The Empty Chair at Sunday Dinner

Every Sunday, Dara's mother set the table for six, even though only five people ever sat down. The sixth place had been empty for a year, ever since Dara had started dating Kenji and stopped bringing anyone to dinner at all.

Setiap hari Minggu, ibu Dara menata meja untuk enam orang, padahal hanya lima orang yang pernah duduk. Kursi keenam sudah kosong selama setahun, sejak Dara mulai berpacaran dengan Kenji dan berhenti membawa siapa pun ke makan malam.

It wasn't that her mother had said anything cruel. She hadn't needed to. A single raised eyebrow when Dara mentioned his name had been enough. A pointed question about "his people" and "his plans" taught Dara that the easiest solution was to keep the two halves of her life apart.

Bukan berarti ibunya mengatakan sesuatu yang kejam. Ia tidak perlu. Sebelah alis yang terangkat saat Dara menyebut nama Kenji sudah cukup. Pertanyaan menyindir tentang "keluarganya" dan "rencana-rencananya" mengajari Dara bahwa cara termudah adalah memisahkan kedua bagian hidupnya.

Kenji had noticed, of course. He wasn't unreasonable about it. But after a year of being introduced to Dara's friends, and never once to her family, he had started to wonder what the silence meant.

Kenji tentu saja menyadarinya. Ia tidak menyikapinya secara berlebihan. Tetapi setelah setahun diperkenalkan kepada teman-teman Dara, dan tak pernah sekali pun kepada keluarganya, ia mulai bertanya-tanya apa arti kebisuan itu.

"I'm not asking you to fix your mother," he told her one evening. "I'm asking whether you think this is ever going to change, because I need to know if I'm waiting for something real."

"Aku tidak memintamu memperbaiki ibumu," katanya pada suatu malam. "Aku hanya bertanya apakah menurutmu ini akan pernah berubah, karena aku perlu tahu apakah aku sedang menunggu sesuatu yang nyata."

Dara had rehearsed a dozen answers to that question and had never once said any of them out loud. She should have brought it up months ago, before the question had to be asked for her.

Dara sudah melatih selusin jawaban untuk pertanyaan itu dan tak pernah sekali pun mengucapkannya keras-keras. Seharusnya ia membicarakannya berbulan-bulan lalu, sebelum pertanyaan itu harus diajukan atas namanya.

The following Sunday, she called her mother and said she was bringing someone. Her mother went quiet on the phone for a moment, long enough that Dara nearly took it back.

Minggu berikutnya, ia menelepon ibunya dan mengatakan akan membawa seseorang. Ibunya terdiam sejenak di telepon, cukup lama hingga Dara nyaris menarik kembali ucapannya.

"Alright," her mother finally said. "Six o'clock. Don't be late."

"Baiklah," kata ibunya akhirnya. "Jam enam. Jangan terlambat."

It wasn't a warm invitation, but it wasn't a refusal either. Dara had learned by now that with her mother, those two things could look almost identical.

Itu bukan undangan yang hangat, tetapi juga bukan penolakan. Dara sudah belajar bahwa pada ibunya, kedua hal itu bisa tampak nyaris sama.

Dinner was tense at first. Kenji answered every question carefully, and her mother asked several she clearly hadn't planned to ask. Halfway through the meal, though, her mother laughed at something he said, quickly, as if it had surprised her too.

Makan malam awalnya tegang. Kenji menjawab setiap pertanyaan dengan hati-hati, dan ibunya mengajukan beberapa pertanyaan yang jelas tidak ia rencanakan. Di tengah santapan, ibunya tertawa mendengar ucapan Kenji, cepat sekali, seolah itu juga mengejutkan dirinya sendiri.

Nothing was fully resolved by dessert. But when Dara looked at the table, the sixth chair was finally being used, and for now, that felt like enough of a beginning.

Tak ada yang sepenuhnya selesai saat hidangan penutup. Tetapi ketika Dara memandang meja, kursi keenam akhirnya terpakai, dan untuk saat ini, itu terasa cukup sebagai sebuah awal.