The Family That Never Saved Me a Seat at the Table, I’m Not Saving a Spot for Either Chapter 03

The Family That Never Saved Me a Seat at the Table, I’m Not Saving a Spot for Either Chapter 03

Same thing. A few plates of leftovers, a soup bowl, all their dirty dishes still sitting there.

I could tell from what was left on their plates that dinner had been BBQ chicken wings and lemon pepper ribs.

The green beans were cold and greasy—three wilted pieces of spinach drowning in oil at the bottom of the dish.

And the soup? Gone. Nothing left for me.

Everything just felt so pointless. The fire that had burned in my chest all day was now ice-cold.

I touched my cheek and realized I’d been crying without even noticing.

I didn’t turn around to fight with my parents. There was no point.

I pulled out my phone, snapped a photo of the leftovers, sat down at the table, and ordered delivery.

When the food arrived, Mom looked at me, surprised. “I left you dinner. It’s right there.”

I didn’t answer. I just unwrapped my takeout and started eating.

Her expression soured. She let out a huff and went to the living room to watch TV.

Ethan glanced over, then went back to his phone. Dad frowned but said nothing.

Clara, ever the clever one, sensed the tension and quietly watched TV without her usual charm.

The room felt strange—only the sound of the television and my chewing.

After I finished, I threw my trash away, grabbed clean clothes, showered, and went straight to bed.

No one mentioned the dirty dishes. No one touched them.

They were forgotten in the corner. Just like me.

The next morning, I got up, washed up, and was about to leave for work when Mom actually called out to me.

Not like how she reminded Ethan to take enough cash to treat his friends right. Not like how she fussed over Clara having her keys and not getting too much sun at the mall.

It was an accusation.

“Harper, what is wrong with you?”

I stared at her. “What do you mean?”

“I save you dinner, and you won’t touch it. You order takeout instead. You don’t help out around here anymore—you walk right past a sink full of dishes like you don’t even see them. What happened to you?”

That last sentence hit me like a needle to the heart—sharp and numbing.

“Because I don’t want leftovers anymore.” I looked her in the eye and said it slowly. “Ethan never touches a dish, and nobody says a word. Clara skates by because she’s the favorite. But me? I’m the one who’s supposed to clean up every night?”

My voice was dead calm. “So what am I, Mom? Not the favorite—just the one who cleans up after everybody?”

Something in my face made her step back. She looked at me like she didn’t even recognize me. “So now saving you dinner is a crime?”

“You weren’t saving me dinner. You were saving me a sink full of dishes.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, she slapped me. Hard.

“Fine,” she spat. “You’re so grown-up now, so above it all. From now on, we won’t save you a damn thing. Don’t bother begging.”

She turned, grabbed the now-sour dishes, and stormed into the kitchen. She clattered them around like she was punishing the plates.

I didn’t look back. I just walked out the door.