Mrs. Muffins' Buffet of No Return

Disgusting. Look at those fools, swallowing plate after plate of food they couldn’t even finish, Onyx told himself, cringing at the sight of thick oils around the people’s mouths. Perhaps the disgust had already reached his head, and he needed to rise from his seat and get another ice-cold beer to ease. As he went through tables, he couldn’t help but gaze at each cousin’s family he met along the way, grazing their plates, slithering their tongues to finish the last drop. His scarlet eyes shook, wondering why he’d gotten himself here, asking why he said yes to Ronan’s plea in the guise of a tribute. And he said his presence was enough if he hadn’t planned to offer gifts.

After all, it was their family reunion. The only time generations gathered together, welcoming new in-laws and newborn great-grandchildren. Looking around, he noticed everyone seemed to have a good time, listening to each other’s bullshit—I mean, experiences, to reconnect, to catch up despite the time and distance. Time or space. It didn’t matter. Since he arrived here, he had already felt the distance. In each minute, he felt a meter away. The gap between him and everyone was too pronounced to ignore since his mother passed away. He couldn’t blame them. Why would you want to mingle with someone who wore the face you hated to death?

With that in mind, he had to leave now, he conceded, eyeing the front entry. With a fresh, ice-cold beer in hand, he toured around, sucking in the length of the dining table, which could fit up to fifty people. A conveyor belt was installed in the middle to serve everyone in the right portions, in perfect timing. Behind stood an open kitchen with two master chefs working hand-in-hand to serve Mrs. Muffins’ most awaited annual buffet at her place. Her table was ready to serve everything from greens to meats, in various cuts and cooking methods, soups to fried dishes. Drinks of all kinds and brands were in hanging vending fridges that consumed the walls like paintings in her dining hall.

The best part? They were all for free. You can take anything and everything you want in one condition. You must leave empty-handed. Always.

Because in this house, Mrs. Puffins was the word, and she never loved watching people go hungry. Nobody could disobey the rule. Not her children, husband, or grandchildren. None of them could say anything.

Not even at her lovely dining table. A free-eat-all-you-can situation you can never leave as though each dish was laid with spells, served for your weak soul. Because as soon as you tried, even a spoonful of it, there was no way for you to stop. It was as if you were possessed by some food demon pulling you into a deep trance. As if your hands turned monsters, forcing you into eating more and more and more until you couldn’t stand and walk and leave the place. The pressure to eat was an oath you never knew existed, and you were expected to keep the promise as if your stomachs could stretch miles long.

Knowing this, Onyx wasn’t ready to consume anything. He wasn’t—

“Aren’t you going to eat anything?” Ronan’s voice rammed his ears from behind, snapping his senses back to reality. Eyeing everyone’s eyes on them, noticing the pause, he blinked, taken by surprise, frightened. Off-guard, he forced a lopsided smile and was about to offer his beer for a toast, only to halt when he noticed the tray. His eyebrows curled and met in the middle. The surprise clinging to his chest left him stepping back, having an internal debate against himself about whether he should ask the big question over friendship. Yet, the sight must have disturbed him so much that he couldn’t let it go.

“Do you think you can finish all that? Come on. That’s like, what? Good for four people? Five? More? Are you trying to kill yourself?” He tried not to raise his voice, but the concern was grievous enough to feel its punch underneath his ribcage. Imagine a plate full of Chinese noodles and desserts for one person, not including the calamares and chicken strips on plates.

“Come on. We don’t have this much. When we leave, we’re back to eating bread and noodles. I can’t see that shit anymore.”

“But you know this isn’t healthy. You know you can’t finish it,” he cut him off.

“I can, and I will.” A warm air of determination escaped his nose, and a wild pride spread evenly on his flushing face.

To his dismay, his genuine concern only met with a sarcastic laugh and a shrug, as if it weren’t a big deal. With arching eyebrows, his mind paused as his heart sank, helplessly watching him diving in, slurping his long noodles as though he was deep breathing. The sight of his cousin indulging in, the slurping sound when the soup met his lips, the speed of his hands shoving in spoons of anything left him swallowing.

“Hey, slow down.” The only sentence he could say without losing his self-control. And self-control was what he’d been wearing like a thick jacket, feeling everybody’s eyes touch his feverish skin. Because, in his mind, he didn’t want to appear more rude and offensive to everyone than he already was. And the fact he was the only one who hadn’t consumed anything since he arrived was an issue they couldn’t shrug off and let go.

If that wasn’t enough to make him feel sick, the room roared out of the blue. They suddenly were in a ruckus, frantic to stand up and welcome an important person, he assumed with his eyes on their struggle. The half-emptied ceramics fell, glass shards below their tables, table cloth in tug-of-war, getting dragged in all directions for support. The screams fighting against each other made it seem as if this VIP’s attention was a sport to win.

His eyes narrowed, throwing his eyes at the entry, his mind sped up possibilities.

Then, his chest ached. His breathing labored. His brain blanked for a second as the image bolted underneath his skull. “Mrs. Muffins,” he whispered. Loud enough to catch Ronan’s loud pause. He expelled a sigh in complete disbelief, eyeing him licking the thick ketchup on his bare hands in a rush.

He laid his eyes on Ronan, hoping to see something different. Or maybe he wished he was different. To his disappointment, his dear cousin’s face glowed, slowly tearing his precious attention, then offering it to this VIP. This time, his eyes sparkled, full of delight. The kind of delight you saw on children’s faces during Christmas.

Curious, he cautiously threw his eyes on the formidable, stocky woman entering with a loud presence, just as loud as her high heels. Rhythmic thuds echoed in his heart at each step, searing across the growing silence and maddening pause, as if God had arrived and was ready to judge the world in perfect staccato.

As fear grew, his feet moved close to the table in an attempt to hide the empty side of the table. He gulped, wishing Ronan would cooperate. When he noticed his trance, he gave up hope and sucked in a breath, mentally preparing himself. His eyes lingered on her figure, watching her pass through tables with her wide smile while wishing she would just pass and skip him. 

Sadly, his table was right on her way. Gut-wrenching fear flushed his skin as she got closer to him, his chest tightening. Tingles and sensations flowed as fear swelled his body. He was trapped.

Then, their eyes met.

He gulped, wishing he had enough beer to anticipate her piercing gaze, to welcome her calm, uncaring gaze that matched the melancholy on her face. The kind of gaze you don’t need in daily life. The type that could make you go crazy over time, maybe losing your judgment or fooling yourself into believing she was loving.

That was what his mother told him, and he’d seen how those eyes work, paralyzing people into submission. In his mind, Mrs. Muffins was never a sister to her. She was something else.

The One. The one who bore the answers as to why this family survived for this long and remained intact despite the differences. The only one who could mediate enemies with grace and resolve family issues, even those you thought were irreparable. The only one who held the key to the generational riches sealed for ages since her father died. The only person in the family no one could ever resist when offered or refuse when asked. Not even the elders.

He knew all that, noting her eyes on his empty plate. Though she wasn’t flaunting her usual smugness, her pause was loud, and the weight of her stare was enough to tell she disliked what she saw. Even when her lips curved into a smile, flashing her teeth, it wasn’t enough to convince him otherwise. Her eyes told him. No matter how often he saw her generous grins and ever-heartwarming greetings, the hate hiding behind in her gaze would always be the first thing he would ever see.

“I am glad to see you here. I never expected you would answer my invitation,” she said in a way that made him shrink. He wanted to say something right there, but the people’s stares began to weigh heavy on his shoulders, and he desperately wanted to have them removed with another ice-cold beer. She went on. “You don’t like to eat? You have everything you need here. So, why don’t you pick up a plate and enjoy it?” She squeezed her eyes at Ronan, wearing a grin.

Her eyes on him again. Her grin faded. Her face tightened for a second before expelling a sigh. Whatever she had in mind left her tilting her head at an angle and scanning him from head to toe with her prying eyes. “You’re like your mother. Never good with rules.”

Although he knew it was an attack, he felt oddly proud, wanting to say it aloud. But no, he couldn’t. Not in front of the elders, the curious children. He forced a smile, wishing it was enough for a pretense. “Nah, I’m good with beer. I won’t stay long here anyway.” He emptied his warmed beer and walked past her, thinking ending the conversation that way was better. At least, when she had nothing, either a yes or a no, she had nothing to react to.

“We haven’t seen each other for a while, so why the rush? No. You should eat. There’s a lot to choose from. You can find anything you want.”

“I’m good,” he said with disinterest.

The look on her face shifted. Her eyes glowered as she crossed her arms, slamming her expensive designer bag on her bulging tummy. “You’re not going anywhere until you pick a plate and eat.”

His feet slowed, his eyes burned, wanting to leave this place now with a decision not ever to visit again. He had enough of this family get-together, knowing that sometimes you wondered if you were living on the same Earth, wasting time listening to their fiction and future make-believes to keep the image of a happy family. When, in reality, their lives were nothing but short of happiness, their homes screamed untold resentments. Underneath their fancy circus were drowning souls with unpayable loans for the sake of a façade they couldn’t keep up. Too expensive.

Just as how expensive the cost would be if he were to eat, he conceded with his eyes on the conveyor belt, keeping its speed as steaming plates and bowls kept coming in like an endless river. “I’m serious. I’m fine with beer. You don’t have to worry about me,” he stuttered.

Ignoring him, she lifted a finger and signaled the nearest uncle and auntie to get her something. “What do you want? If you like, I can highly recommend—”

“I said I don’t want to eat! You can’t force me to do what you want like everyone else.”

His words hung in the air, leaving everyone speechless for a second. A sheer panic blasted his system until she cleared her throat to ease the tense air and looked around as though telling him to follow rule and order.

Was he going to take it back? No, he wasn’t. He came here with Ronan to offer his presence, not as an active participant. Definitely not when he felt forced.

“You know you can’t leave this place until you’re done,” she said.

He lifted his empty bottle. “I’m done.”

“Not yet.”

His chest clenched, feeling his long, thick fingers wrap around his heart. His eyes stabbed the tray coming close, then lifted it to his uncle’s excitement with a mountain of stacked plates of anything he thought was likable.

Trapped in her piercing stare, he stood there, frozen for a minute, not knowing what to do now. Struggling to keep his pretense, his lips quirked as a last attempt, hoping it was enough to calm himself down. Before he could organize his thoughts, her gloved hand met his chin and stabbed his eyes with her gaze. “Make sure you finish it.”

“You know, I can’t.”

Ignoring his loud panic, she winked, then moved her attention to the children from outside. Her lips stretched to a wide smile. Wider than before, as if nothing had happened, as if the conversation and change of air hadn’t affected her at all. “Yes, I’m coming.” Her eyes on him, her voice lowered. “And you? Sit down and eat.” She snapped her fingers.

Without a choice, he watched his uncles wrap their strong arms around him, forcing him to sit and hold a spoon and a fork. Aunties held his head, jerking his face forward, ready to serve him generous meals. The rest screamed, ‘Eat,’ like enthusiastic cheerleaders.

Cautiously, he grabbed the fork with his eyes at the bowl of greens and slowly took a bite. In his mind, it was safer to eat than the rest. However, when he was about to take another bite, he slowed at seeing his cousin's mess. Enough for his appetite to head south. Not even the umami of the miso soup and thick Caesar dressing brushing his nose was delectable enough to save it, even though he loved greens.

Determined to finish the salad, he continued until he emptied the bowl, feeling his stomach stretch in a way a burp couldn’t escape. He was full.

Way damn full for another spoonful, he mused, downing another bottle of beer a relative had given him moments ago. Ready to leave than ever, he rose to his seat, groaning and pushing loved ones on his way through the entry, only to feel a strong force pulling him from behind, throwing his things. For a second, he felt his soul leave his body, and in a blink, his cheek met the cold floor. A stabbing, unexplainable pain swallowed his body in surging waves, leaving him wincing in pain, tilting his face enough to see things clearly, to know exactly what happened.

Before he could see clearly, the same potent force grabbed him, forcing him to sit down. Another group held his face, jerking him forward again, this time tighter, gluing him to his seat.

With his eyes on the spoonful of meat, he screamed the loudest ‘No’ of his life, begging them to stop this madness once and for all. The stainless steel sneaked in between his lips, and the pungent spices punched his throat. He gritted his teeth like gates blocking the unwanted, holding his breath while pumping his arms and legs wildly. For a moment, he fought and held in until exhaustion reached his bone, his ears heard a crack inside his mouth. Immediately, a taste of metal blew his tongue. Before he knew it, blood spilled out of his mouth; his front teeth crumbled. Helpless in his seat, fear drowned his senses, eyeing everyone’s greed, wanting to impress Mrs. Muffins, he assumed with disgust.

As understanding dawned in his head, the dire hopelessness snaked in his heart. Damned and damped with sweat and sauce, he closed his eyes, enduring the pain, mourning his broken teeth. His Adam's apple fiddled, his throat swallowing slices of meat like ice-picks in his stomach. His vision blurred, his insides were at war. He might have retched in between, feeling his stomach was about to burst at any moment; way too stretched, he couldn’t breathe.

Confusion was right on his heels, and he didn’t know how to escape. He was held hostage on his seat, forced to eat spoonfuls and forkfuls of anything on the tray. And these people, whom his mother called family, didn’t seem to have plans to stop, as if the tears in his eyes and loud cries were a joke to laugh at. Even the elders, who seemed to be willing audiences, stood there and did nothing to stop the chaos. If that wasn't enough to shatter his heart, the children applauded as if watching their parents doing something terrible was a child’s play.

His heart struck him with steel-fisted punches as his soul fired with growing determination to fight and escape. Too late, he told himself, heartbroken, as his vision blurred. Because in each minute, in each spoon and fork he bit, his hope died, not knowing if he could ever escape Mrs. Muffins’ buffet of no return.