I Ate in My Bedroom So Nobody Would Ask for a Bite

Dear Delyara, It was leftover pasta in a bowl, sitting cross-legged on my bed like a teenager hiding from her family. I didn’t do it because I was busy. I did it because I wanted one thing that stayed mine from beginning to end. No “Can I try some?” No “Can you get me a fork too?” No one turning my food into one more family event that I had to facilitate with the right tone. It’s embarrassing how much relief I felt with that locked door and that cheap bowl of pasta in my lap. I think I’m lonelier than I let myself admit if a private dinner in my own bedroom feels that comforting.