Golden child

“I don’t get it. It’s just dinner. Why are you making such big deal about it?” “For you it’s just dinner, you’re the Golden Child.” “Not that again.” “When the ‘rents summon me to attend Thanksgiving Dinner, it’s not to enjoy a loving family meal together. It’s far more sinister than that.” “I think you’re crazy.” “Just watch and listen.” It started out just as I expected. I brought two homemade apple pies, both beautiful and still warm from my oven. My younger sister picked up a store-bought pie, handing it to our mother still in the plastic grocery bag. Mom placed mine on the counter, far away from the buffet she was preparing. There was much fawning over my sister’s offering, and how pecan was Dad’s favorite. She was so thoughtful to remember, unlike some people. I didn’t say a word, but made eye contact with my sister, raising one eyebrow. She frowned slightly, but shrugged it off. It

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