They Never Saved Me A Seat So I Built My Own Table Chapter 01
The dessert box Bruno ordered for the five of us arrived on the last Thanksgiving before graduation.
It was from that famous Italian pastry shop in Brooklyn, a four-piece set.
Each cannoli had a name written on it in chocolate.
Matteo, my brother.
Nico Bellini, my childhood friend.
Bruno Santoro, my boyfriend of three years.
And my cousin, Bianca.
Four names. Mine wasn’t one of them.
Everyone looked at Bruno.
He scratched his head, his tone casual. “The custom box only had four slots. I figured you’re not that into sweets, so I left you out.”
“It’s just a few pastries,” Matteo said, reaching over to smooth my hair. “You’ve never really cared about this stuff, right?”
“You two have been together for three years,” he added. “Why split hairs? What’s his is yours. Bruno’s is basically yours.”
I still said, “Okay.”
I told myself they wouldn’t leave me out again when we went to see the Christmas lights that night.
But after waiting in the living room for half an hour, I realized they’d already left for Dyker Heights.
I called an Uber and went after them.
The neighborhood was packed.
When I reached the end of the block, I saw the four of them huddled together for a photo, each holding a cup of hot chocolate. No one had texted.
No one had turned back to look for me.
Standing on that street corner, a flood of memories from the past few years hit me.
The five of us at a concert, my seat the only one in a different section.
The five of us applying for graduation internships, and me being the last to find out.
It wasn’t a matter of one spot happening to be missing.
It was that every time someone had to be left behind, I was the first person they thought of.
I didn’t go over to them.
As I turned to leave, I heard Bianca’s laugh behind me.
“Bruno, you closed your eyes. Let’s take another one.”
Bruno laughed and answered her.
No one noticed I had come. And no one noticed I had left.
Before heading back to campus, Nico took us to a designer boutique.
The second the owner saw him, he pulled a velvet box from under the counter.
“Your graduation gifts came in.”
Inside were four silver fountain pens.
Each cap had a name engraved on it, along with a message.
Matteo’s said: *For your next chapter.*
Nico’s said: *To new beginnings.*
Bruno’s said: *Keep going.*
Bianca’s said: *Stay happy.*
There wasn’t one for me.
The owner counted them twice, looking awkward.
“Aren’t there five of you?”
Nico froze for a second, then pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“Bianca happened to be sitting next to me when I placed the order.”
“I’ll have one made for Alessia next time,” he added.
Bianca clutched her pen and said softly, “Do you want mine, cousin?”
She had barely held it out before Matteo pressed her hand down.
“It has your name on it. What’s she going to do with it?”
Bruno smiled, too.
“She doesn’t like old-fashioned stuff like this. You keep it.”
It was true I’d never said I liked fountain pens.
But I was the one who kept old concert stubs tucked in my yearbook and saved the doodles Bruno sketched on napkins.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like keepsakes.
It was that every time one was missing for me, they decided for me that I didn’t want it anyway.
When we stepped out of the store, the wind had turned sharp.
Matteo opened the trunk and took out four identical fleece vests.
They were swag from the investment bank where he’d interned, each with a different colored badge stitched on the chest.
He handed one to Nico, tossed one to Bruno, and personally helped Bianca into hers.
Then he put on the last one himself.
I stood by the car, waiting.
Matteo zipped his vest, then looked at me as if he’d only just remembered I was there.
“You never get cold, do you?”
“When we were little, you used to run around in the snow in your pajamas.”
Bruno touched my hand.
“Your hands are cold.”
But after saying that, he didn’t take off his own vest. He just wrapped my hand in his.
“Hang in there. We’ll be back at school soon.”
His hand was warm.
But for the first time, that small bit of warmth did nothing to comfort me.
Apparently, a simple question was enough to count as concern, as long as they said it out loud.
Back in the dorm lobby, Bianca pulled out the Instax photos she’d just developed and passed them around eagerly.
“The best four from tonight. Perfect—one for each of us.”
Matteo’s was a shot of him straightening her scarf.
Nico’s was of the two of them browsing a stall at a Christmas market.
Bruno’s was of him standing behind her, holding a cup of mulled wine.
And in Bianca’s own photo, the other three were all looking at her.
They crowded together, debating whose picture had turned out best.
I stood under the streetlight, my hands empty.
Only after all the photos had been passed out did Bianca look at me, her voice hesitant.
“I ran out of film tonight, cousin.”
“Next time I’ll bring an extra pack. I promise I’ll get a shot of you.”
I nodded.
“Okay.”
Bruno must have thought I was being too quiet. He reached for my hand.
“Are you upset again?”
“They’re just a few photos. Is it really that big a deal?”
I gently pulled my hand away.
“No. I’m just tired.”
Upstairs, I stood by my window for a long time.
The four of them still hadn’t left.
They lined up the four pens, took a picture, and posted it in our iMessage group chat.
The caption read:
[Don’t drift apart after graduation.]
I didn’t react.
Instead, I opened the onboarding email I’d received that afternoon.
The company in Austin had already asked me three times if I wanted to join the core project team early.
The first two times, I’d said no.
Because Bruno said he didn’t want to do long-distance.
Matteo had also said it was better for family to stay in the same city.
And Nico had done a serious analysis for me, explaining that no matter how good an out-of-state job was, it couldn’t compare to having your friends and connections nearby.
But this time, I typed one line into the reply box.
[I’m ready to start early.]
Not long after, they sent my official notice.
[Your corporate housing has been arranged. Please arrive in Austin in three days.]
Three days.
Long enough to pack my things.
Long enough to walk out of their lives.