Chapter 4

• The application was due by midnight.
• Ellis had reread the residency requirements six times already. The program was prestigious—a three-month art residency in Spain, all expenses paid, private studio space, exhibitions, networking events, portfolio expansion. She should’ve been thrilled.
• Instead, her stomach twisted every time she glanced at the glowing form on her screen.
• Rowan padded into the living room, barefoot, cradling a mug of tea in one hand and a slice of cold pizza in the other. “Please tell me that’s not porn again.”
• Ellis didn’t look up. “Only if emotional self-sabotage counts.”
• “Ah. So art school applications.”
• “Residency,” Ellis muttered. “International.”
• Rowan blinked. “Wait—what?”
• Ellis took a deep breath. “It’s three months in Spain. Competitive. Massive opportunity. I’ve had the page open for a week.”
• “And you’re just now applying?”
• “I wasn’t sure.”
• Rowan sat beside her, eyes wide. “Ellis. Babe. This is a sign from the bisexual gods. Italy? Art? A graceful, gorgeous exit from this dumpster fire of unrequited love?”
• Ellis smiled, small and tired. “It’s not that dramatic.”
• “It is,” Rowan said. “And you should do it anyway.”
• “I haven’t even told anyone I’m applying.”
• “Not even Asher?”
• Ellis shook her head. “Especially not Asher.”
• Rowan nodded slowly. “You want it to be real before he has a chance to try and talk you out of it.”
• “Something like that.”
• Rowan squeezed her shoulder. “Click submit, Ellis.”
• She did.
• 🜲
• Two days later, the whole group gathered for lunch at a sunlit patio café just off campus. It was one of their old favorites—rusted metal tables, mismatched chairs, aggressive sparrows. Beck brought a sketchbook. Nico brought a bottle of wine he wasn't supposed to have. Jonah brought his laugh, too loud and contagious as always.
• Asher brought Madeline.
• She was in cream linen today, all effortless grace and neutral tones, her hand loosely wrapped around Asher’s as if she'd been born knowing how to perform intimacy.
• Ellis sat across from them, between Beck and Rowan, doing her best not to overanalyze the way Madeline's gaze flicked toward her every few minutes—assessing, calculating, quiet.
• “So,” Rowan said, twirling her straw, “guess who finally submitted her art residency application?”
• Ellis froze mid-sip.
• All heads turned.
• “You applied?” Beck asked, eyes brightening.
• Ellis nodded, sheepish. “Spain. Three months. They only take ten a year. Long shot, but—yeah.”
• “Holy shit,” Jonah said, clapping her on the back. “That’s amazing!”
• “You better start practicing your Catalan and Spanish now,” Nico added. “I expect selfies.”
• Beck leaned in. “I’m really proud of you.”
• Ellis smiled at him, warmth blooming in her chest. He always knew exactly how to say things without sounding like he was trying.
• Across the table, Asher looked surprised. “You didn’t tell me you were thinking about that.”
• Ellis shrugged. “It just came up. I figured… why not?”
• “But you’d be gone for the wedding,” he said. Not accusatory—just baffled.
• And somehow, that hurt more.
• She lifted her glass. “That’s assuming I get in.”
• “Still,” he said, eyes narrowing just slightly. “I thought you were all in for this. Best man and everything.”
• “I am,” she said carefully. “But life happens. And this is something I’ve always wanted.”
• Madeline took a delicate sip of her wine. “Seems like a smart move.”
• Ellis blinked. “Sorry?”
• “I just mean—Spain. Art. Fresh air. Sounds like a dream.”
• Her tone was unreadable, but the undercurrent was not.
• Rowan leaned forward. “And Ellis has been working nonstop. She deserves something that’s hers for once.”
• Beck nodded. “And she’s good enough to get it. Better than good.”
• Asher looked between them all, confused. “Am I missing something here?”
• “No,” Ellis said quickly. “Everyone’s just being weirdly supportive.”
• He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
• Madeline laid a hand on his arm. “Ellis will still be around for the important things. And if she gets accepted, we’ll find a way to celebrate early.”
• Ellis nearly choked on her drink.
• We will celebrate?
• Since when had Madeline started speaking in joint declarations about Ellis’s schedule?
• Rowan gave her a sharp side glance but said nothing.
• The waiter returned, breaking the tension with plates of pasta and wood-fired flatbreads. Conversation shifted to safer topics—Jonah’s dating disasters, Nico’s ongoing feud with his HOA, Beck’s accidental viral TikTok moment involving a squirrel and a spilled latte.
• But beneath it all, Ellis could feel the shift.
• Like something had quietly moved in the foundation of their group, and no one wanted to name it.
• 🜲
• After lunch, Beck walked Ellis home while the others peeled off.
• “You’re really doing it,” he said as they crossed the street.
• “I don’t know. I mean—I want to. But I’m also terrified.”
• He smiled. “That means it’s the right thing.”
• They stopped outside her building. She turned to him.
• “Do you think I’m running away?”
• Beck was quiet for a long beat. Then: “No. I think you’ve been standing in the same place for too long.”
• Tears pricked her eyes before she could stop them.
• “I don’t want to leave him,” she whispered.
• “I know.”
• “But I can’t stay either.”
• “I know that too.”
• She leaned into him, and he wrapped his arms around her.
• Not the way Asher would.
• Not absentminded or automatic.
• But like he meant it.
• 🜲
• That night, Ellis sat at her desk and opened the spreadsheet Madeline had sent again.
• She’d highlighted tasks in green: best man duties, speech deadlines, flower confirmations, playlist curation. Ellis scrolled all the way down.
• May 28th: Final dress fittingJune 3rd: Bachelor Party Planning DeadlineJune 10th: Wedding
• Her eyes lingered on the date.
• June 10th.
• She switched tabs and looked at the residency timeline.
• Decision emails: Sent by May 25thDeparture date: June 5th
• Her hand hovered over the mouse.
• And then, slowly, she opened a blank document and began drafting the toast.
• Just in case.