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By Margaret Doyle

We could talk about who knew and we nearly get there as the gravy boat dashes over turkey and hockey trades are discussed with gravitas but it would mean we’d have to scrape our chairs back, put on our coats and kiss each other goodbye or maybe slap each other so hard our cheeks burn for days, hands flying to our faces for years remembering that Thanksgiving when the truth was served and nothing was the same after because we saw what was under the tinfoil—below the crunchy browned skin was the wet meat of abuse ignored for so long it stank up the entire dining room but at least we finally knew who’d made the meal and who then should do the dishes.

Margaret Doyle is a screenwriter, digital storyteller, and occasional copywriter who recently graduated from the UBC Creative Writing program and is currently hunkered down in wine country in the interior of beautiful British Columbia.


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