"Rude!" I exclaim, though the word doesn't really translate well around a mouthful of stuffing. Glaring at Neil will have to do until I swallow, and I resist the urge to stab him with my fork. It's not a very thankful gesture.

"Do you want to die?" I ask, shifting my plate away from him. "Do you know how little I ate today just so I could enjoy this? Don't a girl's Thanksgiving plate, McCormick."