84. Angry
24 December, 2070
41 years, 8 months

"It's not the same without them, is it? But.. I suppose life keeps going." Scott paused. His seat was now at the head of the table, as the oldest Newton. "Merry Christmas everyone."
"Merry Christmas," everyone echoed, clinking glasses together.
"I'll carve the turkey." Art took the fork and sliced the pieces thin, just like his father had taught. Just like he had done every year. The fork dropped from his grip, slipping, the knife sliced his hand. "Ugh," he roared, then dropping the knife.
"Art, darling, sit down."
He had his wife. And now his parents, somewhere, were reunited.