presentation matters— parsley sprigs, a balsamic drizzle, a touch of flair. but Darren brought Steve. still wearing his name badge. it was— a little on the nose. “We don’t do that anymore,” Claire sighed, her tofu skewer dangling like judgment. “We’re plant-based now. it’s about kale bowls and ethical protein.” Darren shrugged. gesturing to Steve, “What can I say? he’s free range.” the dinner table buzzed. “How do you get enough iron?” “Is bone broth passé?” and Old Marge, gnawing on a femur, grumbled— “Back in my day, we didn’t waste a thing.” cannibals are just like us: debating oat milk vs “real milk,” trading recipes, dodging secrets. except Darren. he always over-shares. when the party ends, they hand you doggie bags— just don’t ask what’s inside.