Invisible
783 Words
(Dorcas )
The clinking of cutlery filled the room, too cheerful, too light. My mother had outdone herself with the roast again, golden and glistening, like everything in her life. Perfect. Like Mara. Like everyone except me.
Dad was already tipsy, face red, laughing too loud at nothing. My younger brother, Dean, leaned back in his chair, smug like he had secrets about everyone but me. I was too boring to have secrets.
"Remember when Dorcas failed her driver’s test three times?" my younger sister, Mira, blurted, just as I brought my fork to my mouth. Her voice sliced through the chatter.
Everyone burst out laughing, even Jude, who sat two seats away, sipping his wine like it tasted better with my embarrassment. My mother didn’t even pretend to hide her grin.
"God, I thought she'd never get it," Dean added, chuckling, "We were scared she’d end up with a bike and helmet forever."
My throat tightened, but I smiled, small and careful. I reached for my water, fingers trembling just enough to notice.
"I passed eventually," I said, trying to sound amused.
"On the fourth try," Mira said, raising her glass, "To Dorcas . The most persistent one of us."
More laughter. I stared at the candles, let the flames blur, then clear again. I bit the inside of my cheek, waited for the moment to pass. It didn’t.
"Maybe driving just wasn’t your thing," Mom said, that fake sweetness coating every word, "We all have our strengths. You were always better with... feelings."
Feelings. Right.
"At least she tries," Jude said, not even glancing my way.
The room was too warm. Or maybe it was just me. I forced another bite of chicken into my mouth, but it tasted like cardboard. My jaw moved anyway. Smile, chew, nod. Repeat.
"You still baking those... what do you call them? Scones?" Dean asked, laughing, "Mira showed me that photo of yours. The one that looked like exploded rocks."
They all laughed again. Even Jude, who was now swirling his wine like a damn critic. My stomach sank.
"They were biscuits," I said, voice flat, "And the recipe was new."
"A new disaster," Mira snorted.
I dropped my fork.
It clanged against the plate, sharp, too loud in my ears. I looked around the table, met eyes. No one looked guilty. Just amused.
"Okay," I said, pushing my chair back slowly, "I get it. Hilarious."
"Dorcas ," Mom said with that scolding edge, "Don’t be so sensitive. We’re just teasing."
I stood, brushing invisible lint off my dress. My heart pounded, not fast, just hard, steady like a warning.
"Excuse me," I muttered.
No one stopped me.
The bathroom mirror was too clean. I stared into it anyway, gripping the sink, watching the way my eyes looked shinier than normal. Not quite tears, not yet.
I blinked fast, wiped under each eye with a tissue. Deep breaths, I told myself. Deep breaths, and then go back. Be the joke. Be the quiet one. Be anything but angry.
When I came out, Mara was in the room.
I knew she was there before I saw her. The laughter shifted. Softer, sweeter.
Her laugh was like chimes. Her perfume was something flowery and expensive. She wore cream, a silk blouse that caught the light. Her hair was curled, like she cared. Like she always cared, even when it wasn’t her house, her family, her moment.
Jude stood to greet her. Of course he did. He hugged her, long. Too long.
She smiled at him like he was the only person in the room. Like he mattered. Like I didn’t.
"Sorry I’m late," she said, flashing a perfect smile, "Traffic was awful."
My mom jumped up, arms open. "You look amazing. This blouse… God, you’re glowing."
Mara blushed, just the right amount. Jude pulled out a chair for her, next to him, not me.
She sat, laughed at something he whispered. Her hand brushed his wrist, lingered.
No one noticed. Or maybe they did. Maybe they didn’t care.
I returned to my seat. My plate had been cleared. Of course it had.
No one asked if I was done. No one looked at me.
I listened to Mara tell stories about her job, her boss, her workout routine. They asked her questions. They leaned in. They laughed.
I said nothing.
Jude looked at her the way he never looked at me anymore.
And I… I stared at the candle again. Let the wax drip slow. Let my fingers itch to touch the flame.
Let the silence wrap around me, like a coat that didn’t quite fit.
I smiled once, just to see if my face still could.
- Writer
