The Silent Feast

Every year, my dining room turned into a battleground and the yearly holiday feast, the ammunition. It was always a vicious cycle: raised voices, pointed fingers, and another resentment that lasted for another year. I can even feel my heart beating because of the anxiety.

“Here,” Elijah offered me his flask. “It’ll help a lot.”

I took it gratefully and grimaced. Even though I wasn’t a stranger to alcohol, the state could be better.

'I wanna dance with somebody, I wanna feel the heat...', I reminded myself to change that old ringtone. "Hello?"

"WHERE ARE YOU?" My sister found a way to raise her voice several decibels higher.

"I'm close," I replied, sighing. I didn't really want to get fired up, but she fired several angry shouts at me before ending the call. Taking a deep breath, I tried to calm down.

"Hey, it's fine. I'll be there if you can't survive it."

That comforting smile and the warmth on my shoulder were the only reasons for me to survive the war. I would try to be calm before introducing him to my family. Even though I didn't really need the blessing, I tried to respect the tradition. God knows what my family would do should I decide to elope.

Ringing the bell, I braced myself before the barrage of angry noises. I felt a squish on my hand and tried smiling. Uncle Han, the disappointment, launched into an angry muffled before the front door opened followed by a slam.

"That's ungrateful soul-sucking bastard," muttered my mother before she looked at me. Her judging eyes scanned me from top to bottom before the creases on her forehead appeared. "Finally, you have the decency to clean yourself up. With a suit nonetheless."

I pulled the suddenly constricting sleeve and replied, "Happy thanksgiving."

My mother didn't even bother asking who was next to me and complained about how her oldest brother kept leaving the dishes unwashed. She then effortlessly changed the topics into politics. I didn't really care about the next election for anyone who would be in charge wouldn't have an impact on me. I still had to marry in secret and hide my sexuality.

Finally, after we arrived at the dinner table, did my mom stop and ask, "Who is this?"

"Elijah, my boyfriend," I said. I felt my voice a little shaky, but my mother just stood there stunned. She then remembered to close her mouth and went to the kitchen.

"At least, we finished the first step," my soon-to-be husband joked.

I kept silent and led him to the table. I got assigned at the end like usual because I was the youngest. At least, the smell of the golden roasted turkey that sat in the center was still the same.

My sister, together with her husband Mark, arrived and glared at me. She sat down before slapping my brother-in-law on his back and scolding him for texting. Mark, her husband nodded, greeted me and gave a little acknowledgement. I probably earned an extra point for bringing another 'foreigner' partner to the table. Mark was probably American through and through, but still found the similarities with Elijah whose face was darker than a charcoal.

Not long after, my oldest brother arrived and brought his girlfriend that probably satisfied my mother with her neat bun and appropriately placed jade pin on her right chest. Her silk dress glided smoothly over the armchair and pouted while hugging my brother's arm playfully.

My other brother arrived alone but he was probably forgiven because he graduated from Harvard and just got promoted. He sat there alone showing disgust on my oldest brother's girl. He then noticed me and smiled. He was the only one who gave me the sympathy card and treated me the nicest.

When everybody had seated, I felt their stares bore on me. I took a deep breath and focused on my plate. The cranberry sauce was a vibrant red, like the anger swirling around me. The green beans were crisp, like the tension in the room. And the gravy…well, the gravy was thick and lumpy, just like the secrets I, the family harbored.  

As the main course arrived, I noticed my mother’s strained smile. She had orchestrated this yearly gathering, hoping for a peaceful holiday. But her efforts were in vain. The yams were forgotten, the stuffing ignored. The only thing anyone cared about was the newest scandal the family had.

I glanced at my fiancé beside me. His eyes held a mixture of amusement and sympathy. He knew my plan—avoiding unnecessary arguments, went home and enjoyed our evening together—but he also knew my family. 

My father sat there in silence and put his fork down. It happened. He started to draw all of our attention and started with a peaceful debate about the fluctuating stock market. Mark, still texting, accidentally knocked over the wine bottle. Red liquid spilled across the white tablecloth, staining it like a battle flag. My sister gasped, followed by slapping his arm. Uncle Han arrived with his white shirt like he was going to honor the dead. My mother’s face turned crimson, and father slammed the table hard.

I seized the moment. Rising from my chair, I grabbed a cloth and began to offer it to Mark who took it gratefully. The room fell silent, all eyes on me. I met each gaze with a smile, my heart pounding. This was my chance to change the narrative. I finally felt the calming effect of the alcohol and took a deep breath.

“Accidents happen,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Saying that, I have an announcement to make.” 

Elijah rose next to me and leaned in for comfort and support. “It’s okay," he whispered.

I nodded, took a deep breath, and said, “I’m going to marry Elijah, my fiancé.”

My second brother, who was normally the pillar of the family, was the first to congratulate me. He also shared another news that even made father rubbed his forehead. Quitting his company and moving away, he planned to study in a temple. Even though considered as a sacred duty, it wasn’t something that the family had planned.

Mother started dabbing her eyes with a red napkin she always tied around her wrist. A sob escaped from her mouth. 

All hell broke loose. Ammunition fired, and the other replied back with accusing fingers and raised voices. My family did their best to show their best to everyone else, but during the dinner, our charade broke.

Several spite comments were thrown at me and Elijah who tightened his grips. Mark stayed silent and even put his phone down exchanging glances at me and my fiancé, clearly feeling like a stranger even though had been with the family for three restless years. 

“...Marry an outsider with nothing on his name. Han also lives with us like a stray cat. What has our family turned into!”

“You're never home dad!” My sister shouted. “Ming already tried his best following your wishes even though he doesn’t have to. You can’t blame us for trying to find our own way.”

Mother’s sob turned harder, and she now buried all of her face on the napkin. 

Aunt Margaret dabbed her eyes with a napkin. Uncle Henry cleared his throat. Even Mark put away his phone. And slowly, like a thawing glacier, the tension melted. We laughed, we reminisced, and we passed the gravy boat without a second thought.

“Mei is correct,” my oldest brother finally said. “I even hired her to keep me company. This dinner was only tradition at best and I’m tired of being forced to marry someone I don’t like.”

“You insolence…,” said my father before being cut by my brother.

“What? Now we all humiliated you, what can you say for yourself then?!” Ming rose from the chair. 

The table suddenly turned quiet. My oldest brother Ming never showed any outburst and kept himself well-mannered apart from his laid-back personality by bringing different girls every now and then. But now, father blamed everyone. Ming couldn’t stand anymore with all the blaming and decided to intervene. He regarded each and every one of us. Somehow now our secrets had turned to be our savior. He threw the napkin away leaving the gawking girl—which we all forgot in a heated moment—who was now clueless.

As for me, the dessert arrived—a humble apple pie—I realized that my silence had spoken louder than any argument. Maybe, just maybe, this year’s feast would end differently. Not with raised voices, but with a shared understanding.

As I took a bite of warm pie, I made a silent promise: next year, I’d bring my own bottle of wine. Because sometimes, even in the midst of chaos, a little liquid courage could change everything—or probably even start a bigger war. 

The Silent Feast became my motto. Each year, we gathered around the table, and Ir, raised my glass. “To love,” I’d say and kissed Elijah, the room would turn quiet, and no one would speak anything anymore. We ate in silence and the room would echo the sentiment.

The turkey would wink, the yams would nod, and the gravy…well, the gravy would remain thick and lumpy, just like the secrets we all shared. Nobody would recover from a big war like last time, especially not in a ‘traditional’ Chinese-American family. We would rather keep our mouths shut and pretend everything was okay.

And so, our holiday dinners transformed. No longer battles, but celebrations of silence. No longer throats at each other, but eyes to food, connected. And as I looked around the room, I knew that sometimes, the most powerful words were the ones left unsaid.