The Home I Couldn't Taste, I No Longer Want

On the night of the fall family holiday, my dad brought home three boxes of holiday pies. The first box was the savory meat kind, salty, the sort my brother Phineas loved. The second was the sweet-filled kind, sugary, right up my sister Rosemary's alley. When it came to me, he took out the smallest paper box that was left, tore it open, and turned it upside down. A few dark, flat cakes rolled out, thudding onto the table.