We'd promised to climb the mountain together at four in the morning to watch the sunrise. I woke at 3:50 and their rooms were already empty. Weston, Graham, and Desmond had slipped out with Harlow, leaving me alone in the dark living room. No one had bothered to wake me up. When I reached the viewing platform, I saw Harlow wearing Weston's coat—as his girlfriend, I had never once worn his clothes. The other two—Graham and Desmond—were holding up their phones, snapping the perfect backlit silhouette of the group. I didn't walk up. I turned around, went to the docks, and bought a ticket for the earliest departing ferry. That was when I received a message from Weston: [You feeling sick? Why didn't you come up?] The timestamp read 6:12. They'd left at four. It took them over two hours to think of me at all. [At the docks.] He replied instantly. [The docks? What are you doing there?] [Watching boats.] [Weird. Come back, we're about to get breakfast.Grab Harlow some hot milk—her stomach's been off.] I bought the milk, left it at the dock, and boarded the ferry. They could have the island views. I was on my way to Melbourne. It was our last island trip before graduation. The five of us had agreed to climb up before dawn to watch the sunrise. But after I waited alone in the dark living room for half an hour, I realized my boyfriend Weston and my two childhood friends had already slipped out of their rooms. I took a cab to the viewing platform alone. In the grey morning light, I saw the three of them clustered around Harlow, the fragile, delicate underclassman who'd tagged along on the trip. Weston had wrapped his own windbreaker around her shoulders. The other two—Graham and Desmond—were holding up their phones, snapping the perfect backlit silhouette of the group. Nobody noticed me standing a few steps behind them. I looked down and opened Instagram. Weston had posted a Story five minutes earlier. [The best version of youth.] The photo showed four hands stacked together, fingers in a peace sign. Mine wasn't one of them. I remembered buying sunscreen before the trip—they'd found a buy-one-get-one deal and grabbed two bottles, and not one of them thought of me, the one who actually burned easily. I remembered the speedboat ride out, how the four of them had settled into the smooth back row without even discussing it,leaving the bumpy bow to me. They hadn't meant anything by it. They'd just gotten used to me being there. And then gotten just as used to forgetting I was. The moment the sun broke fully over the water, I didn't walk up and say good morning. I turned around and bought a ticket for the next ferry back to the mainland, and left the four of them on that beach for good. ... "Hi, what time's the next boat off the island?" The woman at the ticket window flipped through her binder. "6:40. Speedboat. Three seats left." "One ticket." My phone buzzed. Group chat. Graham: [The sunrise is insane—Cassidy, get over here!!] A photo was attached—Harlow standing at the railing, the sea wind lifting the hem of her dress, Weston's windbreaker draped over her shoulders. Desmond added: [Cassidy still asleep? Girl can SLEEP lol.] Nobody had called. Nobody had come looking for me. The way they discovered I was gone was by posting the photo to their Stories, then casually shouting my name into the group chat as an afterthought. I shoved the ticket in my pocket and didn't reply. The wind off the harbor was strong when I stepped outside the ticket office. My phone lit up again—this time a DM from Weston. [You feeling sick? Why didn't you come up?] The timestamp read 6:12. They'd left at four. It took them over two hours to think of me at all. I typed a few words, deleted them, and finally sent back three. [At the docks.] He replied instantly. [The docks? What are you doing there?] [Watching boats.] [Weird. Come back, we're about to get breakfast.Grab Harlow some hot milk—her stomach's been off.] Grab Harlow a hot milk. Not are you okay. Not I'll come find you. Just—get Harlow her milk. I stared at that message for a long time. My thumb hovered over the screen, then pulled back. I typed one word. [OK.] I was used to it. I'd always been used to saying okay. The little shop by the docks did have hot milk. I bought a cup and stood there holding it in the wind. 6:28. The speedboat was already docked, crew calling passengers aboard. The milk was still warm. I set it down on a bench on the pier and walked toward the boarding gate. The crew member scanned my ticket and announced through a megaphone, "The speedboat departs promptly at 6:40. Passengers boarding, please move inside." I sat in the very last row. Nobody fought me for the seat this time. There was only me. My phone rang. Graham. "Hey, Cassidy, where are you? Where's the milk?" "On the bench by the dock. Come grab it yourselves." "You're not coming back to eat?" "No." "Then what are you doing?" The engine started up. "Cassidy? What's that sound?" "Nothing. Bad signal." I hung up. Switched the phone to airplane mode. As the boat pulled away from the dock, I could see the mountain in the distance. The sun was already high, the figures on the viewing platform blurred into a smudge. I couldn't tell who was who anymore. Honestly, I hadn't been able to for a long time. The ferry took forty minutes to reach the mainland. I hauled the suitcase I'd packed the night before out through the terminal. On the way in, the five of us had piled our bags together—Weston had carried two of Harlow's, Graham had wheeled her suitcase. Desmond had glanced back at me once and said, "You didn't pack much." That single glance. That was the only moment, in the entire trip, that anyone had noticed me. There was a shuttle straight to the airport outside. I'd already checked the flight before we left—two o'clock that afternoon. Back to campus, pack up my things, then catch a flight to Melbourne in three days. I'd had the job offer for two weeks already. I hadn't told anyone. Not because I was hiding it. Because I already knew no one would listen if I did. The day I got the offer, I'd posted in the group chat: [I have some good news I want to share.] Graham was posting photos of a cake Harlow had baked. Desmond was gushing about Harlow's cooking skills. Weston sent back a string of emojis. My message got buried. Nobody asked what the good news was. I never brought it up again. The shuttle wasn't crowded. I sat by the window. The second I switched off airplane mode, messages poured in like a dam breaking. Weston: [Where'd you go?] Weston: [Why aren't you picking up?] Weston: [Cassidy ,what is going on? Everyone's waiting on you for breakfast.] Graham: [Cassidy, you left the milk at the dock, but where are you???] Desmond: [You didn't seriously leave, did you?] Harlow had sent a voice memo to the group. I tapped it and listened. "Is Cassidy mad at us? Is it because we didn't wake her for the sunrise?" "It's my fault, I told Graham last night I was scared of the dark and asked him to stay with me, and then everyone just... Cassidy, please don't be upset." Soft, syrupy voice. Practically preening. Scared of the dark. She was scared of the dark, so Graham had stayed with her. Weston had stayed with her too. Desmond had stayed with her too. And me? Freshman year, during orientation week, the power had gone out one night. The entire dorm building went black. I'd called Weston and told him I was scared of the dark. "You're an adult," he'd said. "Still scared of the dark?" Then he'd hung up. I never told anyone I was scared of the dark again. In the group chat, Graham was already comforting Harlow: [Don't worry about it, Cassidy is just cranky when she wakes up.] Desmond chimed in: [Yeah, she's always like this, don't take it to heart.] Weston hadn't said a word in the chat. But he'd DM'd me. [If you're upset just come back and say so. Don't pull this disappearing act, it's embarrassing for everyone.] Embarrassing for everyone. Not what's wrong. Not I'm coming to find you. Just—embarrassing for everyone. I closed out of the message thread and opened the airline app to confirm my afternoon flight. The shuttle rolled down the highway, the coastline shrinking behind us. My phone lit up again. Weston calling. I watched his name flash on the screen and let it ring for thirty seconds. On the seventh ring, I hit mute. Wind slid in through the gap in the window, salty. Like the taste of tears. "Excuse me, how much longer to the airport?" I asked the driver. "Forty minutes." "Thanks." Right before the screen went dark, I saw Weston's last message. [Fine. Take your space. We'll talk tonight when you're back.] Tonight. He thought I was coming back tonight. He always thought I'd come back. Just like every other time I'd been overlooked—I'd smile, say it was fine, and fall back in line behind them. "Not coming back," I said, to no one. The engine drowned it out. Nobody heard. "One economy seat, the two o'clock." The agent at the counter glanced at my license. "Ms. Marsh, no checked bags?" "No." One carry-on, one backpack. That was everything I was taking with me out of that relationship. Through security, I found a corner of the gate area to sit in. My phone was already on Do Not Disturb—only starred contacts could get through. Weston wasn't starred. Neither were Graham or Desmond. They had been, once. I'd cleaned out my contacts a month ago and quietly un-starred them. That night I'd asked Weston if he wanted to get dinner over the weekend. He said he was helping Harlow move dorms. I said I could help too. He said, "We've got enough people, you don't need to come." I set the phone down, looked at his name still sitting in my favorites list, and suddenly it struck me as almost funny. What was the point of starring someone who never reached out first? The gate announcements looped overhead. The AC was cranked too cold. I pulled my jacket tighter around me. Packing before the trip, I'd realized I didn't own a single piece of Weston's clothing. Two years together, and he'd never once put a jacket over my shoulders. But Harlow had been around three months, and his windbreaker, his hoodie, his zip-up—they all rotated onto her like clockwork. Graham said Harlow ran cold, got sick easily. Desmond said she couldn't handle the cold, needed looking after. Weston never even said anything. He just stripped off his jacket and handed it over. And me? Sophomore winter, heavy snow, the four of us went out for fondue. I'd worn only a thin sweater and shivered the whole walk there. Graham glanced at me. "Why didn't you dress warmer?" Desmond laughed. "Cassidy doesn't feel the cold, everyone knows that." Weston walked ahead with his hands in his pockets and never turned around. I caught up and tugged his sleeve. "Can I borrow your jacket for a sec?" He frowned. "Whose fault is it you didn't bring one?" Graham smoothed it over. "Okay, okay, let's just get inside, there's a line." I ended up sitting by the door that whole dinner. Every time someone came in, the cold air blasted straight into my back. Nobody offered to switch seats with me. After that, I learned. Always bring an extra layer when you go out. Not because I felt the cold more than anyone else. Because nobody was ever going to block the wind for me. My phone lit up—a text from an unknown number. [Cassidy, it's Harlow. Graham gave me your number. Are you upset about this morning? I'm really sorry, I didn't mean it.] [I told them to wake you, but Weston said you sleep really deeply and didn't want to disturb you. Please don't be mad at them, okay?] Weston said I slept deeply. He knew I was a light sleeper. Two years together—he'd roll over in bed and I'd wake up. He didn't think I slept deeply. He just didn't want to wake me. When Harlow was around, I was extra. Don't wake me, and the group evens out at four—better photos, livelier conversation, no need to babysit the one who's always a beat behind. I didn't answer Harlow's text. Ten minutes later, a message from Graham. [Cassidy, Harlow already apologized, why are you still making a thing of it? She's the youngest of us, she's sensitive.] [If you're still upset about this morning, we'll take you out for a nice dinner when we're back, okay?] Take me out for a nice dinner. Just like every other time they'd forgotten me and tried to make up for it. Forgot to save me a seat—dinner. Forgot to invite me to something—dinner. Forgot my birthday— That time, there hadn't even been dinner. Junior year, my birthday. I'd announced it in the group chat a week in advance. Graham said he'd remember. Desmond said, "Relax, we won't forget." Weston sent a cake emoji. The day of, I booked a restaurant—a table for five. When I got there, I found out Harlow had also made plans with them that same day. She'd gotten shortlisted for a photography contest and wanted to celebrate. Graham asked me, "You don't mind celebrating with Harlow too, right?" I said I didn't mind. The entire dinner was about Harlow's photos. Weston helped her edit them, Graham helped her pick which ones to submit, Desmond kept raising his glass to her. Nobody mentioned my birthday. Not a single word. Halfway through, I went to the bathroom. Coming back, I overheard Harlow saying, "Today was so nice, thank you guys for coming out specially to celebrate with me." Specially. That was my restaurant. My table. My date, planned a week ahead. But in everyone's eyes, it was Harlow's celebration dinner. I sat back down, smiled, raised my glass. "Here's to Harlow." Weston looked at me—just once—and clinked his glass against mine. That was the only time he looked at me all night. The next day, Graham posted the dinner photos. A nine-photo grid, Harlow in every single one. Caption: [Congrats to our little photographer.] Desmond commented: [Had to make the cut!! Weston liked it. Nobody remembered that it had actually been my birthday. The gate announcement crackled overhead. "Passengers on the two o'clock flight, boarding will begin shortly." I stood, shouldered my bag. My phone lit up one last time. A message from Desmond. [Cassidy, where the hell are you? Weston's losing it, are you ignoring your phone on purpose? Don't be so dramatic, everyone's just looking out for you.] Looking out for me? I'd heard that phrase for four years. They called my giving in "being easy to get along with." They called my silence "having a good temper." They called it "throwing a tantrum" whenever I disappeared. It had never once occurred to any of them that a person might actually be hurt enough to not want to come back. The line at the gate was short. I stood at the very end of it. My boarding pass scanned, I walked down the jet bridge. The dull thud of the cabin door closing sounded like a period at the end of a sentence. My phone was still lit. One more message from Weston. [Cassidy Marsh, if you don't answer soon I'm actually going to be pissed.] I looked at that sentence and, out of nowhere, laughed. He was angry. Not worried about me. Angry that I wasn't listening. The plane began to taxi, the runway sliding past the window. I turned off my phone. "Cassidy, what do you mean your phone's off?" The first thing I heard after landing and turning my phone back on was a voice memo from Graham. His tone was sharp, barely masking his irritation. "Weston's about to lose his mind, are you okay in the head?" "It's not that big a deal that we didn't wake you for the sunrise, is it really worth all this?" I didn't reply to the memo. I caught a cab straight to campus, headed to my dorm to start packing. My roommate Delaney was in the room doing a sheet mask. When I dragged my suitcase in, she froze. "Weren't you on the island? Why are you back already?" "Left early." "Fight with Weston?" "No." "Then why—" "I'm moving out. Flying to Melbourne in three days." She peeled the mask halfway off and sat up straight. "What did you just say?" "I got a job offer from a company, a design position. Signed the contract last week." "You're moving abroad? Does Weston know?" "No." "You're leaving before you even break up with him?" I crouched down to start packing my books, not looking up. "Haven't told him yet." "Cassidy Marsh, have you lost it?" "I've never been more clear-headed." Delaney had known me four years. She knew I wasn't impulsive. She watched me pack piece by piece into the suitcase, quiet for a long moment. "Need help?" "Take those two picture frames off my desk." She walked over and picked them up. One was Weston and me—taken last year outside the coffee shop by campus. The other was all five of us, from a spring outing sophomore year. Delaney flipped it over, looked at it. "Harlow's dead center in this one." I didn't answer. "You know," she said, handing the frame back, "last time Harlow came by when you weren't here, she went through your desk for a while." "Through what?" "I don't know. When I got back she was digging through your drawer. I asked what she was doing, she said she was looking for sticky notes." "I don't own sticky notes." "I know." Delaney looked at me. "That frame on your desk—wasn't it further back before?" I remembered. That five-person photo used to sit on the bookshelf. It had gotten moved to the most visible spot on the desk at some point. I'd assumed I'd bumped it myself. "She moved it?" "I saw her setting it up when I walked in. I asked why she was touching your stuff, she said she was worried it was getting dusty, wanted to wipe it down for you." Wiping down a photo. Did that require opening a drawer and rifling through it? I set both frames face-down on the desk. Didn't pack them. "These two aren't coming." Delaney nodded, said nothing more. There wasn't much to pack—one suitcase and two boxes, done. The boxes would ship home. The suitcase would fly with me. Halfway through, my phone rang. Weston. I hesitated a few seconds, then picked up. "Where the hell did you go?" His voice wasn't worried. It was accusing. "Back to campus." "You left early? Why?" "Something came up." "What something? We're not even leaving the island till the day after tomorrow. You just took off, and now Harlow's afraid to even talk. Happy?" Harlow's afraid to talk. So it's my fault. I made Harlow uncomfortable, ruined the mood, couldn't handle myself like an adult. "Yeah. Sorry." "You're always just sorry, can you not do this? Every time something happens you go cold and shut down, how's everyone supposed to feel?" "You guys keep enjoying the trip, don't worry about me." "Cassidy Marsh, what is that supposed to mean?" "Nothing. Just had something to take care of." He paused, voice softening slightly. "Fine. Glad you got back safe. I'll call you tonight." "Okay." "Oh, and—go by Harlow's dorm and grab my charging cable, she says I left it there. Black one." I held the phone, staring at the ceiling for a long moment. "Which dorm?" "Building 7, room 405. Her roommate should be there, just tell her you're picking it up for me." Use his name to get it. His charger. In Harlow's dorm. He thought this was completely normal—normal enough to send his girlfriend to fetch it. "Sure." I hung up. Delaney was watching me. "You're not actually going, are you?" "No." "Then why'd you say sure?" I didn't answer. That was the habit. Saying okay. Saying it's fine. Saying I don't mind. I'd said it so many times I couldn't tell anymore whether I was placating him or myself. My phone lit up again. Group chat. Harlow had posted a photo—sunset over the beach, her sitting alone on the sand wrapped in Weston's windbreaker, captioned with a sad-face emoji. Graham: [Don't be upset, that's just how Cassidy is, she'll be fine in a couple days.] Desmond: [Yeah, it's not about you.] Not about you. Not your fault. It's Cassidy's fault. It's always Cassidy's fault. I put the phone down and went back to packing. At the very back of the drawer was a small box. I opened it—a bracelet inside. A gift from Weston for our one-year anniversary. A thin silver chain, a tiny star charm. "It looks beautiful," he'd said. "And it really suits you." I'd been happy about that for days. Only later did I find out Harlow had helped him pick it out. Once, Harlow saw me wearing it and smiled. "Cassidy, isn't it pretty? I went with Weston to three different stores to find it." Three stores. He'd gone to three stores with Harlow to pick out a gift for me. But he'd never once gone shopping with me, just the two of us, for anything at all. I put the bracelet back in the box and set it on the desk. Next to the frames. Left behind, together. Delaney stood in the doorway, leaning on the frame, watching me. "Cassidy, you're sure—not even a word to him before you go?" "I'll tell him once I'm already on the plane." "Why?" "Because if I tell him now, he'll think I'm throwing a tantrum. He'll come talk me down, and I'll cave. And everything will go right back to normal." "You don't think you'll cave anymore?" I zipped the suitcase shut and stood up. Looked at the half-empty desk. "There's nothing left to cave with."
Not enough history yet to show a trend.