Chapter 4The Fifth Chair

The night before I was scheduled to leave, our five-person group chat suddenly updated.

Everyone changed their profile pictures.

The four of them had cropped a massive, custom graduation illustration into four separate images.

Liam was the top-left corner.

Mason was the top-right.

Ethan and Chloe were the bottom-left and bottom-right, fitting together perfectly to complete the image.

I stared at the screen for a few seconds, then clicked on the chat members.

There were exactly five icons.

But no matter how you arranged them, my generic landscape photo was the only one that didn't fit. It was completely, aggressively extraneous.

Chloe sent a message to the group.

[This matching PFP set is so cute!]

Liam replied with a pat-on-the-head emoji.

[Of course it is, you picked it.]

Mason, who rarely participated in group banter, chimed in.

[It's very memorable.]

Ethan tagged me directly.

[Don't overthink it, the artist only offered a four-person commission template.]

Before I could even type a single word, he had already projected his own manufactured emotional response onto me.

I closed the app without replying.

The next day at noon, Liam sent a location pin to a restaurant.

[7:00 PM tonight. Final family dinner before we all start working. Do not be late.]

Attached was a screenshot of a prepaid reservation.

A four-person set menu.

Two entrees, two sides, one large soup, and exactly four drinks.

I replied:

[I thought this was a family dinner?]

It took Liam a very long time to process what I meant.

[Chloe has been wanting to try this place for months, and the four-person combo was a great deal.]

[When you get here, we'll just order an extra side for you. Stop obsessing over petty details.]

I stared at the phrase "we'll just order an extra side for you," and felt a wave of profound, exhausting absurdity wash over me.

They constantly told me I was the most important person in the family.

Yet when they booked a table, no one ever remembered to reserve a seat for me.

They would wait until I was physically standing awkwardly at the edge of the table, pull over a folding chair from another section, and ask the waiter for an extra set of silverware.

As if tossing me a chair at the very end completely erased the fact that they had forgotten I existed in the first place.

That afternoon, I packed the absolute last item of clothing into my suitcase.

There were only a few things left in my desk drawer.

The cheap plastic hair clip Liam bought me when we were kids.

The notebook Mason had meticulously copied his history lectures into for me.

The ticket stub from my very first movie date with Ethan.

And the ugly, lopsided origami crane Chloe had folded for me the week my parents adopted her.

I didn't throw them away.

I just left them in the drawer.

Taking them with me would mean I still cared enough to hold on.

Throwing them away would require emotional effort.

When you truly, deeply do not care anymore, even throwing things in the trash feels like a waste of energy.

As I zipped my suitcase shut, Ethan sent me a photo of four VIP wristbands to an upcoming music festival.

[Chloe has been trying to get these for months, she finally scored them.]

[It's exactly four tickets. We're going to take her this weekend.]

[You hate crowds anyway, so just sit this one out.]

I couldn't even remember how many times they had weaponized the phrase "you hate it anyway" to justify excluding me.

The truth was, that specific indie band was one I had been listening to with Ethan for three years.

When we failed to get tickets last year, he held me in his arms and promised that he would absolutely take me to see them live the next time they toured.

Turns out, the promise didn't vanish.

He just fulfilled it for someone else.

I rolled my suitcase out of the dorm room and dropped my key in the RA's dropbox.

I didn't leave a melodramatic goodbye letter.

I didn't post a massive, emotional manifesto calling them out.

They wouldn't read it anyway.

And even if they did, they would just accuse me of being overly dramatic and sensitive.

On the Uber ride to the airport, the group chat was blowing up with notifications.

Liam was demanding I get to the restaurant early to secure a good table.

Mason asked me to pick up a box of those specific egg tarts Chloe loved on my way there.

Chloe asked if I was still mad at them, followed by a pleading, crying emoji.

The final message was from Ethan.

[Do not show up tonight with an attitude.]

[When the music festival is over, we'll buy you a t-shirt or something.]

I didn't reply.

Right before I walked through the TSA security checkpoint, I opened the group chat settings and hit Leave Group.

A confirmation prompt popped up on the screen.

I clicked Confirm, and stepped out of their lives completely, leaving absolutely zero trace behind.

Once I boarded the flight and settled into my window seat, my phone buzzed one last time.

It was a voice memo from Ethan.

His voice was laced with that same, familiar, exhausted exasperation.

"Maya, what the hell are you throwing a tantrum about now?"

"If you see a message, respond to it. Stop making everyone sit around waiting for you."

As the plane began taxiing down the runway, another text from Ethan came through.

[Be there by 7:00. If you're late, we're not waiting for you.]

I looked out the window.

The familiar skyline of the city was already beginning to shrink, and the distance between me and that restaurant was rapidly expanding from a few miles to a few thousand miles.

I powered off my phone.

They would probably just ask the waiter to pull up a fifth chair tonight.

But that chair was going to stay empty forever.