He Forgot My Allergy, So I Forgot Him

On our anniversary, Mia booked the restaurant for us. "A window table is impossible to get," she chuckled over the phone. "They only held it because it was me asking." "Sounds great. Thanks, Mia," I said. She paused briefly. "Come on, since when are we so polite? It's you and me." Mia had been my best friend for fifteen years, all the way from high school. She was even close with my boyfriend, Ethan. How close? Close enough to know his debit card PIN. Close enough to call Ethan first when her pipes burst, instead of calling me. Close enough that Ethan's mom once sighed and said she wished Mia were her future daughter-in-law. I always told myself they just had matching personalities. Mia was bubbly and outgoing; I was on the quiet side. Whenever the three of us had dinner, they did all the talking, and I just smiled along. On the afternoon of our anniversary, I arrived at the restaurant first. After waiting for half an hour, Ethan texted me: [Stuck in traffic. Be there in ten.] Ten minutes later: [Mia’s car broke down. I’m picking her up on the way.] My chest tightened. I typed back: [It’s our anniversary dinner. Why are you bringing Mia?] Ethan replied instantly. [She’s your best friend. Are you seriously getting jealous over this?] [She’s all by herself tonight. The more, the merrier.] A crowd of three wasn't something I wanted to celebrate anymore. When they arrived, Ethan was carrying a cake box. Mia had her arm linked through his, holding a gift bag in her other hand. "Chloe!" Mia let go of Ethan and ran toward me. "Guess what Ethan got you!" The excitement on her face made it look like it was her anniversary. Ethan set the cake on the table and said to Mia, "Don’t spoil it yet." Mia stuck out her tongue playfully. "I won’t." They bounced off each other effortlessly. I sat there like an outsider in the audience. When ordering, Ethan flipped through the menu and said to Mia, "Your stomach has been acting up lately. Let’s get something light." In the end, every single dish ordered was mild and bland. He completely forgot that I couldn't eat a meal without hot chili. Once the food arrived, Mia finally chimed in, "Nothing spicy at all? Chloe is going to be upset." Ethan glanced at me with a light chuckle. "Chloe is mature. She won't mind. Besides, she’s watching her weight lately, so eating clean is good for her." My fork hovered mid-air. I had no idea when my hundred-pound frame suddenly needed to lose weight. Mia, on the other hand, had just posted on Twitter days ago about starting a diet. Mia picked up a glazed rib with her fork and dropped it onto Ethan’s plate. "Try this. It’s their specialty." Ethan ate it without hesitation. I sat across from them, watching. I remembered how Ethan used to cut up food and feed me when we first started dating. When did that change? Probably the year Mia started working at his company. When Mia moved to this city, she struggled to find a job. I was her only friend here, and Ethan's firm happened to need a receptionist. I begged Ethan to give her a chance. After days of wheedling, he finally agreed. After that, they commuted together, grabbed lunch together, and went on business trips together. I brought it up once. Ethan called me petty: "Isn’t Mia your best friend? You’re the one who asked me to hire her. Looking out for your best friend is me showing you respect." Mia said the same thing: "Chloe, if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll keep my distance." And she certainly "kept her distance." She made sure to order him late-night takeout when he worked overtime. She made sure to bring him medicine when he caught a cold. She made sure to tidy up his apartment when I was away on business trips. And she made sure I didn't find out until much later. Whenever I discovered these things, she would casually brush it off: "It was no big deal, I didn't even think about it." "I’m at the office keeping an eye on your man for you. Relax, I won't let anyone hit on him!" Every single thing seemed like just a friend helping out. Yet stacked together, they filled every crack between Ethan and me like wet sand, suffocating us. When the cake box was opened, I froze. A mango crepe cake. I’ve been severely allergic to mangoes since childhood. Mia knew it. Ethan knew it. Ethan explained, "This mango crepe is their signature dessert. Plus, Mia loves it." "Chloe, you don’t mind, right? More for me, then!" Mia beamed. The corners of my lips twitched, but I didn't say a word. I pulled out my phone and messaged HR. [Is the overseas relocation project finalized? I’ve changed my mind. I’ll take it.] My phone buzzed. HR replied immediately: [Chloe, are you sure? That’s a three-year assignment. You’ll be promoted when you return, but didn't you mention you were getting married later this year? Are you absolutely certain?] I stared at the screen for a long time. Looking up, I saw Ethan handing Mia a napkin. Mia had picked up a piece of meat with her own fork and was feeding it to Ethan, asking him, "Isn't it amazing?!" [No wedding. I'm going.] I sent the text, stood up, and walked out.Stepping out of the restaurant, the cool night breeze hit my face. It cleared my head instantly. I hailed a cab, slid into the back seat, and my screen lit up. Mia had posted a photo in our three-person group chat on SnapChat. A close-up of Ethan posing with the cake. Her caption: *Happy 6th Anniversary to a certain someone! Here’s to forever!* Anyone looking at it would assume it was her six-year anniversary with Ethan. Twenty minutes into the ride, I realized my cheeks were soaked with tears. The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror. "You okay, miss?" "I’m fine." My voice surprised me. It was completely hoarse, like I had swallowed a handful of dry sand. My phone chimed with messages from Mia in the group chat. I ignored them. Then came a private message from Ethan: [What’s taking you so long in the bathroom? Mia is waiting for you to cut the cake!] I had taken my purse and coat when I left. Yet seeing an empty chair, he just assumed I was in the restroom. He didn't even realize I had already blocked his primary account. I stared at the words "cut the cake" and felt like laughing. A mango cake. Cutting a mango cake for a girlfriend with a lethal mango allergy. [Something came up. I left,] I texted back. His reply came instantly: [What is it *this* time?] *This time.* Whenever I got upset, he would say, "Mad again?" Whenever I went quiet, he would say, "Silent treatment again?" Whenever I raised an issue, he would say, "Overthinking again?" As if I had an argumentative personality and was constantly throwing childish tantrums. I replied: [Nothing. Enjoy the cake. I'm allergic to mangoes.] I closed the chat. The three-person Snap group had piled up with over a dozen messages. All from Mia. Photos of the cake, the restaurant ambiance, selfies with Ethan. The latest text read: [Chloe, why did you leave? Are you feeling sick?] I didn't reply. I scrolled up through the chat history. Mia was the one who created this group, naming it "The Big Three." Yet almost the entire history was conversations between the two of them. She complained about work, and Ethan told her, "Don’t push yourself too hard." She shared a selfie, and Ethan replied, "That dress looks nice on you." She mentioned being hungry at midnight, and Ethan texted, "Ordered you DoorDash. Go grab it from your door." I scrolled all the way to the top. All the way back to three months ago, on my birthday. Mia had asked in the group: [Today is Chloe’s birthday, Ethan, what did you get her?] Ethan replied: [Forgot.] Then Mia texted: [You’re dead meat. Fix it fast.] He answered: [Help me think of something.] Below that was Mia picking out my gift, booking my restaurant, and choosing my flowers. My birthday had been a team-building exercise for the two of them. And I, standing in the center, was merely an outsider crashing their party. Neon lights flickered across my face through the taxi window. I suddenly recalled something from last week. Ethan’s mother had been hospitalized, and I went to deliver some homemade soup. Outside the hospital room door, I heard Mia’s voice inside. "Eleanor, try this soup I made for you." "Mia, you are such a sweet girl," Ethan’s mom had sighed. "Far more thoughtful than Ethan." "Oh, it was nothing. I was just passing by." "Honestly, I really wish you were the one dating Ethan." Laughter filtered through the door. Ethan’s mother was laughing. So was Mia. I stood outside holding the thermal container. I stood there for five minutes before leaving the container at the nurses' station and walking away. When Ethan came home that night, he asked, "Why didn't you visit my mom?" "I did." "Then why didn't you come inside?" "Mia was there." He frowned. "So what if Mia was there? She was just being nice." I didn't answer. It was always like this. He always thought Mia was just "being nice." So why did her kindness have to push me out of my own life every single time?The taxi pulled into my apartment complex. I paid the driver and got out. The elevator was empty. In the mirrored walls, I saw myself wearing the brand-new dress I bought specifically for our anniversary. I had touched up my lipstick right before dinner. I had even visited a makeup counter after work to get my face done. I had prepared so much. Only to turn myself into a punchline. I turned the key in the lock. The apartment was dead silent. Ethan and I rented this place together. Yet every single responsibility fell on me. I paid the utilities, managed the Wi-Fi, called the plumber for clogged drains, and arranged repairs whenever the fridge or AC broke down. Ethan always claimed this was practice for our future home. Yet he would rush over to Mia's apartment to fix her air conditioner, assemble her bookshelves, and change her lightbulbs. He told me, "She’s a girl all alone in this city. If I don't help her, who will?" What about me? I was a girl living in this city too, staying here only because of him. Why was I the one who never needed help? A notification popped up from HR: [Confirmed. Report directly to the airport next Monday. Take paid leave until then to wrap up your personal affairs.] I opened the closet and started packing. HR had approached me about the overseas transfer a month ago. The company needed leaders for their European branch, but I had hesitated. I didn't want a long-distance relationship with Ethan. We had been together for five years and planned to get married later this year. Now, there was no longer any point to that wedding. I hadn't visited my parents in six months. This was the perfect chance to go home and say goodbye. I booked the earliest morning train ticket home, then packed my clothes into my suitcase one by one. The sound of keys jingled in the front door. When Ethan walked in, I was stuffing my last pair of shoes into the luggage. He stood by the entryway, holding the takeout box with the leftover mango cake. "What is wrong with you?" He set the box on the shoe cabinet. "Mia ordered that cake specifically for you, and you walked out without taking a single bite." I didn't look up. "You two seemed to enjoy it just fine without me." "Chloe." Ethan stepped toward me, his voice sharp with irritation. "What kind of scene are you trying to cause now?" "I'm not causing a scene." "Then why did you leave out of nowhere? Without even saying goodbye?" I didn't reply. I kept folding a wool coat. He reached down, grabbing the lid of my suitcase to stop me. "Can you talk to me like an adult? What is this? Throwing a tantrum and running away?!" I looked up at him. I looked at his furrowed brows, his tight, impatient lips. This was his signature look whenever he was annoyed with me. After five years, I knew it by heart. "Ethan," I said calmly. "It was mango." "What?" "The cake. It was mango-flavored." He paused, then said defensively, "Yeah, I told you, Mia likes—" "Were you celebrating our anniversary with Mia?" He froze. I continued, "Do you even remember that I’m deadly allergic to mangoes?" He parted his lips, but nothing came out. "Or did it simply never cross your mind that the cake was meant for me?" "What are you implying?" "I’m saying—" I took a slow breath. "In your minds, whether I eat the cake doesn't matter." "Chloe—" "Whether I end up in the ER doesn't matter." "Stop it—" "Whether I'm even there doesn't matter to you at all."Ethan's expression shifted. He let go of the suitcase and straightened up. "Chloe, why are you being so combative tonight?" "How did Mia wrong you? She booked the restaurant! She picked out your gifts! Just because of one cake where we forgot your allergy, you treat her like garbage?" "Helped me?" I let out a dry laugh. "What did she help me with?" "She planned our anniversary!" "Was that anniversary for the two of you, or for me?" "You—" He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Can you stop making mountains out of molehills? Mia and I are just friends! She’s your best friend! Why do you always twist things into something dirty?" "Friends? Do friends talk behind my back in a hospital room with your mother?" He blinked. "Talk about what?" "The day I brought soup to the hospital, I heard it with my own ears. Your mom told Mia she wished Mia was your girlfriend." Ethan stiffened. Then he mumbled, "My mom was just joking. Mia didn't take it seriously... Besides, she went to visit my mom for your sake!" "For my sake?" I repeated the words slowly, finding them absurd. "If it was for my sake, why didn't she invite me to go with her?" Ethan went silent for a few seconds. "I didn't want you overthinking things." "Were you afraid I'd overthink, or did you know deep down how hurtful it was to me?" He didn't answer. I leaned down and zipped up the suitcase. "Ethan, it’s been five years. You can't remember my favorite food. You can't remember my lethal allergy..." "Yet you remember Mia’s weak stomach. You remember she loves mango crepes. You even remember she’s on a diet." "That’s only because she talks about it all the time—" "Because you spend more time with her than you do with me." My words sliced through the room like a cold blade. Ethan stood frozen, his mouth opening and closing without producing a sound. After a long silence, he let out a heavy sigh, his tone softening. "Fine, fine. I didn't think things through tonight. Don't leave. It's too late. We'll talk about this tomorrow." I looked into his eyes. "Ethan, do you think I'm negotiating with you?" "Then what do you want?" "We're done. Let's break up." Ethan blinked, his brows pulling together in disbelief. "Chloe, are you seriously threatening to break up over this? Mia is your best friend—" "Yes. Even you know she’s *my* best friend, not your girlfriend." The room fell dead quiet. Ethan stood there, his frustration turning into cold annoyance. He stared at me for a moment before speaking. "Fine. Go run home to your parents if you want. Cool off on your own." He walked to the bedroom door, pulled it open, and glanced back at me. "When you're ready to be rational, we'll talk." He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. I stood alone in the living room, feeling as if I was the crazy one throwing a pointless fit. A quiet laugh escaped my throat. The suitcase rested by my feet. I pulled the handle up and walked out into the hallway. As the elevator descended, my phone vibrated. Ethan: [Text me when you get to your parents'. I'll call you tomorrow.] I didn't reply. Stepping out of the building, the midnight wind hit me. For the first time, August air felt cold enough to make my teeth chatter. Standing by the curb waiting for an Uber, my phone buzzed again. Ethan: [Whatever. If you don't want to talk, don't. Get some sleep. Stop overthinking.] *Stop overthinking.* I stared at the screen, then slipped the phone deep into my pocket.