Leftovers
Category C: Highly Commended (2023) Monash Short Story Writing Competition
Author: Auj Ali
Addy skewers a chunk of her cream cheese pasta on the end of her fork, with a dread in her stomach that feels like a stone sinking deeper and deeper into menacing waters. She loves this food. But hell, it doesn't feel like she does now, the food that she ordered tastes like paper against her tongue, the noise from anywhere but her table is static, incomprehensible, irrelevant.
They tell you that it's your day. To make sure you enjoy. She thinks scathingly.
She would, if they would just bloody let her.
She can almost feel the intensity of her mother's piercing gaze searing her soul, the middle-aged woman's face contorted in vexation, as she mutters loudly, "I can't believe you didn't order the salad, what type of stupid meal is this without it."
She's repeated that statement at least five times now, it's become a pounding headache that you can't seem to get rid of, and Addy realises that her dad thinks the same, he's stopped with his fruitless apologies and instead slowly chews on his food, eyes trained on the table. Damn this. It's so awkward.
Family events always make her feel this way; giving her sweaty palms, slightly blurry vision, and leaving her almost certain that she'd rather dance off the edge of a cliff.
Addy bounces her leg restlessly, she bets that none of her friends have ever had a birthday dinner so enervating that they've wanted to leave, despite it being the only form of celebration that they'd all day. For some uncanny, unknown reason, she'd expected something from them, from her friends, a group brought present or one of those private Instagram posts, the ones with all those embarrassing photos from the past year with a caption that went something like 'Happy birthday cutie! Can't believe you're so old now.' But she'd gone to school this morning and got a few hugs and quick 'Happy Birthdays', then the subject was dismissed and she'd spent the rest of the day doing regular tedious classwork and listening to gossip she couldn't care less about. It's dispiriting to see that no one gives two shits about you when you're not hosting some fancy birthday party. The thing is, she would have, not a fancy one exactly, but she would have done a small event, like a pizza lunch where everyone danced to overrated radio music. The house decorated with banners and baby blue balloons like the ones Stacy had, tables cluttered with irresistible snacks of caramel popcorn and fairy bread, and to top it off, a heavenly ice- cream cake, which they could stand around and smile fake smiles in their short pink and red party dresses. She tried, two weeks back, to convince her parents to let her host one, she had planted her feet firmly on the living room carpet with an expression that could have made anyone sympathise with her, the rain thundered down outside and her skin prickled from nerves, she'd done her best attempts to persuade them then, but got the same blunt 'no' she did whenever she asked to do anything that was remotely fun, they didn't even bother to listen to her reasoning, just dismissed her as if she were an annoying fly repeatedly crashing into the window. Treated like a five year old at fifteen. Great.
Vi is looking at her now, a fierceness in her eyes mixed with understanding that could only come from her older sister.
'Mum', she says, her voice cutting through the tension like a newly sharpened knife, 'I'll go get it'.
Their mother's face lights up, as if she were a child being told that yes, they could go to the park.
'Oh will you sweetie?' She questions, her voice too perky for comfort, 'At least you're here to care for me Violet.'
Vi just nods with a tight-lipped smile and stands. She's always been like this, so sacrificial, so dependable. In her parent's eyes she's acting it, a forgery so she stays on everyone's good side , but in Addy's eyes she's perfect - pretty and strong - unmistakably crafted like the flawless little angel figurine that hangs on the silver chain necklace Vi had given her last spring. Beside her, Addy's dad mumbles something along the lines of no one being able to finish the food anyway. She turns her head toward him, he hasn't shaved in days and the stubble on his chin looks messy, he has bags under his eyes that Addy can't remember ever being that visible, and the frown on his face looks like it's been permanently plastered there. That's what losing your job does to you, she thinks.
Later when they're in the car, Addy holds a warm bag of leftovers in her lap. She didn't finish her plate, hell, it was almost full. She got scolded for being ungrateful because of it, but why bother pleasing people who won't bother pleasing you?
When they get home, there won't be photos taken to send to the family, she won't get cards or the videogame she hinted she wanted, they'll all just retreat to their rooms silently, alone with their thoughts. There hadn't been a cake when they left the house earlier, and there won't be when they return. She's pulled out of her spiral of self- pity by her parents voices, loud and flinch- worthy, coming from the front seats of the Toyota.
She smells the faint scent of cigarette smoke in the car, had that always been there?
"You don't have to make a big deal out of everything you know!"
God, she hates when he gets like this.
"I don't know why you think you can talk, when you didn't even pay for the damn meal!" Her mother's words are like a slap, hard enough to make everyone recoil.
There's a silence in the car that Addy feels guilty for, they would have been better off treating the day like normal, ignoring her birthday, at least then there wouldn't be any reasons for fights. Well, no additional reasons anyway. They continue, her parents, with their horrible, pointless arguing. These days they remind her of Tom and Jerry, the cat and mouse that are always fighting each other on TV. Except there's nothing to laugh at here - just a chaotic war that rages on, with no big red power button to turn it off.
She drowns out their voices now, she shouldn't have to hear them. The shoes on her feet feel too tight, the breath in her throat hard to catch, like a fish pulling too hard against the fishing line when your arms were already too tired. The feeling of disappointment bubbles inside her, waiting to spill over until it can't be pushed back, and she just wants to let go. Give in to the tears that sting her eyes.
'Addy', a whisper.
Her eyes move towards the space between the seats, where Vi's hand meets hers, her magenta nail polish is chipped and the rings on her fingers are beginning to rust. She pulls Addy's hand into hers and holds it. Steady. Their hearts beat with the knowledge that no small wreckage can cause them to sink.