The night I got the text from Mom about a “special family dinner,” I nearly choked on my microwaved ramen. It had been ages since we’d all sat down together, and even longer since it felt like my parents actually wanted me there.
I love my family, but being the middle child is like being the bologna in a sandwich where everyone’s fighting over the bread.The night I got the text from Mom about a “special family dinner,” I nearly choked on my microwaved ramen. It had been ages since we’d all sat down together, and even longer since it felt like my parents actually wanted me there.
I love my family, but being the middle child is like being the bologna in a sandwich where everyone’s fighting over the bread.Mom replied instantly: “Great! Le Petit Château, 7 p.m. next Friday. Don’t be late!”
Le Petit Château. Fancy. I whistled low, already tallying my savings. Maybe things were changing. Maybe, for once, they wanted me, Jennifer the Forgettable.That Friday, I arrived ten minutes early, nerves jangling. Just as I was about to step in, Mom and Dad appeared. Mom was all smiles; Dad, his usual worried self. Inside, we found a table, and soon Tina arrived—stunning as always, making me feel like a potato in comparison. Cameron waltzed in last, blaming traffic.
The meal began with the familiar hierarchy: Mom asking about Tina’s son, Dad laughing at Cameron’s jokes. When Mom finally turned to me, her words cut.“So, Jennifer,” she said, peering over her menu, “how’s work? Still at that little marketing firm?”
I nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, it’s good. We just landed a pretty big client. I’m heading up the campaign.”“Oh, that’s nice,” she said, her attention already drifting back to Tina.
It stung. But the food was good, and for a moment, we laughed like we used to. I let myself hope.Until the check came.
Dad scanned it, then looked at me. “Jennifer, you’ll be covering your portion tonight.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You’re an adult now,” he said evenly. “It’s time you paid your own way.”“But… this is a family dinner. You’re paying for everyone else.”
“Tina and Cameron have families to support. You’re single. It’s only fair.”Fair. The word mocked me. My throat tightened, but I slid my card to the waiter, praying it wouldn’t decline.
Driving home, humiliation curdled into anger. By morning, I’d made a decision. I wasn’t letting this go.I invited Mom and Dad over for dinner. I scrubbed my apartment until it gleamed, bought candles, splurged on salmon, roasted vegetables, quinoa salad, even tiramisu. By the time the doorbell rang, I was calm. Focused. Ready.
Dinner was perfect. Mom marveled at my cooking, Dad praised my apartment. For once, everything felt balanced. Until dessert.As I set down the plates, I smiled sweetly. “I’m glad you enjoyed the meal. That’ll be $47.50 each.”
Silence crashed over the table. Mom’s fork clattered. Dad’s face cycled through confusion, disbelief, then anger.“I’m sorry, what?” he sputtered.
I kept my voice calm, steady. “Well, you’re both adults. Time you started paying your own way.”
Mom’s eyes widened. “But, Jennifer… this is your home. You invited us.”“Exactly,” I said. “Just like you invited me to Le Petit Château. And then made me pay while covering everyone else.”
Understanding flickered, followed quickly by shame.
Dad cleared his throat. “Jennifer, that’s not— we didn’t mean—”“Didn’t mean what?” I snapped, years of silence cracking open. “Didn’t mean to make me feel like I’m worth less than Tina or Cameron? Didn’t mean to always overlook me? Or didn’t mean to get called out?”
Mom reached for my hand. “Sweetie, we had no idea you felt this way.”I laughed, bitter and sharp. “Of course you didn’t. You’ve never looked closely enough to see it.”
Dad shifted, suddenly small in his chair. “We love you just as much as your siblings.”“Do you?” I asked, my voice low but steady. “Because it sure doesn’t feel like it.”
The candles flickered between us. For the first time in years, my parents had nothing to say. And for the first time in my life, I felt heard.