They Never Saved Me A Seat So I Built My Own Table Chapter 04
The night before I left, all the profile pictures in our group chat suddenly changed.
The four of them had switched to a matching set of graduation illustrations.
Matteo in the upper left.
Nico in the upper right.
Bruno and Bianca on either side, forming a complete picture.
I stared at it for a few seconds, then clicked into the group members list.
There were five profile pictures.
But no matter how they were arranged, my plain landscape photo was a painful outlier.
Bianca sent a message into the group.
[These matching icons are so cute together!]
Matteo replied with a head-pat emoji.
[Of course they are. You picked them.]
Nico, who rarely chimed in, sent one too.
[Perfect for graduation.]
Bruno tagged me.
[@Alessia Don’t overthink it. The shop only had a four-person set.]
I hadn’t said a word, but he had already decided how I felt.
I backed out of the chat and didn’t reply.
At noon the next day, Matteo sent me a location pin for a restaurant.
[Family dinner tonight at seven. Don’t be late.]
Underneath was a screenshot of the menu.
A four-person set.
Two entrées, two salads, one soup, four drinks.
I texted back:
[I thought this was a family dinner?]
It took Matteo a long time to understand what I meant.
[Bianca’s been dying to try this place. The four-person set is a better deal.]
[We can add dishes when you get there. Don’t get hung up on stuff like this.]
I looked at his words—*we can add dishes when you get there*—and a bitter laugh escaped me.
They always said I was an important part of this family.
But when they made a reservation, no one remembered to save me a seat.
Every single time, they waited until I was standing at the table before sliding over a spare chair and asking for one more place setting.
As if letting me sit down in the end meant they hadn’t forgotten me at all.
That afternoon, I packed the last of my clothes into my suitcase.
A few things were still left in the drawer.
A hair clip Matteo had given me when we were kids.
Class notes Nico had copied for me.
The concert ticket stub from my first date with Bruno.
And the crooked paper crane Bianca had folded for me when she first came to live with us.
I didn’t throw any of them away.
I just left them in the drawer.
Taking them with me would mean I still couldn’t let go.
Leaving them behind meant I was finally done wanting them.
By the time I closed my suitcase, Bruno had sent a photo of four music festival tickets.
[Bianca spent forever trying to get these.]
[There are exactly four, so we’re going with her this weekend.]
[You don’t like crowds, so you can sit this one out.]
I’d lost count of how many times they had used *you don’t like it* to accept an exclusion on my behalf.
But I had spent three years listening to that band with Bruno.
Last year, when we couldn’t get tickets, he had held me and promised he would take me to see them live next time.
It seemed his promise hadn’t disappeared.
It had just been given to someone else.
I rolled my suitcase out of the room and left my apartment key in the mailbox by the door.
I didn’t leave a note or an explanation.
They wouldn’t read it.
And even if they did, they’d only think I was overreacting.
On the way to JFK, the group messages kept coming.
Matteo told me to get to the restaurant early and grab a table.
Nico asked me to pick up a box of macarons Bianca liked on my way.
Bianca sent a text asking if I was still mad, followed by a pouting emoji.
The last message was from Bruno.
[Don’t show up in a bad mood tonight.]
[We’ll bring you back a souvenir t-shirt from the festival.]
I didn’t reply.
When boarding began, I left the five-person group chat.
The system popped up a confirmation notice.
I tapped confirm.
After I settled into my window seat, my phone buzzed again.
It was a voice message from Bruno.
His voice was laced with that familiar impatience.
“Alessia, what are you doing? If you see the messages, answer. Don’t make everyone wait for you.”
As the plane began to taxi down the runway, another text from him came through.
[Be here by seven. If you’re late, we’re not waiting.]
I looked out the window as the familiar city lights shrank behind me.
The distance to the restaurant pin shifted from a few miles to a few hundred.
I pressed the power button and shut off my phone.
They would probably still add an extra chair for me tonight.
But I was never going to sit in that last-minute seat again.