The Dinner Table Clash

Evans

I sat quietly at the dinner table, trying not to look too interested in the conversation swirling around me. Across from me, my father, Arthur Blake, held court, talking business with the energy he saved for family dinners, as if even our time together had to be a matter of strategic value. My mother, Elora, sat beside him. And right next to me, my twin brother, Ryan, soaked up Dad’s attention like he was basking in the sun, his smile wide, his posture attentive—exactly the way Dad liked it.

I was used to this dynamic by now, and yet it always managed to sting. Tonight, it seemed to sting even more than usual. The way Dad beamed at Ryan, discussing business acquisitions and his next steps in the company, only highlighted how absent I was from his plans.

“Ryan,” Dad said, leaning forward slightly, a rare gleam of pride in his eyes. “There’s a couple of new proposals I want you to review. Make sure they align with our expansion strategy. I think they could be an opportunity for you to really learn the ropes.”

“Of course, Dad. I’ll look over them tomorrow,” Ryan replied with the usual confidence, his grin widening.

I felt invisible—no, not invisible, just… unnecessary. I forced myself to take a breath, trying to shake off the irritation that kept building inside me. But I couldn’t let it go this time. The words were already on the tip of my tongue, demanding to be spoken. Before I could change my mind, I cut in.

“Actually, I wanted to tell you all something. I’m changing my major. To math.”

For a few seconds, silence filled the room. All of them turned to look at me, as if noticing my presence for the first time that evening. My mum’s face softened slightly, her brows knitting together as she opened her mouth like she wanted to say something comforting. Ryan looked at me with mild surprise, though I could see the hint of a smirk hiding in his expression. He was probably amused I’d managed to wedge my way into the conversation.

Dad’s reaction, however, was the most telling. He put down his fork, his gaze locking onto me with a mixture of shock and something close to contempt. The smile had vanished. “Math?” he repeated, his voice low and incredulous. “Why?”

I shrugged, doing my best to hold his gaze even though I felt like I was standing on shaky ground. “Isn’t it obvious?” I said, letting some of the frustration seep into my tone. “I’m not going to work at your company anyway. I figured I’d study something that actually interests me.”

Dad’s face tightened, his expression hardening into a look I’d seen too many times before. “This has nothing to do with whether or not you’ll work at the company, Evans,” he said slowly, his voice like a gathering storm. “You’re throwing away a golden opportunity because you think you know what’s best. This... nonsense of changing majors. I won’t allow it.”

I could feel a sharp heat in my chest, the kind that came from years of being shut out, from constantly feeling like I wasn’t enough, or worse, like I wasn’t even really seen. “Why would you care what I study, Dad?” I said, the bitterness spilling over in my words. “It’s not like it’ll matter for your company’s reputation, right? You’ve made it pretty clear you’re embarrassed by me. I’m not the son you wanted.”

A muscle tightened in his jaw, and for a moment, I thought he might say something different. Maybe he’d deny it; maybe he’d tell me I was wrong. But all he did was shake his head. “Don’t be ridiculous, Evans. This has nothing to do with that.”

“Doesn’t it?” I cut him off, barely able to keep my voice under control. “If it didn’t, you’d care about me for who I am, not what I do. You wouldn’t treat me like I’m somehow... broken, or less than, because I’m different.” I paused, swallowing the painful lump in my throat. “I’m not ashamed of who I am. So why should you care what I study?”

I didn’t wait for his answer. I could already see the writing on the wall—the disappointment, the anger, the cold dismissal. I pushed my chair back, letting the legs scrape against the polished floor, and stood up. Throwing my napkin onto the table, I turned and walked out without looking back.

I knew things might never change and that this might be the end of hoping for my father’s approval. And maybe… maybe that was okay.