For the next several days, I worked constantly.
I prepared pie dough, chopped vegetables, assembled casseroles, and organized ingredients. I was also working my regular full-time job, so every spare hour disappeared into Thanksgiving preparations.
By Tuesday evening, my back hurt, my feet ached, and my kitchen smelled permanently of onions and butter.
At 8:30, Vivien called.
“I forgot to mention something,” she said cheerfully. “The Sanders’ youngest child has a serious nut allergy. You will need to remake anything containing pecans or walnuts.”
I looked at the three completed dishes cooling on my counter.
All of them contained nuts.
“Vivien, I already made those. I would have to start over.”
“Well, we cannot risk a medical emergency,” she replied. “I’m sure you can quickly prepare replacements. You are wonderful in the kitchen.”
Then she ended the call.
Hudson entered and saw my expression.
“What happened?”
“Your mother just informed me that three dishes must be remade because she forgot to mention an allergy.”
He glanced at the food.
“Couldn’t you remove the nuts?”
I laughed, though there was nothing humorous about it.
“They are baked into the dishes.”
He shrugged.
“You still have time. It’s only Tuesday.”
“I have a job, Hudson. I have spent every free moment cooking for three days. I’m exhausted.”
“Do you want me to help?” he asked in a tone that suggested he expected me to say no.
“Yes,” I answered. “I do.”
He looked genuinely surprised.
“You know I’m terrible at cooking. I would only slow you down. Besides, I promised the guys I would play golf tomorrow.”
Golf.
Of course.
“You’re practically a machine when it comes to holiday cooking,” he said. “You’ll finish everything.”
A machine.
Machines did not become tired.
Machines did not need appreciation.
Machines did not ask their husbands to cancel golf and help.
After Hudson left the room, I stood alone in the kitchen and considered a possibility I had never allowed myself to take seriously.
What would happen if I simply refused?
I already knew how they would react.
Thanksgiving would be ruined, and everyone would blame me.
I would be called selfish, difficult, and dramatic.
They had become comfortable exploiting me because I had trained them to believe I would always accept it.
### The Decision at 2:47 A.M.
I set my alarm for 3:30 on Thanksgiving morning.
But I woke at 2:47.
I lay beside my sleeping husband, thinking about the twelve hours of labor waiting downstairs.
Thirty-two people would arrive, eat, compliment Vivien’s hosting, and barely notice the woman who had created everything.
Then a strange thought entered my mind.
For full cooking steps, turn to the next page or click the Open button (>) and don't forget to SHARE with your Facebook friends.
