My Boyfriend Chose Her. So Did My Two Best Friends. Chapter 09

My Boyfriend Chose Her. So Did My Two Best Friends. Chapter 09

[Cassidy, don’t you think you should call him back?]

Graham’s message, sent at eight in the morning.

I didn’t see it until noon.

I didn’t reply.

By week three in Melbourne, my life had settled into a rhythm.

Up at seven, a twenty-minute walk to the office, lunch with Sloane, evenings finishing drafts after work.

Simple. Steady. Quiet.

Nobody asking me to grab someone else’s milk. Nobody leaving me the bow of a boat. Nobody redirecting

the conversation the moment I started talking.

The day I turned in my first solo project, my manager said in the team meeting, “Cassidy’s color scheme

shows real vision.”

The whole office-a dozen-plus people-heard it.

I sat at my desk, gripping my pen, heart beating a fraction faster than usual.

Real vision.

Two words.

Back home, the only person who’d ever looked at my design work was Delaney.

Once I showed something to Weston. He glanced at it, said “nice,” and went right back to editing Harlow’s

photos.

Graham once said, “You’re pretty decent at drawing”-the same tone you’d use praising a kid’s finger painting.

Desmond once asked, “You’re really gonna make a living off drawing?” and followed it with, “Harlow, though

-she’s actually got a gift for photography.”

In their eyes, my ability always ranked below Harlow’s.

Not because I was worse than her.

Because they’d never once actually looked at my work.

That afternoon, I received a message from Desmond.

Same script as Graham.

[Cassidy, Weston’s in bad shape lately, at least reply to him once.]

[He’s lost ten pounds. Drinking every day.]

[Whatever happened between you two, he did treat you well, you can’t just do this to him.]

He treated me well.

Well how?

Well as in-two years together and he mixed up my paint brand?

Well as in-answering every time I tried to express a need with “that’s enough already”?

Well as in-handing my birthday to Harlow, my seat to Harlow, my boyfriend’s attention to Harlow?

I sent Desmond a message.

[His state of mind isn’t my responsibility.]

He replied with a question mark.

[How did you turn into this?]

[Into what?]

[Cold-hearted.]

Cold-hearted.

I spent twenty years pleasing others, twenty years giving in, and the moment I finally stopped wronging myself-he calls it cold-blooded.

[Desmond, if you think I’m cold-hearted, we don’t need to stay in touch.]

A minute later, he unsent those words.

Then sent: [Sorry, that came out wrong.]

I didn’t reply.

Walking home after work, my phone rang.

Graham.

A call this time.

“Cassidy, Harlow posted something on Instagram today, let me send you a screenshot.”

I stopped walking.

“Send it.”

The screenshot came through.

Harlow’s Story.

A photo-her sitting in the coffee shop Weston always went to, two cups on the table, one oat milk latte, one

taro drink.

Caption: [Spending time with someone important, during his hardest days.]

Someone in the comments asked who’s the important someone.

Harlow replied with a shy-face emoji.

Weston had liked it.

I looked at the screenshot, said nothing.

“Cassidy?”

“Saw it.”

“How do you feel?”

“Nothing.”

“…really?”

“Graham, are you sending me this hoping I’ll get jealous and come back?”

He went quiet.

“No… I just thought you should know.”

“I know now.”

“Cassidy, you-”

“Thanks for telling me.”

I hung up.

Stood under the streetlight, I enlarged the screenshot, looked at it once more.

Two cups. One was Weston’s usual order.

Extra foam, half sugar, jelly boba.

I knew what he liked to drink.

Harlow knew too.

But I wasn’t the one placing his order anymore.

I deleted the screenshot and kept walking.

Passed a grocery store, I bought a yogurt and a sandwich.

And I ate dinner standing outside the automatic doors.

My phone buzzed again-an email this time.

Weston.

Subject line, two words: [Come back.]

The body was shorter than his last one.

[Cassidy, I know you don’t want to hear from me. But I still have to say it-I really regret it.]

[I shouldn’t have overlooked you. It wasn’t until you left that I realized I’m nothing without you.]

Nothing without you.

Two years ago, when we first got together, he’d said, “I’d be fine without you, but I’m better with you.”

At the time I thought that was a kind of careless romance.

Now I understood.

“I’d be fine without you” was the truth. “Better with you” was just what he said in the moment.

The last line of the email.

[I’ll wait for you.]

I filed the email into a folder.

The folder was named “Read, No Reply.”

Back at the apartment, I showered, sat on the bed drying my hair.

A bird sat on the streetlamp outside the window.

I stared at it for a long time and thought of the bird Sloane had told me about.

She’d said that morning she’d felt like life was pretty good.

I picked up my phone and texted Delaney.

[I got praised today.]

[What?]

[Manager said my design has real vision.]

[Cassidy!! That’s amazing!]

[Yeah.]

[Are you happy?]

Happy.]

Really?]

Really happy. Haven’t felt this in a long time.]

Delaney sent a string of fireworks emojis.

[You deserve it.]

I looked at those three words.

Put the phone down, turned off the light.

The bird outside had flown off somewhere.

The streetlight was still on.

I closed my eyes. Didn’t dream.