“Kayla,” I began.
“Thanksgiving is about family and tradition. I’ve been making the same dishes for years because that’s what everyone loves.”
“Oh, I know!” she said breezily.
“But wouldn’t it be nice to try something different for once? Honestly, your dishes are a bit, well, basic.
And Arnold and I are trying to eat healthier, so this will be good for everyone.”
Basic.
That word rang in my ears. “Sure,” I said through gritted teeth. “Send me the recipes.”
When her email arrived, I nearly dropped my phone.
Every recipe was packed with expensive, obscure ingredients.
Truffle oil, imported cheeses, and organic products. I could tell that sourcing the items would cost a small fortune and take days of running around specialty stores.
As a result, I decided to call her back. “Kayla, some of these ingredients aren’t exactly easy to find,” I said.
“Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Oh, absolutely,” she said with a giggle.
“The dishes you usually make are too cheap. I thought we could try having an elegant menu this time.”
“But Kayla, I—”
“I trust you, Jasmine. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
Her confidence was infuriating.
But instead of arguing, I smiled to myself.
“I’ll take care of it,” I said before hanging up. And I meant it.
Just not the way she expected. Thanksgiving Day arrived, and the house was buzzing with activity.
The smell of roasted turkey, buttery sweet potatoes, and spiced green beans filled the air.
Arnold and Kayla arrived late, as usual, with Kayla strolling in like she owned the place. She was glowing with triumph. Her smug grin told me she was ready to claim her little victory.
“Jasmine,” she said, handing me a bouquet of flowers.
“You’ve outdone yourself. I’m sure the menu will be just perfect.”
“Oh, it will be,” I replied with a warm smile.
As everyone gathered at the table, the spread looked divine. Kayla, of course, took the seat of honor next to Arnold, her eyes scanning the dishes with approval.
“Everything looks wonderful,” she announced, grabbing her plate.
“Let’s dig in!”
I watched her confidently spoon a heap of stuffing onto her plate, followed by a generous serving of sweet potato casserole. She looked around the table, basking in the compliments from the other guests, before taking her first bite. And then it happened.
Her eyes widened and she froze mid-chew.
I could almost see the wheels turning in her mind as the flavor registered. She reached for her water, taking a sip to compose herself, but it was no use.
You see, I knew Kayla wasn’t allergic to anything, but I also knew her little secret. She hated nuts in her food.
So, I made sure to give her the Thanksgiving dinner she deserved.
The stuffing? Loaded with pecans. Sweet potato casserole?
Topped with a thick candied pecan crust.
Green beans? Tossed with slivered almonds.
Even the mashed potatoes had a garnish of roasted hazelnuts on the side. The pièce de résistance?
Dessert.
Pecan pie. Chocolate chip macadamia nut cookies. Brownies with walnut chunks.
Everyone else at the table raved about the food, piling their plates high.
“Jasmine, this is incredible!” my sister exclaimed. “You’ve outdone yourself this year.”
Meanwhile, Kayla just sat there quietly and had turkey with plain mashed potatoes.
She forced a tight-lipped smile, nodding politely as the compliments flew my way, but I could see the irritation bubbling just beneath the surface. Her moment of glory had crumbled into silence.
And when it was time for her favorite part of Thanksgiving—desserts, she couldn’t touch a single item on the table.
I watched her push her plate away, feigning fullness. “Oh, everything was just so filling,” she said. “But you love dessert, babe,” Arnold, oblivious as always, said.
“Aren’t you going to have some?”
“Not tonight.
I’m, uh, watching my calories.”
Kayla didn’t lash out or confront me, but her stiff demeanor and forced politeness spoke volumes. After dessert, she pulled Arnold aside, her whispered words sharp and hurried.
She kept glancing at me as she talked to him. Arnold nodded at her, his brows furrowing as she gestured toward the dining table.
Eventually, he walked over to me, looking slightly uneasy.
“Mom,” he began hesitantly, “uh, Kayla mentioned something about the food tonight.”
“Oh?” I replied as I cleared the dishes. “What did she say?”
“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.”
I set down the plate I was holding and looked at him.
“Arnold, I didn’t think about that. You see, it was Kayla who sent me the recipes.
I was just following her suggestions to make an elegant menu with no ‘cheap ingredients.’”
His brows knit together. “She sent the recipes?”
I nodded, walking over to the counter to grab my phone.
“I can show you the email if you’d like.
She was very clear about wanting something special this year, so I did my best to meet her standards.”
Arnold stood there as he tried to process my words. He looked over at Kayla, who was now trying to look busy folding napkins. “She, uh, didn’t mention that part,” he muttered under his breath.
“She’s been very particular about what I serve, Arnold,” I continued gently.
“I only wanted to make her happy… and you happy too. But I guess I misunderstood what she wanted.”
He exhaled slowly, his eyes darting between me and Kayla.
“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.”
“Thank you, Arnold,” I smiled. “I appreciate you listening. That means a lot to me.”
As the evening wound down, Kayla stayed unusually quiet, offering only curt goodbyes as they left.
“Thanks again, Mom.
Everything was perfect,” Arnold said softly before leaving. As I watched them leave, my heart felt lighter knowing that Arnold was finally starting to see Kayla as a human being, and not as the epitome of perfection who couldn’t commit a mistake.
That night, I didn’t yell, I didn’t argue, and I didn’t let her ruin my holiday. Instead, I showed her that entitlement has no place at my table.
And judging by her silence, I’m pretty sure she got the message.
