UNINVITED

By Raoul Suarez

The guests had not yet arrived. The party hasn’t started yet. There was only the house, the food, and the assurance that soon everything would be shared.

The house was prepared with care that bordered on devotion. Every surface carried intention. Every dish was placed with the quiet pride of someone who believed in the idea of sharing an abundance that was meant to be divided, and of warmth that was meant to be passed from hand to hand. The evening had been designed for arrival, for gathering, and for the slow unfolding of togetherness.

The tables were lined with an assortment of meals still warm from the kitchen. The steam rose thin and showed like a visible patient stream. The air carried the layered scent of celebration. Perfect. Alive. Festive. Everything waited in balance.

Her entrance was not expected. No announcement followed her presence. No greeting softened her intrusion. The door just opened and closed with the ease of familiarity. The stillness of preparation became something else. Unsettled. Tilted. Disturbed. There was no hesitation in her step. She treated the house not as a place of hosting, but as a place already open for the taking.

Her eyes scanned the table with a firm decision in mind. She measured all the portions not with uncanny speed that would make you think she was trained to do this since childhood. Whatever was prepared for the others, she had already decided to claim for the benefit of her own household. The entitlement was not loud. It did not need to be. It’s the kind that silently made the first move. Steady. Practiced. Certain. It came with an unspoken belief that what was present was available, and that what was available was owed.

She lifted the food covers with ease. All sorts of plastic bags magically appeared from out of nowhere. She hurriedly filled them all up beyond serving size with a fast-paced rhythm that was meant for many hands instead of one. Half the table disappeared in a methodical taking.  Transferred. Packed Sealed away. It was as if abundance was simply an inventory waiting to be collected. She came without invitation and left before the gathering even began. Taking with her a huge portion of what should have been shared.

What remained looked unchanged at first glance. The table still looked full. It was still arranged. It was still inviting. The symmetry, though, was broken in ways the eye could not immediately recognize. The promise of plenty had been quietly reduced and what was meant for consumption in the future had already been partially depleted.

Footsteps began to gather beyond the door. Familiar voices. Gleeful laughter. Warm greetings. It all spilled into the air like light returning to a room. The house adjusted itself again. As it always would. Music filled the space. Movement returned. The noise replaced the silence.

The guests have arrived. The party has started. They all stepped in with ease but were unaware of what had already passed through before them. The night continued as planned. They ate. They talked. They celebrated. There was a quiet imbalance that no one named. There was a missing weight where something once belonged. Nothing was said. Nothing needed to be said.