I Spent Every Thanksgiving with My Husband’s Family, but the One Time We Went to Mine Turned into a Nightmare — Story of the Day
Sarah had to come up with a fresh reason each year to tell her family why they couldn’t come. Peter, her husband, consistently said, “I won’t miss a single-family holiday because of your parents.” However, Sarah defended her family beliefs and stood her ground this time.
My favorite season had always been the end of fall and the start of winter.
The first frost replaced the golden leaves, and the crisp air smelled of woodsmoke.
My family would always get together at this time of year to enjoy holiday meals and give and receive heartfelt presents.
My youth was centered around those get-togethers, which were filled with laughter and tenderness that were unlike anything else.
However, those times had turned into memories after becoming married to Peter. Every year, I ended myself calling my parents to explain why I was unable to attend.
Why I would be spending the holidays with Peter’s family rather than my own, once more.
I knew it pained my mom, but she would try to seem understanding. I was also hurt.
But it was going to be different this year. Peter had agreed to join my folks for Thanksgiving for the first time.
After weeks of debate, if you can call the arguments debates, he finally gave in.
And now here we were, walking around the grocery store, choosing the ingredients for the pumpkin pie I wanted to make, a new roasting pan for my dad, and a bottle of wine for my mom.
Holding up a tiny package of festive napkins with turkeys emblazoned on them, I asked Peter what he thought.
He gave a shrug. It had been boiling all day, and his lack of enthusiasm was palpable.
“Love, are you okay?” I asked in a light-hearted manner.
Indeed. “It couldn’t be better,” he remarked, his tone brimming with irony.
I let out a sigh.
“Are you still angry about visiting my parents?”
His face tight with frustration, he turned to face me and stopped walking. “I’m obviously upset! For your whims, why should I miss my family’s holiday?
“My whims?” I exclaimed, raising my voice in spite of myself. Since we first started dating, Peter, I have done this for you each and every year. Each and every year.
He laughed bitterly and said, “Oh, here we go.” “Isn’t it always about you? Both of those things didn’t sit well with you. How about me? Why are you indifferent to my happiness?
“Peter,” I continued carefully, trying to sound as solid as I could, “we’ve already discussed this.” All I want is a season with my folks. Perhaps we ought to celebrate separately if it is too much for you.
He raised his eyebrows.
“Time of year? Are you implying that you will also be missing Christmas with my family?
“Yes,” I said firmly, despite my stomach roiling.
“I’m spending the holidays with my parents this year.”
His laughter was harsh and devoid of humor.
“All right. You can then tell my parents about that.
“I will,” I answered, maintaining a calm and steady tone.
I felt exhausted, as though this conversation had sapped all of my vitality. All I wanted was for it to end.
For a while, we stood in the aisle, our mutual stillness drowning out the hum of the fluorescent lights above.
Without further comment, he seized the handle of the cart and pushed it forward.
I tried to cling to the enthusiasm that had seemed so real only hours before as I followed, holding the napkins to my chest.
As we got closer to my parents’ house, the anxiety in the car was palpable.
Peter’s jaw was set in a way that told me not to push too hard, and he held on to the steering wheel securely. However, I couldn’t completely let it go.
I said quietly, “Just be nice to my parents, Peter. They are anxious about leaving a positive impression, but they are also thrilled to see us.
Then he laughed sharply.
“Oh, wonderful! You’re giving me directions now? Do I have to juggle for them as well? Or perhaps perform a little dance?
I steadied myself by taking a big breath. “I don’t have many demands. All I want is for this to go smoothly.
“Well,” he shot back, his voice a little higher, “perhaps you ought to have simply invited them to my family’s house to join us.” That would have been simpler, wouldn’t it?
I shook my head in frustration. “They’re elderly, Peter. They find it difficult to travel over the holidays.
Fantastic. “Just perfect!” he exclaimed, wildly raising one hand before resuming his grasp on the wheel.
The buzz of the engine was the only sound during the remainder of the drive.
I tried to ease the knot in my gut by concentrating on the icy trees that bordered the road.
I rang the doorbell and feigned a grin when we got there.
Almost soon, my mother Charlotte opened the door and put her arms around us, her face beaming.
“I’m very glad to see you! You’re finally here! Her warmth was like a salve to my nerves as she exclaimed.
My dad, Kevin, behind her, anchoring the situation with his customary quiet demeanor with a little, guarded smile.
Peter said a halting “hello” and entered the room without making eye contact.
I looked at my mother apologetically, hoping she would understand. I inhaled deeply before following him inside the house.
My mom and I walked around the dining room, carefully laying the table, under the cozy glow of the house.
As we prepared the dishes, the room was filled with the gentle clatter of plates and the sporadic hum of her voice.
My dad was quietly leafing through a magazine next to Peter, who was sitting rigidly on the couch in the living room with his arms crossed.
Mom’s movements slowed as she looked at Peter. “Is Peter all right?” she whispered. “He looks… upset.”
I paused, searching for the appropriate words.
At last, I murmured quietly, “I think he’s just… frustrated.” “He wishes we were with his family for the holiday.”
A serving spoon was in her hands as they paused in mid-air. “Oh,” she remarked in a tone that was a little sad and perplexed. “Did we make a mistake?”
“No, Mom,” I blurted out. “It’s not you. It’s simply— Unable to articulate the unsaid tension between Peter and me, I paused. “It’s difficult.”
Her brows were furrowed as she gazed at me.
“He doesn’t consider us family?” Quietly, almost to herself, she asked.
Her remarks struck me like a blast of cold air. I was unsure of how to react.
Was Peter seeing it that way? Were my parents and my family nothing to him? I didn’t want to admit how painful the thought was.
I muttered, “I’m sorry,” but I wasn’t sure what I was saying. For Peter’s disposition? For his lack of interest? I had put my family on hold for his for years.
Mom’s hand settled steadily and warmly on my arm.
She responded softly, “You don’t have to apologize, sweetheart.”
We finished arranging the table in silence, but there was still a shade of hurt in her eyes.
With immaculate white linens, gleaming silverware, and the aroma of roasting turkey filling the air, the table was exquisitely set.
Charlotte, my mother, admired her work from a distance and then clapped her hands.
“Everything is set up! She said, “Come and eat!” in a warm, upbeat voice that reverberated around the silent living room.
Around the table, we were all seated. I couldn’t help but smile as my dad, Kevin, pulled out my mom’s chair for her. It was a modest act of traditional chivalry.
Peter sighed as he sank into his seat, following slowly, hardly trying to participate.
The atmosphere was tense, like a storm that was about to blow, but the lunch started. My mother did her best to start a conversation.
“Well, Peter,” she said cheerfully, “how is work going? This time of year, are you busy?
He grunted ambivalently and jabbed his fork into a slice of turkey.
In an attempt to break the ice, I added, “Dad has been working on the deck in the backyard.” “It’s coming together quite nicely.”
My father gave a nod. Although it’s slow, it keeps me occupied. Peter, perhaps you could stop by and provide me some advice.
Peter didn’t even raise his head. He murmured, “Yeah, maybe,” and flicked a crumb from the table.
My cheeks began to crimson with shame. I leaned over and whispered, “Peter, what’s wrong? Am I able to assist?
Leaning back in his chair, he clattered his fork onto his plate. He yelled, “Everything’s wrong!” loud enough to make my mother wince.
“Without my mom’s chocolate pudding, how is Thanksgiving even possible?”
“Pudding?” My mother echoed, her hands shaking a little as she grabbed for her glass of water, her voice uncertain.
I instantly interrupted, attempting to defuse the situation by saying, “It’s fine.” His mother prepares it for him every time. It’s not a huge deal.
Peter’s eyes were flaming as he mocked. “Not a huge deal? Of course! Because it never matters what I desire. Isn’t it usually about Sarah? what Sarah want. Sarah’s necessities
“Please, Peter,” I pleaded, my voice breaking. “This is meant to be a joyful day.”
The legs of his chair screeched on the floor as he pushed it back. “Hey, I’m finished! We’re heading out. Sarah, get your coat!
My dad jumped out of his chair and yelled at Peter, “NO, YOU LISTEN!” then. However, Peter simply brushed him aside and continued walking! My dad clutched his chest, as I witnessed.
I stood slowly under the pressure of the occasion. Tears filled my mother’s eyes.
Her voice was shaking as she replied, “I’m so sorry, honey.” “I didn’t intend to annoy you.”
I responded, my voice constricted, “No, Mom.” “I apologize. I’ll make this right.
Peter was waiting with his arms folded in the doorway when I approached it.
Put on your coat! We’re heading out! He let out a bark.
“No,” I answered, startling myself with how powerful my voice was. “You’re going to leave. I intend to stay.
“What? My wife is you. I want you to pay attention to me!
I met his look with a long breath.
In addition to not respecting me or my parents, you also don’t respect yourself by acting in this way. For years, I’ve tolerated your self-centeredness, wishing the devoted guy I married was still alive. Now, though, I don’t think he is.
With a look of disbelief on his face, he muttered, “You want to talk about respect?”
“Yes,” I said in a firm tone. “Go, Peter. It’s finished.
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He slammed the door behind him and rushed out.
With my heart racing, I went back to the dining room to see my parents sitting silently with worried and sorrowful expressions on their faces.
“I apologize, Mom. I said, “Dad,” in a quiet but determined tone.
“I gave this too much time. However, it is no longer the case.
Charlotte got up and gave me a cozy embrace. “You’re at home now. That’s the only thing that counts,” she said.
I felt free for the first time in years. I wouldn’t trade my chosen family for anything because they were the ones that really mattered.
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