Chapter 2 - The Performance of a Lifetime
By six o'clock,
the house was filled with the sound of loud voices and forced laughter.
Aunt Carol arrived first,
accompanied by her husband and their spoiled son.
Then came Uncle John,
his wife,
and their two daughters.
The small living room was packed,
the air thick with the smell of perfume and old cigarette smoke.
I stayed in the kitchen,
the heat of the stove matching the fire in my chest.
Martha would poke her head in every ten minutes.
"Is the fish ready?
Where are the ribs?
Don't make them wait,
Emily."
I served the dishes one by one.
First,
the cold appetizers,
the smashed cucumbers and the silken tofu.
Then,
the heavy hitters.
The steamed sea bass,
topped with sizzling oil and ginger.
The sweet and sour pork,
crispy and golden.
I carried the heavy plates with steady hands.
As I placed the food on the table,
I heard the comments.
"Oh,
Martha,
you really hit the jackpot with this one,"
Aunt Carol said,
poking at a rib.
"She's so quiet,
so hardworking."
Martha beamed,
as if she had hand-carved me from marble herself.
"It's all about the rules,
Carol,
you have to set them early."
David sat there,
drinking beer with his uncles,
beaming with pride.
He looked at me once and winked,
as if we were sharing a secret.
We weren't.
I was the one with the secret.
He was just a guest in a life I was about to abandon.
True to the 'rules',
I didn't sit down.
I hovered in the background,
refilling tea,
fetching extra napkins,
and clearing away bones.
My legs ached,
my back felt like it was breaking,
but I kept the smile fixed on my face.
"The soup is a bit bland,"
Uncle John remarked,
wiping grease from his chin.
"I'll remember that for next time,
Uncle,"
I replied softly.
Next time.
There would be no next time.
Jessica was laughing at a video on her phone,
occasionally shouting for more cola.
I brought it to her,
cold and refreshing.
She didn't even look up to say thank you.
It was as if I was a piece of furniture that happened to move.
I watched them eat the twelve dishes I had spent ten hours preparing.
They tore into the fish,
devoured the ribs,
and left a mess of sauce and scraps on the white tablecloth.
This was their idea of a family.
One person serving,
everyone else consuming.
I realized then that it wasn't just Martha.
It was all of them.
The entire structure was built on the silent labor of someone they didn't value.
I went back to the kitchen to 'wait' for my turn to eat.
I stood by the sink,
listening to the clinking of silverware.
I looked at my phone.
Eight o'clock.
I had moved my suitcase to the trunk of my car that morning while Martha was out.
My documents were in my purse,
hidden under the kitchen cabinet.
I took a deep breath.
The noise in the dining room grew louder as the alcohol flowed.
They were happy.
They were full.
They were completely oblivious.
I looked at the pile of dirty pots in the sink.
The grease was starting to congeal.
I picked up a sponge and began to scrub.
One plate.
Two plates.
The rhythmic scrubbing calmed my nerves.
I was cleaning up the remnants of my old life.
Soon,
May you like
there would be nothing left of Emily in this house.
Except for the memory of a meal they would never taste again.
