Family Dinner Disaster

*Anna*

The clanking of silverware against fine China fills the air, making my head ring. I should’ve taken a Tylenol before dinner, but I was so nervous, I hardly remembered to put on matching shoes, let alone do anything not completely necessary.

Grant sits next to me, like he always does when I attend family dinner, but something seems slightly different tonight. His chair isn’t quite as far away from mine, and every once in a while, his knee bumps into mine. Rather than pulling his leg away, he leaves it for a moment, as if he doesn’t find me repulsive.

Around me, the rest of the family discusses their day, and I listen. When Hattie tells Fred that she found those diamond earrings he gave her for her birthday, the ones she thought she lost, he’s proud of her. I bite my tongue–I found those earrings when I was on my hands and knees picking up crumbs next to her nightstand. She ate tacos in bed while watching her favorite daytime television show and didn’t want to get bugs in the bedroom. Vacuuming would’ve been more effective–but not nearly as humiliating.

When Veronica brags that she got an A on her science experiment, Grandmother Trudy tells her how clever she is. No one recognizes that I actually made that volcano for her–and exploded baking soda into my face several times before I got it right.

None of that matters to me, though. So long as no one is making fun of me, that’s all that truly matters. Most of the time when I attend family dinner, I’m ridiculed before the main course is even brought out. Everyone seems preoccupied tonight, and when dessert is brought out, I think I might actually make it through an entire meal without any name-calling.

One of the maids, someone I actually consider a friend, Leslie, sets a piece of decadent-looking chocolate cake in front of me, Though I’ve eaten more than I usually do tonight, I lift my fork, ready to indulge in a reward I feel I’ve deserved after having sat this long through the conversation taking place all around me.

“Are you really going to eat that, Anna?”

Grandmother Trudy’s voice is lined with shock as she speaks to me. 

I lift my head and look at her through my eyelashes, not sure how to respond. I was going to….

“Those calories will go straight to your thighs, and trust me, you don’t need any more thickness there, dear,” she continues, saying the word “dear” like it’s a curse.

“Grandmother,” Grant begins, possibly considering defending me, but he doesn’t get a chance to say more when Fred speaks up.

“A woman with no children should be thin and fit,” my father-in-law declares. “Anna, you will never bear us grandchildren if you’re too plump for Grant to want to touch. Not that he wants to now.” He breaks into a rumbling laugh, and Scott joins him. Soon enough, the entire table is laughing–except for Mary.

And Grant. My husband isn’t laughing either, but as usual, the jokes they make about me reflect badly on him as well, so I don’t blame him for not laughing.

“Anna,” Mary begins, “don’t listen to them. They’re only teasing.”

Suddenly, I feel like if I were to take a single bite of the cake, I'd puke it all over the table. I push my chair back, but remembering my manners, I turn to Grandmother Trudy. “May I be excused, please, Grandmother?”

She eyes me for a moment, that cruel smile clinging to the corners of her mouth, and for a beat, I think she might deny me the opportunity to flee, insisting that I sit here and tolerate more of their incessant teasing.

“Grandmother,” Grant says, his voice slightly more forcefully than usual, “let her go.”

Her eyes flicker to her grandson before she’s looking at me again. “Very well. Run away, Anna. Just be careful not to start a fire when your thighs rub against one another.”

Laughter echoes behind me as I tear out of the room, rushing as quickly as I can to our bedroom. When I get there, I hurry inside and shut the door behind me. It's only when I’m safely on my couch that I let the tears fall freely.

I know that what they’re saying is only intended to hurt me. I can plainly see myself in the mirror well enough to recognize that I don’t have thick thighs. If anything, I’m too thin. But it doesn’t matter. They will say anything to hurt me, and they know that no woman can tolerate having her weight made fun of.

I try to pull myself together, but it’s difficult. I’ve finally begun to stop crying when there’s a quiet knock on the door.

Assuming it’s Mary, since she's the only one who has ever come to speak to me after such a run-in before, I call, “Come in.”

When the door opens, it’s not my mother-in-law standing there, gaping at me from the doorway.

It’s my husband.

Seeing the disappointed look on Grant’s face makes fresh tears spring to my eyes. Once again, I’ve let him down. All he wanted from me was a simple dinner with his family, and I couldn't even give him that.

He closes the door behind him and crosses the room, sitting down on the bed across from me, almost in the same spot he sat in that morning when he’d asked me to come to dinner with him.

He says nothing, and the sound of my crying is deafening. Eventually, I manage to say, “I’m… so sorry… Grant,” through my weeping.

“You’re sorry?” he asks, his eyebrows raised.

Through my tears, I nod. “I… failed you again.”

I watch his face crumple in disappointment. He shakes his head, his mouth moving, but no words coming out. Then, he says, “Oh, Anna,” and turns to walk into the bathroom. A few moments later, I hear the shower turn on and imagine he’s trying to wash me off his skin.

I’m not sure what I thought would happen this evening, what I thought might be different, but it’s clear now that I’m fooling myself. I will never be the wife my husband deserves.

I am a failure–in every way, shape, and form. And nothing will ever change that.

Nothing.