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.
But when she texted me and called me Scarlett in writing, I knew it was deliberate. I couldn’t ignore it anymore.
One night, after another family dinner where Melissa had called me Scarlett all evening, I broke down and told Arnold about it.
“Babe, your mom keeps calling me Scarlett,” I cried. “I don’t think it’s an accident anymore.”
Arnold’s smile suddenly faded.
“I’ll talk to her,” he said firmly. “This isn’t okay.”
The next day, Arnold confronted his mother. I could hear his raised voice from the other room.
“Mom, you need to get over Scarlett,” he said firmly. “She’s not interested in me anymore. We’re never getting back together. Jasmine is my girlfriend now, and you need to respect that.”
I felt a twinge of guilt.
Was I creating a rift between Arnold and his mother? Maybe I should handle this on my own, I thought.
During our next visit, I noticed Melissa had a new tactic. Instead of calling me Scarlett, she started using other names. Jennifer, Jay, Jessica… anything but Jasmine.
“Jennifer, could you pass the salt?” she’d ask sweetly.
“It’s Jasmine,” I’d correct her, forcing a smile.
“Oh, right. Jay, how’s work going?”
It was infuriating, but I didn’t want to complain to Arnold again.
I decided to handle it on my own.
I tried killing her with kindness, bringing her favorite flowers and offering to help with chores. I even sat through an entire afternoon looking at old family photos, hoping she’d warm up to me.
But nothing seemed to work.
A few weeks before Thanksgiving, Melissa hosted a family BBQ in her backyard. I saw it as a chance to bond with the family and agreed to be there.
As we stood around the grill, Arnold’s sister Amy struck up a conversation.
“Arnold tells me you’re quite the cook, Jasmine,” Amy said, smiling. “He was raving about your cooking to my husband the other day.”
I laughed, feeling a bit embarrassed.
“Oh, he might be exaggerating a bit,” I replied. “I just enjoy experimenting in the kitchen.”
That’s when Melissa saw her opportunity.
“Well,” she said, emphasizing the wrong name, “Why don’t we let Jennifer make the turkey this year? Show us what you can do.”
I felt a flash of annoyance at the wrong name, but I kept my expression neutral.
“Sure,” I said calmly. “That’s a great idea!”
As I agreed, a plan started forming in my mind. If Melissa wanted to play games, I could play too. I spent the next few weeks perfecting my turkey recipe, determined to show Melissa that I was more than capable of filling Scarlett’s shoes.
Thanksgiving Day arrived, and Arnold and I headed to Melissa’s house. We brought wine and dessert, but notably absent was the turkey I’d promised to cook.
As we walked in, I could feel the shock ripple through the room.
Melissa’s eyes widened as she looked at our empty hands.
“Where’s the turkey?” she asked.
“Oh, was I supposed to cook it?” I asked sweetly. “I thought you told some ‘Jennifer’ to cook Thanksgiving dinner. I’m Jasmine, remember?”
The room fell silent. I could see Arnold trying to hide a smile beside me.
“What do you mean?” Melissa spluttered. “You agreed to cook the turkey!”
“Did I?” I replied, keeping my voice calm. “I don’t recall agreeing to that. Maybe you should have asked Jasmine instead of Jennifer.”
“But what are we supposed to eat now?” Amy asked.
I shrugged. “I’m sure Melissa has a backup plan. After all, she’s such an experienced hostess.”
Melissa’s face contorted with anger. “You… you did this on purpose!” she yelled.
“Did what?” I asked innocently. “I’m just following your lead, Melissa. If you can’t remember my name, how can I be expected to remember what you’ve asked me to do?”
Arnold stepped forward, placing a hand on my shoulder.
“Mom,” he said firmly, “this has gone on long enough. You can’t keep pretending not to know Jasmine’s name. It’s disrespectful and childish.”
Melissa’s eyes filled with tears. “How dare you!” she shouted. “After everything I’ve done for you, Arnold! And you bring this… this woman into our family who ruins Thanksgiving!”
“The only one ruining Thanksgiving is you, Mom,” Arnold replied calmly. “Jasmine is my girlfriend, and she deserves your respect.”
The room erupted into chaos. Melissa was yelling, Amy was crying, and other family members were arguing amongst themselves.
Through it all, I stood my ground, with Arnold by my side.
“I’ve tried so hard to fit in with this family,” I said, my voice trembling slightly. “I’ve been nothing but kind and respectful, even when you’ve repeatedly disrespected me by refusing to use my name. I’m not Scarlett, and I’m not trying to be. I’m Jasmine, and I’m the woman your son has chosen to be with.”
Melissa’s face crumpled, a mix of anger and embarrassment washing over her. “You don’t understand,” she said, her voice breaking. “Scarlett was like a daughter to me. When she left, it was like losing a child.”
“I do understand,” I replied softly. “But that doesn’t give you the right to treat me like I don’t exist. I’m here, I love your son, and I want to be a part of this family. But I won’t let you erase who I am.”
For a moment, the room was silent. Then Melissa pointed at the door. “Get out!” she screamed. “Both of you, get out of my house!”
Without a word, Arnold took my hand, and we left.
The next day, Arnold received a text from his mother. He read it aloud to me:
“Arnold, I hope you realize that Jasmine is not the right woman for you. She caused so much yelling and crying at Thanksgiving. Is that really the kind of person you want to be with?”
I waited for Arnold’s response. He looked at me, his eyes full of love and determination.
“Mom,” he typed, “I don’t need your suggestion on who’s right for me. I’m happy with Jasmine, and she’s the one I’m going to stay with. If you can’t respect that, then maybe we need some time apart.”
As he hit send, I felt so relief that I hadn’t felt in months.
At that point, I knew that no matter what happened with his family, we’d face it together.
“I’m sorry it came to this,” I whispered.
“Don’t be,” he replied, kissing the top of my head. “You stood up for yourself, and for us. I’m proud of you.”
Looking back, I don’t regret what I did. Sometimes, you have to stand up for yourself, even if it means ruffling a few feathers. Or in this case, a few turkeys.
And who knows? Maybe next Thanksgiving, Melissa will finally remember my name. But if she doesn’t, at least I know I’ve got a great turkey recipe up my sleeve and a boyfriend who’s willing to stand by me through it all.
In the weeks that followed, Arnold and I focused on our relationship, creating our own traditions and building our own little family.
And as for Melissa? Well, let’s just say that sometimes it takes a shock to the system to make someone realize their mistakes.
It’s a work in progress, but I’m slowly starting to hear my own name more often when we visit.
