Thanksgiving Dinner

It was a pleasure to eat. The Edwards family was wholly sure of it. Each year, on the fourth Thursday of November, they gathered around their chestnut stained dining table and indulged in nothing but the finest selection of Thanksgiving food imaginable. Their selection of cuisine remained the same each year, and went as followed:

1. Creamy potatoes, hand-mashed only

2. A steamed assortment of vegetables, served fresh from the pot

3. Cranberry sauce, sourced from the local farm downtown

4. Buttery biscuits with a soft interior and a crunchy exterior

These sides, prepared with care by mother Donna and daughter Caroline, rounded out the Thanksgiving dinner, serving their duty as hardy supporting characters. However, the meal would not be complete without the main star, the meat, hunted in the unforgiving woods by father Reed and son Julian, and cooked to perfection by maid Sarah. The meat, golden brown and gorgeous, sat at the center of the table and was a sight for sore eyes. Everyone knew the meat was the heart of the meal. Reed sometimes remarked that he could feel it beating against the table.

This year, as the family dined in their Thanksgiving meal, there was a sense of levity and joy within the air. Reed, positioned at the head of the table, had a gleam of satisfaction within his grey eyes. He took his time eating his food, examining every bite with a smug grin and moving his jaw with precision as he chewed. On the contrary, Julian, sitting to his left, consumed his meal with expedience and eagerness, unable to contain his excitement. He was like a ravenous animal, unsure when he'd get his next meal. Taking a break between desperate bites, Julian looked up at his father.

“Some hunt this year, huh, Pa?” Julian remarked, smirking.

Reed, keeping his eyes fixed on his food, grinned, and let out a small chuckle.

“Got that bastard clean in the head. I can tell you’ve been working on your shot,” Reed remarked.

Julian nodded, his eyes hungry for approval. “Yeah. Josh and I took that class this year about hunting. Helped my form so much,” he said.

Reed hummed. His eyes remained on his food, prowling and zealous. “Maybe you’ll get us two pieces of meat next year, then,” he mused.

To Reed’s right, Caroline perked up, placing her fork down onto the table. Her eyes, voracious and enthused, glanced over at Julian, who remained basqued in the light of their father's approval. With a look of jealous determination on her face, she turned to address Reed.

“Where do you think you will go next year, Daddy?” Caroline asked.

Reed, suddenly uninterested in the conversation, gave a small shrug. He motioned haphazardly towards Julian with his knife.

“Probably somewhere deeper into the county. Maybe past Mill Creek Road, near that small warehouse. Julian has been mapping it out,” Reed responded, his tone flat.

Caroline nodded, unfazed by her father’s lack of interest in her questions. She wanted - no, needed - to keep going.

“Are there a lot of good picks out there?” she continued.

Reed sighed, fighting the urge to dramatically pinch the bridge of his nose.

“We think. Who knows. Why are you so interested, honey?” he asked, rather sharply.

Caroline gazed at him, her eyes like a deer in the headlights, before responding. “I don’t know. Maybe I could come along with you next year?” she proposed.

Reed let out a dry laugh, and shook his head. What prompted her to ask such stupid questions? His stare remained unbroken on his food as he responded.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart. It’s hard work that your brother and I do out there. Nothing that a woman could stomach,” he huffed. “Besides, you and your mother do such great work in the kitchen preparing the side dishes. I need you in there.”

Caroline, deflated, only managed to give a small nod. She sat back in her seat, her food suddenly sitting heavy at the bottom of her stomach. She looked towards her mother, Donna, with an aching stare, but only received silence in return. She did not dare speak.

The quiet scraping of utensils against the chinaware sat against the uncomfortable tension hanging in the air. Each person remained fixated on their food, refusing to break the uneasiness, until–

CRASH!

The collision reverberated throughout the mansion, tuning against the thick tension floating above the meat. Reed, as if knowing the source of the noise, turned his head sharply towards the living room.

“Sarah!” he bellowed.

Immediately, the sound of scraping heels made their way towards the dining room. Sarah, fearful and jittery, stood at the entrance, dressed in a bloody apron and clutching a large rifle.

"What happened?" Reed asked, vexed.

Sarah looked down, her grip of the rifle slipping. Her voice cracked as she spoke.

“I apologize, Mr. Reed, sir, the rifle was just so heavy for me…” she squeaked, trembling slightly.

Reed let out a loud sigh, and shook his head gently. “Make sure to grip it firmly with both hands as you place it on the mantle. That should make it easier,” he explained. “Go ahead. Our food’s getting cold.”

Sarah nodded quickly. “Yes sir. Thank you, sir.”

She scurried away, before Reed yelled at her once more.

“And take off that dirty apron! It’s a sore sight for all of us!”

Turning back towards his food, Reed let out an exasperated sigh. “One of these days… she’ll be next if she keeps this performance up. Your hire, Donna…”

Donna, keeping her head down, barely managed a whisper. “Yes, honey.”

The poisonous silence hung like a looming cloud. Everyone refused to touch their food, except Reed, who contently pulled the plate of meat closer to him and began to pick some more pieces.

“You know, despite her stupidity, I think this is one of the best cuts Sarah has cooked,” Reed remarked. He turned towards Julian, whose head was downcast. “Nice call on getting that young man. Just so tender and hearty. We should focus on guys like him for future meals.”

Julian, with his tongue stuck in his throat and that young man sitting in his stomach, could only nod.