The night I got the text from Vale about a “special family dinner,” I nearly choked on my instant noodles. It had been ages since we’d all gathered, and even longer since it felt like my parents truly wanted me there.
I love my family, but being the middle child is like being the filling in a sandwich where everyone’s fighting over the crusts.
I stared at my phone, finger hovering over the keys. Part of me wanted to make up a weak excuse, but then I thought of Dore and Zane, my perfect older sister and my golden-boy little brother.
They’d be there, soaking up Vale and Dax’s praise, as always. And I’d stay the invisible one if I didn’t show up.
“I’m in,” I typed, sending it before I could back out.
Vale replied right away. “Wonderful! La Belle Étoile, 7 p.m. next Friday. Don’t be late!”
La Belle Étoile. Fancy. I let out a low whistle, mentally checking my bank account. This wouldn’t be cheap, but maybe it was a sign things were changing. Maybe they actually wanted to spend time with me, Taryn the Overlooked.
That Friday, I got to the restaurant ten minutes early, feeling jittery. Just as I was about to head in, Vale and Dax arrived. Vale was all smiles, while Dax wore his usual worried look.
Inside, we settled at a cozy table, and soon Dore and her husband joined us. Dore looked radiant, as always, making me feel plain by comparison. Finally, Zane showed up, late as usual, grumbling about traffic.
Once we were all seated, Vale didn’t waste time making me feel small.
“So, Taryn,” Vale said, glancing at me over her menu, “how’s work? Still at that small marketing agency?”
I nodded, trying not to flinch at the ‘small’ jab. “Yeah, it’s going well. We just scored a major client, actually. I’m leading the project.”
“That’s nice,” Vale said, her focus already shifting to Dore, who was telling Dax about her son’s latest basketball game.
That hurt, but the mood lightened as we ate. The food was delicious, and soon we were chatting and laughing like when I was a kid.
I was savoring the meal and the rare sense of belonging, but then the bill arrived.
Dax reached for it, scanning the total like he always did. But then he frowned, looking straight at me.
“Taryn,” he said, his tone oddly stiff, “you’ll need to cover your share tonight.”
I blinked, certain I’d misheard. “What?”
“You’re an adult now,” he went on, as if talking to a child. “It’s time you paid your own way.”
“But…” I started, my voice faint, “I thought this was a family dinner. You’re covering everyone else.”
Dax’s frown deepened. “Your sister and brother have families to support. You’re single, so it’s only fair.”
Fair. The word rang in my ears, taunting me. I swallowed hard, fighting back tears. Without a word, I handed my credit card to the waiter, hoping it wouldn’t be declined.
The rest of the night blurred. As I drove home, the pain turned into something sharper, angrier.
The next morning, I woke with a headache and a heart full of bitterness. I spent the day moping on the couch or pacing my apartment like a trapped animal. By evening, something in me had changed.
I wasn’t going to let this slide. Not this time.
An idea took shape. Wild at first, but the more I thought about it, the more it felt right. I was going to show them how it felt.
I invited Vale and Dax over for dinner, then spent days planning the perfect menu. I cleaned my apartment until it shone, bought elegant candles, and even got a tablecloth that wasn’t from a discount store.
The night of the dinner arrived, and I was strangely calm. I had a plan, and I was sticking to it.
The doorbell rang at 7 p.m. sharp. I took a deep breath and opened the door with a bright smile.
“Vale, Dax! Come in!”
Dax handed me a bottle of wine. “Your place looks great, Taryn.”
“Thanks,” I said, guiding them to the living room. “Dinner’s almost ready. Want something to drink?”
As I poured their wine, Vale settled on the couch, her eyes scanning my bookshelf. “So, how’ve you been, dear? We haven’t heard much from you since… well, our last dinner.”
I forced a casual laugh. “Oh, you know, work’s been super busy.”
We made small talk for a bit, the conversation awkward and full of pauses. Finally, the oven timer dinged, saving us.
“Dinner’s ready!” I announced, maybe a bit too eagerly.
I’d gone all out with the meal: herb-roasted salmon, grilled vegetables, and a quinoa salad that took ages to perfect. Vale and Dax made appreciative noises as they ate.
“This is amazing, Taryn,” Vale said, sounding genuinely surprised. “I didn’t know you could cook like this.”
I shrugged, pushing down the spark of resentment at her shock. “I’ve learned a thing or two over the years.”
The dinner went smoothly, almost enjoyably. I nearly forgot why I’d invited them. Then Dax started one of his lectures about financial responsibility, and I knew it was time.
As I cleared the plates and brought out a fancy tiramisu for dessert, I braced myself. This was it.
“So,” I said lightly, setting down the dessert plates, “I hope you enjoyed the meal.”
They both nodded, smiling. “It was fantastic, dear,” Vale said.
I smiled back, but it didn’t reach my eyes. “Great. That’ll be $47.50 each, please.”
The silence that followed was heavy. Vale’s fork clinked against her plate, and Dax’s face cycled through confusion, disbelief, and then anger.
“Sorry, what?” he stammered.
I kept my voice steady, mimicking Dax’s tone from the restaurant. “Well, you’re both adults. It’s time you paid your own way.”
Vale’s mouth opened and closed like she was gasping for air. “But… this is your home. You invited us.”
“Yes,” I said, my tone sharpening slightly. “Just like you invited me to La Belle Étoile. And then made me pay for my meal while covering everyone else’s.”
Realization hit them, followed by guilt.
“Taryn,” Dax began, his voice rough. “That’s not… we didn’t mean…”
“Didn’t mean what?” I cut in, years of bottled-up frustration spilling out.
“Didn’t mean to make me feel less important than Dore or Zane? Didn’t mean to always ignore me? Or did you just not mean to get called out on it?”
Vale reached for my hand, but I pulled back. “Sweetie, we had no idea you felt this way.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Of course you didn’t. Do you know what it’s like to always be the odd one out in your own family?”
Dax shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“We love you just as much as your siblings, Taryn.”
“Do you?” I challenged. “Because it doesn’t feel like it. I’m just as accomplished as Dore, just as driven as Zane. But somehow, I’m always the one expected to ‘act like an adult’ while they get a free pass.”
The room went quiet again, heavy with unsaid words and long-ignored feelings.
Finally, Dax cleared his throat. “We… we owe you a big apology, Taryn.”
Vale nodded, tears in her eyes. “We never meant to make you feel less valued. You’re our daughter, and we love you so much. We’ve just… done a terrible job of showing it.”
My eyes stung, but I blinked back the tears. “I don’t want apologies. I want you to do better. To be better. To notice me.”
Dax stood, his movements stiff. For a moment, I thought he was leaving.
Instead, he walked around the table and hugged me. It was awkward and a bit too tight, but it was more real than anything we’d shared in years.
“We see you, Taryn,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “And we’re so proud of you. We’ve been blind and foolish, and we’ve taken you for granted. But that stops now.”
Vale joined the hug, and for a minute, we stood there, a mess of arms, unshed tears, and long-overdue honesty.
When we pulled apart, Vale wiped her eyes and gave a shaky laugh. “So, about that bill…”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “This one’s on me. But next time we go out? We’re splitting the check evenly. All of us.”
Dax nodded seriously. “Deal.”
As they left that night, things weren’t magically fixed. Years of feeling overlooked don’t vanish in one talk. But it was a beginning. A small crack in the wall I’d built around myself, letting in a sliver of hope.