When my boyfriend’s mother kept calling me “Scarlett” instead of Jasmine, I thought it was an honest mistake. But after months of this, I realized her “forgetfulness” was intentional. So, this Thanksgiving, I decided to serve up a dish she wouldn’t forget.
I never thought I’d be the cause of a Thanksgiving meltdown, but here we are. It all started two years ago when I met Arnold at work. He was everything I could want in a partner.
We hit it off immediately, bonding over our shared love of 90s sitcoms and terrible puns. Arnold was different from any guy I’d dated before. He listened when I spoke, remembered the little things I mentioned in passing, and always made me feel valued.
Whether it was surprising me with my favorite coffee on a rough Monday morning or holding my hand through a particularly stressful work presentation, he was my rock. For two years, everything about our relationship was perfect. It wasn’t until Arnold introduced me to his family that I realized there was a storm brewing beneath the surface of our seemingly calm relationship waters.
I was super nervous when Arnold drove me to his parents’ house to meet them for the first time. I’d spent hours choosing the perfect outfit and even baked a batch of my famous chocolate chip cookies as a peace offering. But from the moment I walked in, all I heard about was Scarlett this, Scarlett that.
It took me a while to piece together that Scarlett was Arnold’s ex-girlfriend. Scarlett was Arnold’s high school sweetheart. They’d been together for nine years, and she was practically part of the family.
Arnold had never talked much about her, but his family couldn’t seem to stop. Their breakup had shocked everyone, especially Arnold’s mom, Melissa. While Arnold had moved on and started dating me, his family… well, they were stuck in the past.
“Oh, Scarlett was such a pretty girl,” Melissa gushed, barely looking at me. “She knew everything about our family. It was like she’d grown up with us.”
I smiled politely, trying not to show how uncomfortable I felt.
“That’s nice,” I said, searching for something else to add. “I’m looking forward to getting to know everyone too.”
Melissa just nodded, her eyes glazing over as if she hadn’t really heard me. I glanced at Arnold, who squeezed my hand reassuringly.
Throughout that first dinner, I heard more about Scarlett than I did about any of Arnold’s family members. How she always helped with the dishes (as I offered to help and was waved away). How she made the best apple pie (as my chocolate chip cookies sat untouched on the table).
How she was practically a daughter to them (as I sat there, feeling more and more like an outsider). At first, I thought maybe Melissa was just having a hard time adjusting. But then she started calling me “Scarlett.”
Not once, not twice, but repeatedly.
I corrected her politely the first few times, thinking it was an honest mistake. “Actually, it’s Jasmine,” I’d say with a smile. “Oh, right,” Melissa would reply, not sounding sorry at all.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
Tap READ MORE to discover the rest 🔎👇
