The shock that flashed in his eyes quickly turned to understanding, but I still loathed myself.

“Of course. I’m so sorry,” he said just as my parents shuffled in with plastic bags of food.

Andrew and I set the table with utensils and plates as my parents laid the takeout boxes in the middle.

We all leaned forward and removed the lids to reveal stir-fried chicken, scallops, duck, and fried rice from the Chinese café next to my parents’ office.

“Thank you so much for this feast!” Andrew said enthusiastically to my parents.

“Thank you for joining us for the holidays,” my mother said, half-assed, with zero enthusiasm.

Silence descended.

As we dug into the food, the quiet stretched on, and as it grew, so did my stress. Before Andrew, being home—“home,” really, with air quotes—had been this, all the time. It hadn’t happened over Thanksgiving because Andrew had been a novelty then and my parents a smidge more open-minded, but tonight the silence wrapped its claws around my neck and squeezed until I couldn’t breathe.

Then my instincts kicked in, and I had an overwhelming urge to just scarf down all the food in front of me, partly so I could escape to my room sooner, but also because I needed something—anything—to do so it wouldn’t be this suffocating.

My other option was to talk, telling whatever boring story I could think of just to fill the air with meaningless drivel that my parents could nod their heads to absentmindedly without actually listening. But that was painful in another way. And drawing attention to myself sometimes led to worse outcomes, like my mother complaining about my “muffin belly roll,” “turkey chin,” or “inflamed skin.”

I shifted in my seat, adjusting my clothes so that my shirt was puffed out and my waistband above my stomach. I also held my chin a little higher. But there was nothing I could do about my skin.

I hated myself in this house. I hated what my priorities became, what I worried about, the things I said and, more so, didn’t say. I used to think it was the house itself, but now I realized how obtuse that logic was; it was obviously because of my parents, me, and our relationship, not a stationary thing. But still, I found myself wishing we could go out to a restaurant, to at least have some background hubbub. Rent for Your ’Rents encouraged home meals when possible, though, to prevent potential run-ins with past clients.

“You look beautiful tonight,” Andrew said, shocking me out of my thoughts.

“What?” I said before I remembered myself. “I mean, thank you.”

My mother’s eyes were about to pop out of her head.