Living Like a Mouse? How About a Lion?

A Seat at the Table

Dinner. Normally, the mere suggestion would send me running for the hills—or in this case, to my room, where I could pretend I had more important things to do. Like count the ceiling tiles. Or, you know, contemplate the futility of existence.

But today? Today is different.

So when the servant comes to fetch me with the usual message—"Miss Penelope, you are requested to dine with the family"—I don't immediately decline. I don't even flinch. Instead, I give him a sweet smile, one that I imagine looks almost friendly, though it probably unsettles him more than anything.

Me: "Tell them I'll be right there."

The poor servant stares at me for a second like I've sprouted another head. I mean, I get it. Normally, this is the part where I refuse, invent some illness, or hide in my room until the dinner is long over. So I can't really blame him for looking like he's just seen a ghost.

I think I've genuinely broken him because he stammers something incoherent and rushes off, probably to warn the others of my impending arrival. You'd think I'd been invited to a royal banquet, not the usual awkward family dinner where everyone tries their best to pretend I'm not there.

But not tonight. No, tonight I'm going to sit at that table and make them wish I hadn't.

I take my time getting ready. It's not like I'm in a rush to make a grand entrance. I figure I might as well have some fun with this. If they're going to force me to be a part of this lovely family event, I'll make it memorable.

A quick glance in the mirror confirms that I still look like the black sheep of the family—a fact I take great pride in. Dark hair, sharp eyes, a permanent smirk that says "I know something you don't." Perfect. Let them wonder what's going on in my head.

By the time I stroll into the dining room, everyone's already seated. Derrick is there, of course, sitting at the head of the table, looking like he's single-handedly carrying the weight of the world. I hope his back hurts from all that self-importance. Father's next to him, pretending like he's deep in thought but really just trying to avoid making eye contact with me. And then there's Reynold, who's doing his best impression of a bored nobleman, tapping his fingers on the table like this is all beneath him.

It's a charming family portrait, really.

Me: "Good evening, everyone. I hope I'm not too late?"

The room goes silent. You could probably hear a pin drop. Clearly, no one was expecting me to actually show up, let alone greet them like we're all one big happy family.

Derrick is the first to recover. His face is as unreadable as ever, but I can tell he's surprised. Maybe even a little suspicious. Good. Let him wonder what's gotten into me. It's more fun that way.

Me: "Don't mind me. I'll just take my usual seat."

I slide into the chair at the far end of the table, as far away from the rest of them as possible without actually sitting at a separate table entirely. Not that they'd object to that, I'm sure. I'm the uninvited guest at my own family's dinner, after all.

The servants immediately start bringing out food—more food than I can eat in a week, probably. I've always found it amusing how they put on this grand display every night, like we're royalty or something. I mean, I get it. The Eckhart family has a reputation to uphold, and nothing says "we're better than you" like a dining table piled high with unnecessary amounts of food. But honestly? It's all a bit much.

Still, I pick up my fork and dig in. If they're going to force me to sit through this, I might as well enjoy the free meal.

The silence stretches on, uncomfortable and thick. It's not like we ever have much to say to each other during these dinners. Normally, they'd all just pretend I didn't exist while I made a quick exit halfway through. But tonight, I'm staying. I'm making them deal with my presence for as long as I possibly can.

Me: "So, how's everyone doing? Any exciting news?"

No one responds. Big shocker there.

Derrick looks like he's contemplating how best to strangle me with his napkin. Reynold just rolls his eyes, clearly thinking this whole thing is beneath him. And Father... well, Father doesn't even look up from his plate.

Me: "Right. Fascinating conversation, as always."

I take another bite of food, mostly to hide my smirk. The discomfort is palpable, and I'm reveling in it. It's not often I get to be the one making them squirm.

Derrick finally clears his throat, no doubt preparing some kind of lecture about propriety or family obligations. He's predictable like that.

Me: "Oh, don't bother, Derrick. I know you're dying to say something, but let's skip the part where you lecture me about how I've 'embarrassed the family' and just eat, shall we?"

His jaw clenches, and I can see the barely-contained frustration behind his eyes. It's almost impressive how much self-control he has. Almost.

Father finally speaks, though his voice is more of a tired sigh than anything else. "Penelope, we didn't expect you to join us tonight."

Me: "I'm full of surprises."

I give him a bright, overly sweet smile, and he looks away like he's just been burned. Honestly, sometimes I wonder if they think ignoring me will make me disappear.

Me: "You should get used to it, though. I think I'll start attending more often. You know, really get into the whole 'family bonding' experience."

Derrick looks like he's about to say something—probably something along the lines of please don't—but I cut him off before he gets the chance.

Me: "Don't worry, big brother. I promise to behave. For now."

It's a lie, of course. I'm not going to behave. Where's the fun in that? But I let them think I might. Let them hope, if only for a moment, that I've turned over a new leaf.

The rest of the dinner goes about as well as you'd expect. Meaning, it's a total disaster. No one speaks, and every time I look up, Derrick's watching me like I'm about to spontaneously combust. Honestly, I'm tempted to fake a choking fit just to see how he'd react.

Eventually, though, even I grow tired of the awkward silence. There's only so much enjoyment one can get out of making their family uncomfortable, and I'm starting to reach my limit.

Me: "Well, this has been... enlightening. But I think I've had enough family bonding for one evening."

I push back from the table, standing up with the grace of someone who definitely didn't just spend the last hour mentally plotting how to escape.

Me: "We should do this again sometime. I'll let you know when I'm free."

With that, I leave the dining room, feeling more victorious than I have in a long time. Sure, it was a disaster, but for once, I wasn't the one running away. I wasn't the one hiding. I faced them, sat at that table, and survived.

And honestly? That's more than I ever expected.