One exhausted 29-year-old trying to heal, two parents doing logistical math, and one 25-year-old staging a one-woman coup over sugar jars and imagined conspiracies. Family holidays really do shine a light on who grew up and who just grew taller. Nothing says seasonal joy like returning home on crutches and realizing the biggest injury in the house is someone else’s ego.  

The spotlight depraved sister treats basic affection like stolen property. And that’s why all it takes is Mom pointing at the sugar and suddenly it is an emotional affair, or Mom making someone else’s favorite meal, and apparently, that is treason. It is less a household and more a live-in paranoia festival with catered drama.