“The turkey?”
“Obviously,” he said.
My stomach dropped a little, but I wiped my hands and went to the door with him.
Diane swept in first, wearing a cream coat and perfume you could smell from six feet away. Richard followed with a bottle of wine and a small pie.
“Happy Thanksgiving!” Richard said, hugging me. “Something smells fantastic.”
Diane sniffed.
“It certainly smells… strong,” she said. “You haven’t burned anything, have you?”
I smiled. “Not yet.”
She walked straight into my kitchen like she owned the deed.
She opened the oven and stared at my turkey.
“Is this supposed to be the turkey?”
My heart did a little stutter. “Yeah,” I said. “I made a herb butter—”
She snorted.
“It looks cheap,” she said. “You really think Jason deserves this?”
I froze.
“Mom,” Jason said sharply.
I swallowed. “I made everything from scratch,” I said.
She rolled her eyes. “From scratch,” she muttered. “How quaint.”
Before I could react, she grabbed a towel, pulled the entire roasting pan out of the oven, and marched toward the back door.
“Diane, what are you doing?” I said, following her.
She didn’t answer.
She opened the back door, walked to the trash can, lifted the lid, and dumped the entire turkey inside.
I heard it hit the garbage bag with a sickening thud.
I just stood there, staring at my turkey in the trash.
“What the actual heck?” I finally managed. “You can’t just throw away our turkey!”
She waved me off. “Calm down,” she said.
“I brought a real turkey. We’re not eating that… experiment.”
My hands were shaking. “That was five hours of work,” I said.
“You had no right—”
“This is my son’s first Thanksgiving in his new home,” she said. “He deserves something decent.”
She brushed past me like I was in her way and went back inside.
Jason was in the kitchen, eyes wide. “Mom, what did you do?” he asked.Continue reading…
