1 Ethan had invited a few friends over for dinner. The atmosphere at the table was buzzing, the wine flowing freely. My best friend, Gillian, was in top form, which usually meant making me the punchline of her jokes. “Oh my god, you guys have no idea how pathetic Wren was when her ex dumped her,” she said, leaning in as if sharing a delicious secret. “She was a total wreck. Sobbing so hard she couldn’t breathe, literally on her knees in the middle of the street, begging him not to leave.” The table went dead silent for a few seconds. Tess, another friend of ours, frowned and cut her off. “Gillian, stop. Don’t keep bringing that up. It’s humiliating for her.” Gillian waved her hand dismissively, not missing a beat. “Please, if she actually cared, she would’ve said something years ago. We’ve been best friends forever; I know exactly how much she can handle.” I clenched my jaw, the plastic handle of my fork digging into my palm. I turned to look at Ethan, who was sitting right next to me. He didn’t defend me. Instead, he raised his glass and let out a short, mocking laugh. “Seriously, Tess, relax. Wren’s got thick skin. We’re all having a good time; a few jokes won’t kill her.” Hearing his casual, indifferent tone, I snapped. I slammed my silverware onto the table and stood up. The entire table froze. Looking at their startled faces, I suddenly felt a wave of profound exhaustion. I didn’t want to explain myself anymore. I didn’t want to fight. I just didn’t want to be there. … Ethan set his glass down, his brow furrowing with irritation. “Wren, for God’s sake, everyone’s here. What is this little performance about?” What is it about? Gillian was using the most humiliating moment of my twenty-year-old life as dinner theater, and he was calling it a “performance.” I looked down and noticed a smudge of grease on my thumb. I’d been in the kitchen since three p.m.—washing vegetables, searing steaks, simmering the French onion soup Ethan loved so much. When Gillian arrived around five, she didn’t even knock. She headed straight for the shoe rack, pulled out my spare pair of pink fleece slippers, and walked to the bar cabinet with practiced ease. “Wren, the wine glasses are on the top shelf, right?” she’d called out. “Ethan mentioned last time that red wine just doesn’t taste right in regular tumblers.” I had been holding a bunch of kale at the time, my hands wet. I didn’t answer. Then she’d peered into the pot on the stove. “Hey, easy on the ginger. Ethan’s stomach has been acting up lately. If he has too much, he’ll be up all night in pain.” In that moment, I felt like a stranger in my own home, a caterer hired for a party I wasn’t invited to. At the table, one of the guys tried to smooth things over. “Ethan, man, give her a break. Wren’s been working in the kitchen all afternoon.” Gillian’s eyes turned red instantly. She put her fork down and delicately dabbed the corner of her eye with a fingertip. “I’m so sorry… I was honestly just trying to lighten the mood. I had no idea Wren would be this sensitive today.” Ethan didn’t hesitate. He grabbed a napkin and handed it to her. He was so fast. So instinctive. Faster than my pathetic hope could even reach the floor to shatter. “Don’t cry,” he said softly to her. “She’s just being temperamental today.” Gillian clutched the napkin, her voice dropping into that soft, breathless register. “Wren, if I upset you, I won’t mention it again. I just thought… I thought we were close enough to joke about anything.” I looked at her, my voice cold and steady. “Gillian, that night years ago—were you actually there? Did you see it with your own eyes?” Her eyes flickered for a split second. “It was years ago, Wren. Who remembers the exact details?” Ethan groaned. “Are we really doing this? Digging up ancient history?” He looked at me with genuine resentment. “You’re making a scene over a joke. How is Gillian supposed to face our friends now?” Tess, sitting across from me, looked furious. She was the only one who had tried to stop it. She opened her mouth to speak, but Gillian stood up first, rounding the table to grab my hand. “Wren, it’s all my fault. I’ll apologize, okay? I’m sorry,” she pleaded. “Just don’t put Ethan in the middle of this. He’s been so stressed with work lately; he doesn’t need this.” Ethan watched our joined hands, his gaze lingering on Gillian’s tearful eyes. “Enough, Wren. She’s literally begging for your forgiveness. How much longer are you going to keep up this act?” I didn’t argue. I didn’t scream. I just grabbed my coat from the sofa and headed for the door. Ethan chased after me, his annoyance barely concealed. “This is my dinner party, Wren. If you walk out now, how am I supposed to explain this to everyone?” My hand paused on the buttons of my coat. “Why is it that when I’m the one being humiliated, you never worry about how I’m supposed to feel?” He was silent for a few seconds before muttering, “Since when did you become so keeping-score?” Right. I hadn’t kept score before. When Gillian called me “homely,” or joked that being a preschool teacher meant I always smelled like spit-up and crayons, Ethan would just ruffle my hair and tell me she was just “being herself” and not to take it personally. When Gillian said I looked “ugly-crying” as a kid, Ethan said she only joked like that because she felt “comfortable” with me. I had swallowed it all, time after time, only to be served more. Back in the living room, Gillian’s shoulders were shaking with sobs. Ethan looked back at her, his expression softening instantly. “Wren has a good heart; she’ll get over it. Don’t take what she said to heart.” Standing in the entryway, watching his back, I realized something. When he comforted her, he didn’t feel the need to look at me even once. As I walked down the stairs of our apartment building, Gillian came running after me. She hadn’t put on a coat, and her slippers went thwack-thwack against the concrete steps. “Wren! Don’t be impulsive! If you leave like this, Ethan’s going to blow up. You guys will end up in a massive fight!” I stopped at the bottom of the stairs. She was gripping the railing, her eyes red, her face etched with a performative kind of panic. “I just wanted to make him laugh,” she whispered. “He’s been under so much pressure lately. I only brought that up because I thought it would amuse him.” I looked at her for a long moment, a ghost of a smile touching my lips. “So you knew it would humiliate me.” Her face went pale. From the balcony above, Ethan’s voice rang out. “Gillian! Get back inside! If she wants to leave, let her go.” I turned and walked toward the street. My phone buzzed in my pocket. Ethan. Gillian is a mess. Stop provoking her. Come back and apologize so we can finish dinner. The bus pulled up to the curb. As the doors hissed open, I saw my own reflection in the window—my eyes were rimmed with red, my face weary. In that moment, I finally understood. In his world, Gillian’s tears were a crisis that required immediate action. My departure was just an inconvenience. I spent the night at my grandmother’s house. Near dawn, Grams pushed open the door to my old bedroom, carrying a bowl of hot oatmeal. “Eat something, honey. You can’t face the world on an empty stomach.” I stared down at the bowl. A tear fell into the oats. I wiped my face quickly with the back of my hand. Grams didn’t say a word. She just turned back toward the kitchen to fry an egg. She was always like that. My parents had been too busy with their careers to raise me, so they’d tucked me away in this quiet corner of the city with her. She never interrogated me about my heartbreaks. She just showed up with food. At nine a.m., a text from Gillian arrived. Let’s meet and talk. None of us slept a wink after you left. My stomach is in knots. She suggested a small diner near Grams’ house. When I arrived, she had already ordered two coffees. She pushed the one with oat milk toward me—the way I liked it. “Wren, please eat something. See? I still remember your order,” she said softly. “We’ve always been so in sync with the little things. Last night was just a slip of the tongue. Don’t hold it against me, okay?” Gillian stirred her coffee, her eyes downcast. “At the end of the day, it was just a joke. Let’s just move past it. Don’t let one stupid comment push Ethan away.” I put my spoon down. “Did you come here because you were worried about me, or because you were worried Ethan would be stuck in the middle?” She bit her lip, her eyes shifting. “Wren, how can you say that? I truly consider you my friend.” “You consider me a friend, so you told a room full of people that I begged a man on my knees?” Her eyes filled up again. “I’d had some wine… the conversation just flowed that way. You know how I get when I’m nervous. I say things I don’t mean.” Funny how her “nervousness” always landed exactly where it hurt me most. After I left the diner, I walked back through the old neighborhood. When I was seventeen, right on this corner, a group of boys had been making fun of my grandmother, calling me a “lonely little charity case.” Ethan had been there. He was wearing his high school varsity jacket, holding a black umbrella over my head. He’d shoved the umbrella into my hand and told those boys to apologize or else. It had been pouring. He’d looked back at me, his jaw set and hard. “Wren, if anyone ever messes with you again, you call me.” Because of that one sentence, I had spent years inventing excuses for the man he had become. He used to be good. He used to pick me up from work on his bike. He used to sit with me in the hospital waiting room when Grams had her gallstone surgery. But people don’t change with a bang. They change in the quiet, in the subtle shifts of priority until you don’t recognize them anymore. Sunday was our seven-year anniversary. We were standing at the theater ticket counter. Ethan was holding my hand, asking if I wanted the caramel popcorn. Then Gillian called. She said her apartment was flooding. The pipes had burst, she couldn’t reach her landlord, and she was “terrified” and alone. Ethan hung up and immediately started walking toward the exit. I stood in the lobby, clutching a large tub of popcorn. “The movie starts in five minutes,” I said. “Are you really leaving?” He looked back, his brow deeply furrowed. “Wren, she’s a girl living alone. What if something happens? We can watch the movie another day.” I followed him to her place. Gillian was standing by her front door, hair disheveled, looking fragile. “Wren, please don’t be mad. I literally had no one else to call.” Ethan didn’t even look at me. He was already rolling up his sleeves. He called a plumber, helped her mop the floor, and knelt down to inspect the pipes under her sink. He moved with a practiced familiarity that made my chest tighten. I stood in the doorway like a piece of furniture someone had forgotten to move. Eventually, he told me to go home. “You’re not really helping here anyway. Go back and wait for me.” Ethan didn’t get home until almost midnight. He tossed his jacket onto the sofa. “You’re making too big a deal out of a movie.” I stared at the red scratch on his wrist from the pipe. The words I wanted to say died in my throat. He sat down, took a sip of water, and added, “Gillian’s always been afraid of being alone. You know that.” “She’s afraid, so you have to leave me?” He rubbed his temples. “Why do you always have to compare yourself to her?” I had no answer. I realized that to him, my being hurt was just another form of “competing” for his attention. At one a.m., Gillian called again. She said the pipes were still making “weird noises” and she couldn’t sleep. Ethan grabbed his keys. Before the door closed, he threw out a casual, “Go to sleep. Don’t overthink things.” I sat in the dark living room and, for the first time, seriously asked myself: What is left of us? The next morning, by the time Ethan got back, I was already at the preschool. He sent a text: It was so late, didn’t want to wake you. I’ll bring you those dumplings you like tonight. I stared at the screen for a long time before replying with a simple Okay. I was pathetic back then. He threw me a crumb of kindness, and I was ready to crawl back. But when you spend your life walking down the stairs someone else built for you, you’re bound to trip. For my grandmother’s birthday, I’d reminded Ethan two weeks in advance. Grams loved Ethan. She always said he was a “steady man,” the kind you could build a life with. That morning, Ethan even helped me carry the cake to the car. He’d changed into a clean sweater and was fussing over the ribbon on the box. “Don’t let it slide, Wren. If the frosting gets ruined, Nana will be heartbroken.” My heart softened, just a little. Maybe I was just overreacting, I thought. Maybe he does remember. Halfway there, Gillian called. Ethan had the phone on speaker. She was hyperventilating. She said her landlord was forcing her to move out that day and withholding her security deposit. She was trying to pack, but her “hands wouldn’t stop shaking.” Ethan gripped the steering wheel. Silence stretched between us. Then, I watched his right hand turn the wheel. As the car swung into a U-turn, the cake box bumped against my knees. I steadied it with trembling fingers. “Ethan, Grams is waiting for us.” He kept his eyes on the road. “I’ll just deal with Gillian’s situation first, then we’ll go.” “You know what today is.” “I know, but she’s literally in a crisis, Wren.” I let out a short, dry laugh. He didn’t even hear it. “Wren, go ahead. Take an Uber. Tell Nana I’ll be there as soon as I can. Explain it to her.” Explain it to her. I was so tired of being his spokesperson. Explaining why we missed our anniversary. Explaining why, every time Gillian needed him, I was the one who had to be “understanding.” I walked into Grams’ house alone, carrying the cake. She was sitting on her bed, her hair brushed perfectly, wearing the cardigan I’d bought her last month. She looked past me, then at my empty hands. “Ethan’s busy at the shop?” “Yeah. An emergency order came in.” Grams looked at me for a long time, then reached out and patted my hand. My nose stung. I looked down and started cutting the cake. On the wall, there was a photo from a few years ago. Ethan was kneeling by a broken floor fan, screwdriver in hand. Grams’ old fan had died in the heat of July. He’d gone to the hardware store twice and worked until he was drenched in sweat. Grams had been so touched she’d kept feeding him apple slices. He’d smiled then and said, “Nana, don’t worry. I’ll always take care of Wren.” He sounded so sincere then. So sincere that it took me years to realize he’d stopped. After leaving Grams’, I went to the store to get some fruit for her. As I came out, I saw Gillian. She was clutching a stack of cardboard boxes, looking disheveled. When she saw me, her face flushed with awkwardness. “Wren, please don’t be mad. Ethan’s just helping me find a temporary place. That landlord was so aggressive, I was genuinely scared.” She looked miserable, sure. But I couldn’t find a single drop of sympathy in me. At eight p.m., Ethan brought Gillian to our apartment. He was busy making up the guest bed. He pulled out the fresh linens I’d just laundered, smoothing the corners, setting the bedside lamp to its lowest dim. “She’s staying for one night. She’ll find a place tomorrow.” I stood in the doorway, my bag still over my shoulder. “Did you think to ask me first?” Ethan frowned. “Given the circumstances, you’re really going to be petty about this?” Gillian stood up from the bed and reached for my hand. “Wren, I really didn’t want to be a burden. Maybe I should just go. I can sit in a 24-hour Starbucks tonight.” Ethan snapped immediately. “You’ve known Wren for a decade. She’s happy to help you.” Happy to help. The words felt like a physical weight on my chest. I pulled my hand back. “Ethan, I spent my grandmother’s birthday alone. I carried that cake by myself. She asked where you were, and I lied for you.” He avoided my eyes. “I’ll go see her tomorrow, okay? Jesus.” Gillian stood there, biting her lip until it was white. “It’s all my fault. Please don’t fight because of me… I’ll leave first thing in the morning.” Ethan looked at her, his face instantly clouding with protective concern. “Don’t worry about it. Just get some rest.” That night, I lay in our master bedroom, listening to the guest room door open and close all night. In the morning, Gillian was in the kitchen making breakfast. She was wearing my apron, her sleeves rolled up. Ethan was at the table. He took a bite of the eggs she’d made and smiled. “Gillian is way more thoughtful than you, Wren. She knew I wanted something light this morning.” Gillian froze, her spatula hitting the pan with a clink. “Ethan, don’t say that. Wren usually—” Ethan didn’t see the problem. “Look at you, getting all defensive for her. I was just giving you a compliment. She’s not that small-minded.” I grabbed my bag and shoved my keys into my pocket. He looked over. “You’re not eating?” “You two enjoy your little domestic bliss,” I said, my voice tight. “Try not to choke on it.” As the door clicked shut, I heard Gillian call my name. I didn’t look back. Walking down the stairs, I finally admitted it to myself: Ethan had made a habit of playing favorites, and I’d been a fool to play my part for so long. After that day, Ethan acted as if the tension had never happened. Before leaving for work, he asked, “What do you want for dinner? I’ll be home early.” “There’s a neighborhood farewell dinner at the old bistro tonight,” I reminded him. “The place is closing down because of the new development. Everyone from the old block will be there. You promised.” He paused. “Right. I’ll be there. I promise.” I didn’t ask a second time. After work, I stopped by a bakery to pick up some almond tea cakes. When I was eighteen, Ethan had biked across the city to get me these exact cakes because I’d had a fight with Grams and was crying by the old bridge. He’d been breathless when he handed me the bag. “Eat something sweet. Stop crying like a stray cat.” I’d cried harder then because someone actually cared what I liked. Standing in line, I looked at the cakes and wanted to ask that eighteen-year-old boy: How did you turn into this? At the bistro, Tess and the neighbors were already there. I kept the seat next to me empty. When the food arrived, the neighbors smiled kindly. “Let’s wait a bit. Ethan’s probably just held up at the shop.” I shook my head. “No need to wait. Everyone, please eat. If he’s late, that’s on him. We shouldn’t let the elders go hungry waiting for him.” Tess leaned in, whispering, “You look pale. Want me to call him?” I just took a sip of water. In my head, I was starting a countdown. I wanted to see exactly how long he would make me wait for a dinner he’d “guaranteed” he wouldn’t miss. At 8:40 p.m., as people were starting to clear their plates, the door swung open. Ethan stood there, with Gillian right behind him. Her eyes were red, and she was clutching a man’s jacket—the one Ethan had worn that morning. The moment she walked in, she looked at me. “Wren, I’m so sorry. I’ve messed up again.” I didn’t respond. Ethan walked over to me, lowering his voice. “She ran into a scammer while looking at an apartment. They took her deposit, and she was stranded on the street, terrified. I couldn’t just leave her there.” The whole table was watching us. I pushed the box of tea cakes toward the center of the table. “So you’re late because of her.” Ethan’s brow darkened. “Don’t humiliate her in front of everyone.” I almost laughed. Now that it was Gillian’s dignity on the line, he suddenly knew what “humiliation” was. Gillian gripped the jacket, a tear hanging from her lashes. “Wren, I really didn’t mean to ruin your party. I was just sitting on the curb, my head was spinning… I didn’t know who else to call but Ethan.” I looked her in the eye. “Why is it that every time you’re at your ‘lowest,’ he’s the only person in the world you can call?” The room went silent. Gillian’s mouth opened, and the tear finally fell. “I don’t know… I just feel like as long as he’s there, I don’t have to be afraid of anything.” The words hung in the air. Even she seemed startled by her own honesty. Ethan’s expression shifted. Tess grabbed my wrist, but I pulled away and stood up. “You certainly have a way with words, Gillian.” She panicked. “Wren, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just… I’ve grown so dependent on him. We all grew up together. You understand, right?” I looked at Ethan. “Do you?” He looked away. Gillian turned as if to flee. “I should go. This is all my fault. Don’t let me ruin the mood.” Ethan grabbed her arm to stop her, then looked at me with pure accusation. “She’s already going through enough. Can’t you just give her a break for once?” That was it. The final blow. I looked at his hand on her arm. “Ethan, from that movie, to Nana’s birthday, to tonight—I’ve given her a break every single time. My question is: when it’s my turn to be hurt, who’s going to give me a break?” Ethan’s face drained of color. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Gillian was sobbing now, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. Someone at the table muttered, “Ethan, man, you really messed up tonight.” Ethan, feeling the sting of public judgment, raised his voice. “What was I supposed to do? She was having a breakdown in the middle of the street! Was I supposed to just leave her?” I looked at him. “If you’re so terrified of leaving her, then stay with her. Forever.” I picked up my bag and walked toward the door. Gillian called out, “Wren, don’t go! I’ll feel so guilty!” I stopped at the threshold. “You always say you feel guilty, Gillian. But the next time you have the chance, you never hesitate to twist the knife in my heart.” Her face went bone-white. I pushed the door open. Ethan caught up to me in the alleyway, grabbing my wrist. “Wren, if you leave now, what is Gillian supposed to do?” I looked down at his hand. Years ago, in this same alley, he’d used this hand to hold an umbrella over me. Now, he was using it to shove me back into the shadow of Gillian’s needs. I peeled his fingers off me, one by one. “Ethan, from now on, I don’t care how much she cries or how much she begs. You don’t ever have to feel ‘stuck in the middle’ again.” “Because I don’t want either of you anymore.” I turned and walked into the cold wind. Behind me, I heard Gillian’s frantic cries and the sound of Ethan trying to follow, only to stumble over something in the dark.
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