My Cardboard Balcony

The Turkey Was Missing by Belinda Roddie The turkey was missing from the oven, and my mother was about to throw a fit looking for it, so I proposed that we round up the usual suspects. Well, surprisingly, my dog's breath did not smell of bird, so that typical ending was scratched off the list. My father was vegan, my aunt not a fan, and my sister too absorbed with her cellphone to snatch a whole turkey from a hot appliance. Not quite successful with catching the culprit, I knocked on the bathroom door to find my drunk cousin gnawing on the half-chewed carcass, gin on his breath. He'd never had much class.

After dinner, we nestled up together in my grandfather's armchair, our stomachs slightly swollen from the binge of turkey, mashed potatoes, and casserole. I could still smell marshmallow in your hair after your petulant brother had flung a mushy yam onto your head with his fork, but in the kitchen, I knew pie would be waiting, but only after we had gotten over the initial food coma.