The same four little dishes of scraps and the leftover soup bowl were still there, and so were the four rice bowls her family had eaten from, all still sitting on the table.
From the bones Michael and Maya had left behind, I could just about make out that tonight's meat dishes had been glazed chicken wings and salt-and-pepper pork ribs.
The garlic-sautéed baby greens had gone stone cold, exactly three limp leaves floating on a film of grease.
There wasn't a single mouthful of soup left, and all of it struck me as unbearably pointless.
That knot of fire that had burned in my chest all day had gone cold now.
I touched my cheek and only then realized my whole face was wet with tears.
I didn't turn around to fight with my parents. There was no point.
I took out my phone first and snapped a photo of the leftovers, then sat down at the table and ordered delivery.
When the food arrived, my mother looked at me, baffled. "Didn't I leave dinner for you?"
I didn't answer her. I just opened the bag and started eating.
Her face went very ugly. She gave a small huff and walked straight into the living room to watch TV.
Michael glanced over, then dropped his head back to his phone.
My father frowned but said nothing.
Maya was clever. She sensed the mood in the house was off, so she stopped playing cute and just watched TV quietly.
The atmosphere turned strange all at once, nothing but the sound of the television and the sound of me chewing.
When I finished, I gathered up my own trash and dropped it in the bin.
Then I turned, took out a change of clothes, showered, and went to bed, one thing straight after another.
The leftovers on the table, no one mentioned them and no one touched them.
They were like me. Left forgotten in a corner by the whole family.
The next day I got up early as usual, washed up, and got ready to head out to work.
My mother, unusually, called me back.
Not the way she reminded Michael to take extra cash when he went out, to be generous when he ate with his buddies.
Not the way she fussed over Maya, asking if she'd brought her key, telling her not to get sunburned while she was out shopping at the mall.
No. This was an accusing tone. "Diana, what's the matter with you?"
I looked at her, not understanding. "What do you mean?"
"The family leaves dinner for you and you won't eat it, you insist on ordering delivery. You don't clean up either, the dishes on the table like you never saw them. You never used to be like this."
That line, you never used to be like this, drove into my chest like a poisoned needle, aching and numb at once.
"Because I don't want to eat scraps anymore."
I looked straight at my mother and said it word by word.
"My brother's a boy, so he doesn't have to do chores. My sister's the youngest, so she doesn't have to do chores."
My voice was flat as dead water.
"But Mom... how did I get so unlucky, being a girl and the older sister both?"
My eyes startled her. She stumbled back a few steps, her voice disbelieving. "We leave food for you and even that's a crime now?"
"You call that leaving food? That was leaving me a pile of pots and dishes to wash."
The words were barely out when my mother's hand cracked across my face.
"Fine," she said, her voice full of hate. "Just fine. Now you're grown, your wings are hard, from now on we won't leave you anything. You can beg all you want, it won't do you any good."
Then she turned, swept the soured bowls and chopsticks into the kitchen, and banged them around in the sink as loud as she could, taking it out on the dishes.
I didn't turn around. I walked out the door.
