The Final Meal Belongs to Me

Summary

My sister had a gift—or a curse, depending on whose side of the grave you were standing on. She could see the last meal every human being would ever eat before they died.

When we were kids, she pointed at our grandmother sitting on the porch and said, "Cheeseburger."

The next afternoon, Grandmother—a woman who had spent seventy years preaching against fast food—choked to death on a takeout burger our cousin had accidentally brought home.

A year later, she pointed across the driveway at our neighbor and whispered, "Shrimp chowder."