“This turkey is delicious,” Joe said. A half-chewed hunk of overcooked meat fell onto The Presidential Bib.

“Yes, I’m sure it is, Grandpa,” Finnegan replied, wiping his mouth. Her vegetarianism was slipping, she had been eying the turkey carcass hungrily as the waitstaff. She had been fantasizing about meat constantly. She woke up sometimes with the taste of blood in her mouth.

“Try the turkey,” her father said. “It’s a real fill-em-up.” Hunter wrenched a leg off the dwindling bird and tore into it with his teeth.

“No,” Finnegan said weakly.

“Try the dark meat, I heard you got a taste for it in college,” Hunter said, turkey-grease smile on his face.

Finnegan began to puff up, but Joe asked, “This isn’t one of the birds I pardoned, is it?”

“No, Grandpa,” she told him. “This is some other bird that was murdered and cooked for you to eat.”

“Can we not?” Dr. Jill Biden asked.

“Just telling Grandpa this wasn’t a pardoned bird,” Finnegan said. Hunter laughed, spraying meat.

“Could I have some more mashed potatoes?” Joe asked. “Or did I also pardon them too?” Joe smiled wide at his joke.

“Oh, Daddy, you’re so funny,” Hunter said, tittering as he wiped his face off with a fistful of yuan.

“I’m coming out as a lesbian,” Finnegan said in the quiet that followed.

“That’s nice, dear,” Hunter said. “But no fatties. I don’t want any land whales hanging around.”

“What about Kamala’s daughter?” Dr. Biden asked. “She makes her own clothes.”

“Lesbians,” Joe croaked, letting his head fall forward.

“Fine, then,” Finnegan said. “I’m joining a polycule.”

“What’s a polycule?” Dr. Grandma asked. “Is it some sort of soul cycling?”

“You could use a spin class or two,” Hunter said, using his foot to poke at her thigh under the table.

“As long as you find a husband, I’ll be happy for you, whether you lose weight or not,” Dr. Mamaw said. She flashed out with a fork and took a stack of turkey slices.

Joe began to cough, his bones of his chest rattling together, and then gagged.

“Are you OK, Grandpa?” Finnegan asked. Joe flailed, his face turning red.

“I think he’s choking,” Hunter observed.

“Call a doctor!” Finnegan yelled at the Secret Service agent guarding the door.

“I’m a doctor!” Jill Biden Ed.D.

“Golden Eagle is down, I repeat, down!” the agent said into his sleeve.

“Do something!” Finnegan cried.

The agent pulled his service weapon and shot the turkey five times.