Chapter 4

At eight o'clock on Sunday morning, the movers knocked on the door right on time.

The guy glanced at the three cardboard boxes by my feet, then looked around the empty room.

"Is that everything?"

"Yeah, that's it."

After three years of living here, when it was finally time to leave, all I had to show for it was three boxes.

Asher and the others had headed out bright and early.

Damon took Sloane down to her office to pick up her official full-time paperwork, Jessica went to grab the cake, and Asher handled the driving.

Before walking out the door, Asher even pushed my room door open to give me instructions.

"The beef is in the fridge; make sure you prepare it by noon.

"Sloane’s throat has been bothering her, so go easy on the seasoning."

I was busy sorting through my desk drawers and didn't turn around.

"Got it."

Asher seemed pretty satisfied with my cooperative attitude.

"That's what I'm talking about. Family doesn't stay mad at each other for long."

As he pulled the door shut, he casually grabbed the thermos I always kept sitting on my desk.

"Borrowing this for Sloane today. She forgot her water bottle."

That thermos was the birthday present he had given me last year.

Engraved right along the bottom was a sentence.

[Vivian always has a home.]

I watched him walk away without calling him back.

Half an hour later, the movers started carrying my boxes outside.

The bottom box suddenly split open, and a photo album spilled out.

Our pictures from back at the group home, snapshots from the day we first signed our apartment lease, and a picture of all four of us crammed together in the kitchen celebrating my birthday scattered across the floor.

The mover crouched down to help me pick them up.

"You guys were super close, huh?"

I shoved the photos back into the album one by one.

"We used to be."

The very last photo was taken on the day we first moved in.

Asher was holding up the keys, Jessica was hoisting a broom over her shoulder, and Damon was crouched on the floor trying to assemble the dining table.

I stood right in the middle, smiling so hard my eyes crinkled into half-moons.

Scrawled across the back of the photo was Asher's handwriting.

[The four of us, finally done living under other people's roofs.]

Later on, Sloane showed up.

"The four of us" slowly evolved into a completely different version.

At nine-thirty, Mrs. Foster came by for the final walkthrough.

She slowly walked through the empty room, before pointing toward one corner.

"Wasn’t there a desk here?"

I looked over. Where my desk used to sit, only a few faint indentations remained in the flooring.

"The young lady mentioned yesterday that this room gets the best natural light,” she added, “She's planning to turn it into an art studio once you move out."

It turned out I hadn't even left yet, and my room already had a brand new owner.

Noticing the shift in my expression, Mrs. Foster looked a bit awkward.

"Didn't your boyfriend talk to you about it?"

I shook my head.

"No."

Either way, whether they used this space for an easel or extra junk from now on had nothing to do with me anymore.

Once the inspection wrapped up, Mrs. Foster transferred my deposit over.

I dropped my keys into the entryway storage tray.

Right next to them sat a brand-new set of tableware still in its packaging.

Four plates.

Four sets of silverware.

Four custom coasters stamped with names—Asher, Jessica, Damon, and Sloane. This time, Sloane didn't mess up the count.

From the very beginning, she never intended to include mine.

My phone buzzed nonstop in my pocket.

Jessica was asking in the group chat: [Did someone grab the strawberries?]

Damon immediately followed up with a reminder: [Remember to thaw the fish ahead of time. Sloane’s stomach has been acting up so don't make it too greasy.]

Finally, a call came through from Asher.

In the background, Sloane could be heard coughing.

"Vivian, where did you put the thermometer? Sloane says she's dizzy. I'm worried she's spiking a fever."

I replied, “Second shelf of the medicine cabinet.”

Asher hung up immediately.

From start to finish, he didn't ask how my packing was going.

He didn't notice the sounds of cardboard boxes shifting against each other over the phone line either.

The movers loaded up my final batch of belongings.

I swept the floors one last time, locked the windows, and flipped off the overhead room light.

The second the front door clicked shut, Asher called me back.

"Vivian, did you finish dicing the onion?

"We're picking up Sloane and heading right back now. She's feeling rough today so don't give her a hard time over this moving drama."

I pressed the button for the elevator.

"Asher."

"What?"

"Nothing."

The things I actually wanted to say had already been spoken too many times.

If I kept going, it would only make me look pathetic, like I was still waiting for him to finally get it.

The elevator doors slid open slowly.

Asher urged me from the other end of the line. “I gotta go, Sloane's coming out now.”

The call disconnected once again.

I dragged my luggage out through the building's front doors.

The late morning sunlight was blindingly bright, making it hard to keep my eyes open.

The moving truck was idling by the curb, and the driver opened the passenger door for me.

The moment I climbed inside, dozens of new notifications blew up the group chat.

Sloane mentioned she was feeling a bit cold.

Jessica told her to stay put inside the office building lobby.

Damon stripped off his outer jacket, saying he would wrap it around her the second they met up.

Asher dropped a live location pin.

[Three minutes away.]

[Don't worry Sloane, we're all coming to get you.]

As the truck pulled away from the curb, a familiar white sedan turned out of the apartment complex gates.

Asher was sitting in the driver's seat.

Damon was holding the jacket, and Jessica was carefully cradling the cake they had just picked up.

All three of them wore anxious expressions, rushing off to rescue Sloane.

They brushed right past the moving truck.

Not a single one of them glanced over in our direction.

I left the five-person group chat, popped open my phone's SIM tray, and snapped the old number card clean in half.

Outside the truck window, the apartment building I had called home for three years drifted further and further away.

I didn't look back.