“Draven, are you dressed?” “Yeah, I’m dressed. What’s the big deal, anyway? Are we having someone for dinner?” he asked, strolling into the kitchen and climbing up on one of the tall bar stools. Angel shot his son a half smile as he finished placing the top layer of dough on the apple pie. He pressed the edges into place, cut a couple of ventilation slits in the top, and carefully placed it in the preheated oven. He went back to the sink and rinsed the dough and flour off his hands. “We are having someone for dinner.” Draven watched his father carefully, waiting for the moment he turned his back on him so he could reach over and snatch a piece of the freshly cut deep fried turkey. Shoving the juicy meat into his mouth, he chewed quickly, smiling at the wonderful taste. When he swallowed, he asked, “Why do I have to get dressed up? I never have to get dressed up for Aunt A.” Angel’s back stiffened and he stood up straight. “I let one pi...