It’s touching my sweet potatoes!” One of Mary Mac’s twins—no idea which—is in the throes of a fit, having been served a tiny portion of the beautiful salad I made especially for this meal. From the way she’s carrying on, you’d imagine I was trying to poison her, and not just add a little non-factory-farmed, chicken-finger-based protein to her diet. To punctuate her point, she adds, “I hate this!” I try to reason with Kiley Irelyn, but my patience is already shot due to having been stuck downstairs at the children’s table a-freaking-gain. Yes, this is the year I was to finally make the leap upstairs to the grown-ups’ table, lest Aunt Sophia’s death—and the loss of Jell-O molds—be in vain. But no. Instead, my great-aunt Helen and Charlie, her new octogenarian suitor, are taking the spots earmarked for Kassel and me. Aunt Helen thought it would be a big kick to surprise us on their way down from Milwaukee to Florida for the winter, because who cares about RSVPs?
