Jason get together at Ben's place for brunch. It's a tradition they've kept going for over three years now. The table's always set with Ben's mismatched plates, a slightly awkward centerpiece made by him in a pottery class last fall, and a pile of food that screams a mix of too many opinionated cooks. They laugh about it every time, but that Sunday was a bit different—Ben had a peculiar energy about him as though something was stirring just beneath his easy-going facade. "Okay, so does anyone actually know how to make Eggs Benedict without them turning into scrambled eggs?" Rosa asked, eyeing the sad remains of what should've been a poached egg. "You're asking a man who once boiled spaghetti with tomato sauce in the same pot," Jason chuckled. Amid the mock culinary disaster, the phone rang, its piercing sound cutting through the casual chit-chat. Ben’s face tightened. “I’ll get it.” It wasn’t unusual for Ben to take calls during brunch – his work kind of forced him into it sometimes – but this call seemed to pull him away for longer. When Ben returned, he looked relieved but also kind of...weighed down. Before anyone could ask, he pulled up a second chair beside Claire and gave her that look, the one that told her he was serious-grade, not joke-grade abrupt. “Guys,” he sighed, “I think it’s time we break out of the routine.” He paused, gauging reactions. Claire was the first to clash eyes, her brow knitting in curiosity. Rosa, the ever-optimist, softly laughed, “New recipe then?” Steady but unexpectedly vulnerable, Ben answered, “Not that. I mean—I'm selling the house. I'm moving.” The words floated above the uneaten food. Silence settled longer than it should have until Jason shook his head and grinned. “Real funny, man. So what’s the punchline?” “No punchline, Jay.” He didn’t back down from the tension he’d created. Rosa looked between them, puzzled at the idea that Ben could even fathom leaving his lifelong neighborhood, let alone the Sunday brunch. “Ben, you love this place,” Claire encircled the conversation, “Why now?” “Maybe I always have, but I feel kind of...struck in place, like the wallpaper I never bothered to change,” Ben spoke frankly, his honesty unsettling yet riveting. They empathized, in their own way understanding the itch of 'stuck.' “I… I think we all know the feeling,” Claire admitted, recalling long nights spent talking about dreams shelved in favor of a simpler, but less satisfying, present. Her words sparked nods around the table. Ben looked around, eyes brightening in the comfort of their shared truth, “I thought I’d start by testing the waters...visit a few places over the next few weeks.” Rosa sighed deeply, “Will the potential new front door open to us just as willingly as this one?” “Wherever I go, you guys are coming, too – brunch included.” Ben promised, his heavy moment hinting at hope where lists and predictability had held sway before. After some conversations, they indulged their eccentric Eggs Benedict – a bittersweet taste to an emotional gain. As they laughed off the awkward tension, Ben felt a strong wave of gratitude, knowing that face-off with reality was a critical page from the book. Maybe leaving could mean more comfort than their worn routine could offer right now. ** And just like that, their Sunday transformed from what was expected to something memorable, worthwhile, yet perfectly unpredictable – kind of like life itself. **