New Traditions

Thanksgiving was always my favorite holiday.  I love waking up, smelling my mom’s delicious cooking, watching the Thanksgiving Day parade, and eating glorious food. Turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and yams made my mouth water.

This is the first year  that I won’t be spending the holiday with my biological family.  I will be with my new family. I got married two months ago, and my in laws insisted that we all spend the holiday together.  They invited my parents and sisters, but my mom doesn’t trust anyone’s cooking but her own, so here I am with my new family. It feels strange, and almost illegal.

Jack and I walk up the path to his family home. Their house is a simple white house with a red door and a white picket fence. There is an immaculate garden to the side of the house, with beautiful flowers.  This is only my second time here.

The front door opened. His mother greets us at the door. She is wearing a black silk dress, pearls, diamond earrings, and high-heeled pumps. His dad is in a suit and tie. 

“You didn’t tell me this was dressy. I asked you,” I half whisper and half whine into my husband's ear. He shrugs. “Oops. It’s okay. I’m not dressed up either.”

I am wearing a festive, pink shirt with dark blue jeans and boots. 

Jeanette, his mom, gives me the once over.

“Come in, come in.”

My nose feels like it’s being assaulted.  What is that smell? It doesn’t smell like turkey. 

“Smells great here, “ I lie. “ Looking forward to turkey,” 

Jeanette says, “Didn’t Jack tell you? We don’t eat turkey. This is a vegetarian Thanksgiving. We’re having tofu!”

I glare at Jack, He looks sheepishly down at the floor.

“Jack, you should have told your wife,” says Jeanette.

Tofu? 

“No worries. I’m grateful you invited me. There’s always stuffing and ---”

“Jack didn’t tell you his sister Denise has Celiacs? This is also a gluten free Thanksgiving. Come on, come in.”

Gluten free vegetarian?  I am missing my mom’s turkey for this?  I feel tears forming. No, I cannot cry over food. No,no, no. 

His sister Denise greets us in a short leather skirt, gray silk shirt, and gray pumps. What are these people thinking?  In my family, comfort is the key word.

I manage to make small talk with his  mom, dad, and sister whose husband Roger, I think is mute. I never hear him speak. And their bratty four year old boy Austin keeps giving me the evil eye. 

We sit down and they all start praying. How do I not know this about this family? We didn’t spend much time with them, and we were only dating for 6 months before we got married.

 I take a bite of the tofu thing. Yuck.

“Dear, here, try some cauliflower steak.”

I would  rather have a big, juicy, regular steak right now.

All there is to eat is tofu, cauliflower steak, and  some strange fake mashed potato impostor. 

“Here is some cranberry sauce!” his mother exclaims. “It’s sugar free. Jack’s brother in law is diabetic.”

Wow, everyone has an illness and all I want is my mom’s turkey. Maybe I can salvage this with a fun game.

“Hey, so why don't we take out a pad of paper and pens and write what we are grateful for . We can all read--”

I hear a smirk, not sure if it was from the sister or her mute husband. “We don’t do things like this. We just eat and enjoy the delicious food,” said his mom.

I then hear a burp. Definitely the sisters husband. I guess he is not mute. This is becoming an awful day.

“You’re funny looking,” says the brat next to me.

I turn and see the four year old glaring at me. 

I want to say shut up you fat, ugly twerp but instead smile politely and laugh. “I guess you’re funny looking too!” 

I feel his mothers eyes piercing through my soul.  My husband is tapping his leg which I know is a sign of extreme discomfort..

“Only kidding,” I say cheerfully as I shove a piece of the tasteless tofu in my mouth, thinking about annulments because this family sucked.

Growing up, we used to sing songs, my mom played the piano, we would talk about what we are grateful for. This family burps, smirks, and eats fake food. 

I am homesick for all my family traditions. I wonder what everyone is doing now? I see them as in a dream, eating, laughing, singing, and having fun.

“So, its family tradition,” exclaims his mother.

Good, maybe we will do something fun like sing, or play a game, or--

“The men down to the family room to watch football and the women in the kitchen to do dishes!”

Wait, what.  She can’t be serious. I look at Jack as I raise my eyebrows. He looks down, then to the left, and then the right. Anywhere but my face. 

As everyone gets up, I pull Jack down. “ I want to go home.”

“But, but..our tradition, is is---” he stammers.

“ I don’t care. This isn’t my tradition. I am not washing dishes,” I whisper to him.

My whisper must be more like a shout, because it became silent and everyone stared at me like I had two heads.

His mother  looks like she was throat punched, and his sister narrows her eyes. The men look at the table, like it is the most interesting piece of furniture ever.

“Cara dear, it’s very important as Jack’s wife that--”

I stand up and the room sways. My heart pounds and my hands sweat. 

“ Thank you for dinner. It was, um, interesting. I will help wash dishes and clean up for twenty minutes and then I am going home. That is the new tradition.” 

I set the alarm on my phone for twenty minutes and begin my new Thanksgiving tradition.