When my daughter-in-law, Kayla, insisted that I make an “elegant” Thanksgiving menu because my traditional dishes were “too cheap,” I laughed and agreed. But, behind that smile, I was already preparing a lunch she’d never forget. A supper she wishes she had not asked for.
Kayla has always rubbed me the wrong way. My son, Arnold, regards her as the ideal wife, but I’ve borne years of her insulting remarks and entitled demands.
This Thanksgiving, however, she finally pushed me too far, and I decided it was time to correct her without saying anything.
My name is Jasmine, and I’m the type of person who values family unity above all else.
My son, Arnold, met Kayla at work five years ago. She’s constantly well-dressed, speaks with polished sweetness, and appears to adore her husband. She appears to be an ideal wife.
The real Kayla, however, is hidden beneath that façade. A demanding, condescending, and controlling woman who has made it her mission to undermine me at every opportunity.
I first observed her actual nature at a family meal a few months after their engagement.
As we sat, Kayla smiled sweetly and remarked, “This is nice, Jasmine. It’s very, uh, homey.”
“Thank you,” I smiled, but I could see there was an insult beneath her phony words.
Later, when Arnold went to get drinks, she leaned over and said, “You should really consider updating your recipes. These dishes are so outdated.”
I wanted to retaliate and put her in her place, but I remained silent for Arnold’s sake. However, I didn’t want to ignore her unpleasant attitude. I decided to speak with Arnold about it after supper.
“It’s about Kayla. She… she’s been a little dismissive toward me lately,” I said carefully. “I don’t want to overstep, but I feel like she’s—”
My son assumed I was making a big deal about it, but I knew I wasn’t.
I resolved to keep my head down and maintain a nice relationship with Kayla for Arnold’s sake.
I hoped that if I respected her and accommodated her requests, she might soften toward me. But I was mistaken. Kayla just saw my acquiescence as an opportunity to push me more.
Every family supper became an occasion for her to take control.
The final straw occurred a week before Thanksgiving. Kayla contacted me as I was folding laundry.
“Well,” she began, “I’ve been thinking about Thanksgiving, and I realized it’s such an important meal. We should really step up the menu this year. Don’t you think?”
“You know, your usual dishes are, uh, fine. But I was thinking we could do something a little more elevated this year. I’ll send you a list of recipes. They’ll make the meal more special.”
“Kayla,” I began. “Thanksgiving is about family and tradition. I’ve been making the same dishes for years because that’s what everyone loves.”
“Sure,” I said through gritted teeth. “Send me the recipes.”
When her email arrived, I almost dropped my phone. Each recipe contained pricey, uncommon components. Truffle oil, imported cheeses, and organic foods.
I could tell that sourcing the things would be expensive and time-consuming. As a result, I chose to call her back.
“I trust you, Jasmine. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
Her confidence was annoying. But rather than argue, I smiled to myself.
Thanksgiving Day arrived, and the home was alive with activity. The smell of roasting turkey, buttery sweet potatoes, and spicy green beans permeated the air.
Arnold and Kayla came late, as usual, with Kayla walking in as if she owned the place.
“Everything looks wonderful,” she announced, grabbing her plate. “Let’s dig in!”
She gazed around the table, reveling in the compliments of her fellow guests, before taking her first bite.
Then it occurred.
I knew Kayla wasn’t allergic to anything, but I also knew a small secret. She disliked nuts in her food.
What about the stuffing? Loaded with pecans.
How about sweet potato casserole? It is topped with a thick candied pecan crust.
Green beans? Tossed with slivered almonds.
Even the mashed potatoes were served with a topping of roasted hazelnuts.
The pièce de résistance? Dessert. Pecan pie. Chocolate chip macadamia nut cookies. Brownies containing walnut pieces.
Her moment of grandeur had faded to stillness.
And when it came time for her favorite part of Thanksgiving: desserts, she couldn’t touch anything on the table.
After dessert, she drew Arnold away, whispering sharply and quickly. She kept glancing at me as she spoke with him.
Arnold nodded at her, his brow furrowing as she pointed to the dining table. He eventually approached me, seeming slightly uneasy.
“Well…” He paused, glancing toward Kayla, who was now pretending to help tidy up. “She thinks the nuts might have been, um, intentional. You know how she feels about them.”
“Mom, the food really was amazing,” he said. “I mean it. I’ll talk to Kayla about this, okay? I think there’s been some sort of a miscommunication.”
Kayla was uncharacteristically quiet as the evening came to a close, saying only brief goodbyes as they left.
As I watched them leave, my heart felt lighter knowing Arnold was finally beginning to view Kayla as a human being, not as the ideal of perfection who could never make a mistake.
And judging by her silence, I believe she got the message.
