All the old fears gather around the table. Some of them are defiant, daring me to say something. Some only look down, trying the old trick of being invisible by not seeing themselves.
There are so many here that I look around– we look around– who is the hostess? Who is the Grown Up, anyway?
Silence. Eyes meet across the table.
But surely someone… someone must know what’s actually going on here? The right way to do it? The way to be Good, or at least Better?
More silence, and then– the scraping of a chair. One by one– all at once– we sit down to eat.