Amanda Watson placed the last knife upon the table, amidst a sea of silverware and fine china plates, humming a tuneless, cheery melody to herself.

This dinner was going to be absolutely splendid. Only the best for her long-time neighbours. Delicious, pricey food, impeccable wine and, of course, good company.

Not everyone had confirmed their attendance yet, not for sure at least, but Amanda had known these people for going on ten years. They’d be here. She was expecting at least ten guests, but had set the table for fourteen people, in case anyone decided to bring their significant other.

The smell of roasting turkey wafted throughout the house, an enticing blend of succulent juices, fresh herbs from her ample garden and sweet, rich honey, only overshadowed by Amanda’s own perfume. Apparently, it was a popular brand among the other ladies, so Amanda had bought three bottles of the eighty-dollar perfume for herself in anticipation of today.

Amanda sat at the head of the table and peered at the clock above the crackling fireplace. Six minutes past seven. The guests should start arriving any minute now. Amanda tucked a stray strand of her dyed auburn hair behind one ear and pulled her lighter from her pocket. Reaching tenderly over the dinnerware and lacy tablecloth, she lit the candles tucked in the centre of the table. Their flames cast a flickering orange glow throughout the dining room

A singsong bell emanated from within the kitchen. The turkey was done. Amanda smiled to herself and stood, taking a glance at the clock as she walked past. Still plenty of time to ensure everything was perfect for her guests.

She removed the turkey from the oven and set it down on the countertop. As she carved it up, she peered outside the kitchen window across the street at her neighbours’ houses. She expected to see their lights on, but like a punch to the stomach, she noticed none did. Either they weren’t home, or they had already gone to sleep.

Did they forget about tonight? How? Amanda was sure she had left dozens of messages with all of them over the past few weeks, inviting them to her dinner and asking them to confirm their attendance.

Perhaps they were already on their way?

Amanda left the turkey alone for now and returned to her seat. She poured herself a glass of wine from one of the two ornate silver pitchers and downed it with two large gulps.

They’d be here soon, Amanda told herself as she poured herself some more wine. They were just running late. Caught up at work. Maybe still getting ready. That’s all. They were busy people. She peered outside again, checking the houses and street for any signs of movement or activity.

She saw nothing. Upon her second glance, she noticed many of her neighbours’ vehicles weren’t even in their driveways. All of their lights remained off.

The night dragged on. After finishing another glass of wine, followed by another, and another, Amanda stared at the table through blurry, drunken eyes. Her candles were little more than smouldering nubs. The fireplace choked and sputtered, only cinders remaining within. Both silver wine pitchers lay on their side, drained of their contents. The delicious turkey she had spent all day preparing and ensuring it was perfect sat on the counter, untouched and stone cold.

The doorbell remained silent the entire time.

Amanda stared longingly outside for as long as she could bear, unblinking, waiting for anyone to show their face outside.

Nobody did.

When the clock struck one, a single, jarring chime interrupted the sad silence. Amanda slumped down on the table, sweeping the unused cutlery and plates onto the floor around her and sobbed deep, heart-wrenching cries into her sleeve.