“I can’t,” I whispered, standing up. My chair scraped the floor loud enough that Mom’s eyes flashed. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
“Sit down,” Mom snapped. “You’re twenty-four, for heaven’s sake. This is ridiculous.”
I remained standing, hands clenched so tight my fingernails bit my palms. “What’s ridiculous is none of you believe me. I’ve told you for years something’s wrong, and you won’t listen.”
Kate smirked. “We listen. We listen to your new food drama every single week. Last month it was dairy. Before that nuts. Now seafood. What’s next, air?”
At the end of the table, Mike cleared his throat. His voice was quieter than the rest of us, but it carried.
“I’ve noticed she gets really red and blotchy after certain foods,” he said. “Maybe we should—”
“Don’t encourage her,” Mom cut him off. “She’s perfectly fine.”
Dad nodded. “This is like when she was convinced she had chronic fatigue in college. Remember that?”
I remembered that too. I remembered a campus doctor suggesting allergy testing, and my parents waving it away like it was a scam. “She’s stressed,” Mom said then. “She just needs to sleep more.”