Like many other holiday stories, this Thanksgiving trip starts out soft and sentimental and then slowly slides into the same old family drama rerun. Daughter drives four hours to a cabin that meant a lot when her dad was alive, brings her little brother, tries to give everyone a sweet weekend of swimming, dinners out, and nostalgia. On paper it’s wholesome. In practice it’s a reminder that one person in the group treats every nice plan like raw material for a blowup.

There’s something about public spaces and family drama that just works. It’s like everything builds up, then just waits there until the setting can add embarrassment to the mix of emotions. This time the scene is set at a restaurant, and it says everything. Mom claims she is not hungry, insists on sharing an entrée, eats plenty, then suddenly flips and accuses the kids of leaving her with nothing. Logic does not matter.

The rest of the night immediately lines up. Snapping at the 13-year-old for being in the bathroom too long, demanding car keys without explanation, and going nuclear when asked a basic question. That classic do not question me, I am your mother line is just code for I need you to obey, not think.