My Boyfriend Chose Her. So Did My Two Best Friends. Chapter 06

My Boyfriend Chose Her. So Did My Two Best Friends. Chapter 06

[Cassidy, you deleted me?]

That message showed up in my personal email.

Weston had sent it from a secondary account, since I’d blocked him on the messaging app.

By day three in Melbourne, I’d erased Weston from everything.

Messaging, contacts, the shared cloud photo album.

I didn’t hesitate deleting any of it.

Two years of chat history-every time I scrolled up, his replies were always fewer than mine.

I’d send ten messages, he’d send back three.

Of those three, one was “ok”, one was “fine”, and one was “tell Harlow for me”.

The email was long. I only read the first three lines.

[This is so immature of you. If you had a problem you could’ve talked to me. Deleting me without a word-

what is that?]

[Harlow said she sent you a long apology message and you didn’t even read it. Do you know how upset she

is?]

[Graham and Desmond both think you’re overreacting. Given the relationship between the four of us, you’re making a big deal out of nothing-]

I closed the email.

Out of nothing.

He still thought it was nothing.

In his mind, the sum probably ran something like: not being invited to the sunrise, small; not being in the

photo, small; the charger at Harlow’s, small.

Add up all the small things, and apparently I amounted to a small thing too.

After my first day of orientation at the new job, my manager walked me around the office.

A window seat, overlooking the garden downstairs.

“Your project team kicks off Monday. Get familiar with the files this week.”

“Got it.”

“Questions anytime.”

After she left, I sat at my desk for a while, just staring.

The desktop was clean. Nobody had ever set anything else on it.

This space belonged entirely to me.

My phone buzzed. Graham-I hadn’t blocked him yet.

[Cassidy, Weston found your email, did you see it?]

I didn’t reply.

He sent another: [Do you think we went too far?]

I still didn’t reply.

[Can you at least say something? You’re just going to block everyone? Desmond and I have known you since

we were kids.]

Known since we were kids.

I remembered.

Third grade, Graham had chased off a boy who was bullying me.

Middle school, Desmond saved me a cafeteria seat every single day.

High school, Graham took me to shoot hoops, Desmond helped me with math homework.

Back then, I’d been the one being protected.

The shift started sophomore year.

Harlow had transferred to our school, met Graham through the photography club, and through him met

Desmond and Weston.

At first it was just “one more friend.”

Then it became “do Harlow a favor.”

Then “Harlow should come too.”

Then “Harlow’s here, that rounds us out nicely.”

When the group hit four, nobody ever noticed one was missing.

I don’t blame Harlow.

Everything she did was within reason-the softness, the fragility, the sweetness.

She’d just found the position that suited her best.

They were the ones who gave her that spot.

But it was mine.

Graham sent another message.

[Cassidy, if you don’t want to talk to Weston, fine, don’t. But at least give Desmond and me a straight answer. We’ve known each other our whole lives, we don’t even get a goodbye?]

I stared at that for a long time. Finally I wrote back.

[Graham, I have a question for you. My last birthday-who booked the restaurant that night?]

[…what?]

[The fondue place. March 15th.]

[Wasn’t that because Harlow wanted to celebrate her contest shortlist…]

[That was my birthday.]

The message went through, and the “typing…” indicator appeared, on and off, for a long time.

Finally, two words.

[I’m sorry.]

I didn’t respond.

Not because I didn’t accept the apology.

Because it was too late.

Someone who forgot my birthday on my actual birthday, then took four months to think back and finally say sorry-that apology wasn’t really because he thought he’d wronged me.

It was because I’d left, and only then did he start digging through his memory for the reason.

That evening, a coworker invited me to dinner.

A woman named Sloane, originally from Chicago, two years older than me, already a year into her time in

Melbourne.

“How was your first day?”

“Good.”

“Homesick?”

“Not really.”

She dropped a piece of steak onto my plate.

“Eat more. You’re too thin.”

I froze for a second.

It had been a long time since anyone cared whether I’d eaten enough.

My phone buzzed in my bag. I didn’t take it out.

Sloane glanced at me once, didn’t push.

We talked about the project, and she pointed me toward the nearby grocery store and the bus lines.

Back at the apartment, I finally checked my phone.

A message from Desmond.

[Cassidy, Graham told me about your birthday. I really didn’t know… I’m sorry.]

Followed by another.

[I went back through our old chats. You said you were scared of the dark. You said you wanted us to hang

out more. You said don’t forget to invite me next time…]

[You said it so many times. We just never took it seriously.]

I set the phone down by my pillow. Stared at the ceiling for a long while.

A sliver of streetlight leaked through the gap in the curtains.

Not bright, but not total darkness either.

I fell asleep without turning off the light.

At 2 a.m., my phone lit up again.

An email from Weston.

Subject line: [Booked a flight to Melbourne, day after tomorrow.]

The body was one sentence.

[Cassidy. Wait for me.]

I moved the email to the trash. Rolled over and closed my eyes.

The streetlights outside buzzed, like white noise.

It wasn’t like that darkness from before-the kind that used to swallow everything whole.