The Last Guess Was Goodbye

Corbin, Davis, Seth, and I grew up in the same neighborhood. We'd been inseparable since childhood, promising to go to college together and never leave anyone behind.

Everything changed when Mira moved into Corbin's house during high school. 

Since then, every major decision had become a guessing game. They always told me to guess their choices, and I was always the one left out.

Three days before our graduate school decision deadline, I asked where everyone was going.

Corbin, my boyfriend, hinted at Boston. Mira posted a photo of New York, and Davis shared a video from Chicago.

I spent seventy-two hours reconsidering my options, desperate to stay with them.

Then I found a secret group chat on Corbin's laptop.

Mira: You're really all coming to New York for me?

Davis: We already accepted.

Seth: What about Brenna?

Corbin: Let her choose for herself. Once she realizes we're all together, she'll follow us. She always does.

I stared at the screen. They'd already planned their future without me.

This time, I didn't try to catch up.

Instead, I accepted an offer from Project Aegis, a classified federal research program requiring two years at a restricted facility with limited outside contact.

They'd made me guess for years.

Now it was their turn.

...

The confirmation appeared on my laptop screen.

PROJECT AEGIS — APPOINTMENT ACCEPTED.

My reporting instructions would arrive through a secure portal. Once I entered the research facility, I would spend two years away from everyone I knew.

I closed my laptop just as Corbin walked into the kitchen with two iced coffees.

He handed one to Mira and settled beside her, his arm resting casually along the back of her chair.

"Finally made up your mind?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Good. I looked into the graduate programs in New York. With your grades, you should still have a chance. Just make sure you get everything sorted out before the deadlines."

I almost laughed. He'd already accepted his own offer weeks ago, yet he was still pretending we were figuring out our futures together.

"Speaking of which," he continued, "send Davis that housing spreadsheet you made. We need to start looking at apartments."

Mira glanced up from her coffee. "Could you help with mine too, Brenna? I'm worried about finding somewhere affordable."

Before I could answer, Davis and Seth arrived.

Davis immediately started complaining about New York rent, while Seth reminded everyone that Mira needed somewhere close to campus because she didn't do well with long commutes.

Six months ago, I'd spent two weeks researching graduate programs, tuition, housing, and living expenses in twelve different cities.

Corbin had called me obsessive. Davis had joked that I treated our lives like a corporate merger, and Seth had told me to relax.

Now they were discussing Mira's commute as though an extra fifteen minutes on the subway might ruin her life.

"I deleted the spreadsheet," I said.

Davis stopped talking. "You what?"

"It's gone. You'll have to find your own apartments."

Corbin frowned. "Brenna, seriously? We have enough to deal with without you making things difficult."

Mira quickly lowered her eyes. "It's okay. I can do it myself. I know Brenna's better at this stuff, but I don't want to bother her."

"You're not bothering anyone," Corbin assured her before turning back to me. "Mira's already stressed about moving. Can't you be supportive for once?"

I stared at him, remembering how he'd reacted when I first suggested leaving Boston for graduate school.

He'd told me I worried too much and made everything unnecessarily complicated. Apparently, planning ahead was only a problem when I was doing it for myself.

I'd been looking after these boys since we were twelve.

I remembered Corbin's peanut allergy, carried spare chargers for Davis, and kept snacks in my bag because Seth often forgot to eat.

After my mother died, they'd promised we'd always be together. I took that promise so seriously that I'd spent the next ten years organizing my life around theirs.

Somewhere along the way, they'd stopped appreciating it and started expecting it.

"There's a place near campus I've been dying to try," Mira said, breaking the silence. "Why don't I treat everyone tonight? We can celebrate our plans for New York."

Corbin brightened immediately. "Sounds perfect."

He reached for my jacket, but I shook my head. "I'm not going."

His expression hardened. "You're still upset? Brenna, we're all under pressure. You don't need to take it out on Mira."

"I'm not upset with Mira. I just don't want to go."

Davis sighed. "Come on. Don't ruin the night."

Corbin dropped my jacket onto the chair. "Fine. Stay home if you want. When you're done sulking, we still need those apartment details."

He left with the others, holding the door open for Mira. Their laughter faded down the hallway, and the apartment fell silent.

Not one of them had asked which program I'd chosen.

My phone buzzed with a new notification from the secure research portal.

PROJECT AEGIS — OFFICIAL NOTICE

Your appointment has been confirmed. You are required to report to the designated research facility in seven days. Please remain reachable through your registered contact information.

All subsequent arrangements are classified. Do not disclose any details regarding your assignment, reporting location, or research activities to unauthorized individuals.

I'd spent nearly two years preparing for this opportunity, yet I'd almost turned it down because I couldn't imagine leaving Corbin behind.

I opened our shared Google Calendar, Always Together, and looked at the appointments I'd organized for everyone. Then I removed the reminders from my own calendar, leaving their schedules untouched.

Another message appeared.

Corbin: Don't forget to send the housing spreadsheet tonight.

I glanced at the reporting instructions on my laptop and typed my reply.

Me: You'll have to figure it out yourselves.

They'd already planned a future without me.

And with less than seven days left before I disappeared from their lives, I wasn't going to plan a future I wouldn't be part of.