The smell of turkey and mashed potatoes wafted throughout the house and mingled with the energetic conversation in the air. Grandma Ann, the family matriarch, was garnishing her side dishes as interruptions penetrated her conversation.  
    “Grammy, Grammy!” the seven-year-old grandchild, Frankie, squealed as he conspicuously dipped a finger in the cranberry sauce, “when will dinner be ready? I’m starving.” 
Ann couldn’t hear Frankie over the blaring Christmas karaoke occurring in the living room. The fellow cousins were singing with an impressive amount of confidence and equally impressive lack of skill. She replied, “Huh? What’s alarming dear?” 
    “I said I’m starving,” Frankie half-shouted, trying to overpower his brother’s innovative death-metal rendition of “Winter Wonderland.” 
    “Oh, I see darling. It’ll be just a few more minutes,” Ann giggled. She began to arrange the platters and transfer them to her dining table. The white cloth was already adorned with gourds and autumn flowers, which she had spent hours adjusting in just the right manner. She knew that the children, who sat at the far end of the table, always wanted more gravy, so she placed the dish right by their seats.  
    “Dinner is ready everyone,” Ann shouted in the living room’s direction. Anticipating the stampede of hungry animals ready to ravage their plates, she sat at the head of the table. There was no response to her announcement. Ann looked around at the twelve empty chairs and her vibrant array of dishes. The laughter, so clear in her mind, was only a memory of Thanksgivings past. She got up to grab the gravy dish from the other side of the table. As she ate the mashed potatoes, her fork clinked and echoed throughout the silent house