Split Three Ways, Not Four

The Anchor closes at two and I left before last call because my eyes were doing the thing where the bar top gets soft at the edges. I said the group goodbye, the one where everyone half stands, and I was almost at the corner when the door didn't fully swing shut behind me.

I heard Priya's voice, low, doing math out loud. Sixteen for the driver, split three ways, she'll just grab her own, she's already gone anyway.

Three ways. Not four.

I stood under the awning longer than the app said I'd need to. I told myself it's just cab logistics, that someone always gets left out of a split by accident when the group's uneven, that it doesn't mean anything about Thursday, or the birthday thing, or the fact that nobody's tagged me in anything from the softball league in weeks.

My phone buzzed. My ride was two minutes out. I could've gone back in. I could've said, hey, I'm still here, I can Venmo my third.

I didn't. I let the app count down instead, and got in when it arrived, and only once I was three blocks away did it land that I hadn't actually left before they started planning the ride without me. I'd just left before they said it loud enough for someone to hear.