"This is the stupidest holiday ever invented," Sky grumbled, setting the table with me.

"It's not that stupid," I said, trying to be cheerful for him. I don't know why, but I seemed to always be on a mission to keep him happy. "I mean, we get food."

"Dammit, Lyric," he snapped. "Forks go on the left side, not the right side!"

"Ooh, sorry," I barked back.

"How hard is it to put down silverware?"

I dropped the knives and forks on the table in a heap. "I don't know! You decide!" I yelled, storming out of the dining room.

The late afternoon sun streamed in through the kitchen window like strands of golden ribbon. Uncle Bill, Sheryl and Summer were bustling around the kitchen, all helping prepare the Thanksgiving dinner.

Summer glanced up form the gravy she was stirring on the stove. Seeing the expression on my face, she said cautiously, "Hello…"

"I'm pissed," I announced.

"Me too," Uncle Bill grumbled.

"I hate that kid." I jerked a thumb towards the dining room where Sky was.

"I hate this bird," he shot back. "I've already dropped it on the floor."

"Oh, you see, you didn't have to tell me that, I never would have found out," I told him.

"Daddy's not much of a cook," Sheryl explained.

He looked at the clock. "I can't remember what time I put this turkey in."

"I think it was like two or something," Summer said, just as some of the boiling gravy splattered. She squawked in pain, swearing, hopping around, and putting her wrist to her mouth.

"Are you okay?" Uncle Bill asked, rushing over to the sink and turning on the tap. "Just run some cold water over it. Sheryl, will you go check on Sky?"

She pushed open the swinging door to the dining room and poked her head in. "Oh great, we've lost the boy!" she declared.

"Crap," Uncle Bill said, and then the doorbell rang. He spun in a frantic circle. "Okay, Turkey--yes. Sweet potatoes--I think so. Cranberry sauce! I forgot cranberry sauce! Lyric, will you check the cupboards for a can of cranberry sauce or something resembling it?" He left the kitchen.

"Summer, you're closer," I said.

"I'm BLISTERING!" she shouted.

"I HATE this stupid holiday!" I yelled back.

"Suck it up, buttercup," Summer snapped. "We're having company tonight, so you will NOT act like this in front of them. Did you find the cranberry sauce yet?"

"Oh screw the damn berries!" I cried, unable to find anything.

"You are such a miserable little brat, good God! What the hell is your problem?"

"Shut up and help me find cranberry sauce!"

"Bite me!"

"YOU!"

"YOU!" She whipped me in the butt with a dishtowel. I screamed and grabbed her wrist by the burn. She in return grabbed hold of a chunk of my hair.

"And these are my--" Uncle Bill ushered a small, sad looking woman into the kitchen, followed by Gerry.

"OW!" I howled, practically bent over backwards. "Let go!"

"YOU!" she hollered.

"Girls!"

At the sound of Uncle Bill's sternly sharp voice, we let go of each other and stood up straight. He stared at us for a long moment, and continued with the introductions. "And these are my nieces, Lyric, and Summer. Girls, these are the Bertiers."

"Pleased to meet you," Summer and I said pleasantly in unison, and then glared at each other.

"That was delicious, Coach," Gerry said, not quite able to finish his third serving.

"Yes, really," Mrs. Bertier agreed. "Who knew a single man could cook so well? I don't suppose you'd share your recipe for the sweet potatoes?"

Sheryl piped up, "They're from a can."

"Oh. Well, how about the cranberry sauce?"

"Also from a can."

Uncle Bill gave his daughter an affectionate look. Then he turned to Gerry. "So, you ready to start training this winter, son?"

Gerry nodded, downing the last of his milk. "Definitely. Anytime."

Summer, who had gotten full long before everyone else, sat up with interest. "Training for what?"

"Shot put," he told her.

Sky had not uttered a word throughout the entire meal. He just sat next to me, poking at his food. One time, I bumped his arm when I reached for the milk, and he glared at me, but that was about the most human emotion had emitted all night.

But he looked up at Gerry at that moment and asked, "You trying out for the Special Olympics?"

I wanted to slap him hard enough to knock his head off.

Gerry just smirked self-consciously. "Yeah, actually."

Sky nodded. "Cool."

I wasn't sure if it was the low lighting playing tricks on my eyes, but I think Sky may have actually smiled at Gerry.