Never Grill a Turkey

It was my first Christmas away from home, and it was hard to accept the new normal. A year and a half passed since the wedding, and we have a beautiful daughter. She was strapped in the back. I checked on her every two minutes, being the armature mother that I was.

My husband was driving the small car across icy roads to his parents’ house. My in-laws lived in lower Michigan, only a half hour away from us. Flurries of soft snow fell from the sky, coating the branches with sparkles. Dave, my husband, belted out the words to Here Comes Santa Claus, making our kid laugh. Her squeals and petite smile made my heart flip in ways I’ve never felt before. I tried to sing in the same manner, but Dave had a special way of making her giggle. Instead, I attempt to use my choir skills to correct the pitch.

“Silver bells,” we sang in imperfect harmony, “silver bells! It’s Christmas time in the city.”

“Take a right,” Dave took over. “There’s the house in sight! Today it’s time for Christmas.”

“Nice rhyme,” I teased.

“I told you I should be a song writer.”

I pretended to think about it. “Nah, I think being a Biology teacher suits you more.”

“If you say so. You’re always right.”

I smiled and prepared myself for the frigid air as the car door opened. Quickly, I opened the backdoor and caught myself as my feet slipped from under me. Gasping, I realized the driveway was no longer concrete. Nerves took over as I tried to plan how I would carry my daughter inside without wiping out.

“I can get her,” Dave said. He must have noticed my distress, or how I almost broke my back. “You get inside and warm up.”

“What about the food in the trunk?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I want to carry something.”

Dave sighed, knowing my stubbornness. “Get the rolls.”

“Yes, sir!”

I saw him roll his eyes playfully, trying to hide his chuckle. We carried our things inside and are greeted with Dave’s entire family.

It’s not like I was jealous or upset, but there was a small hole in my heart. This was my first holiday away from home. Sure, we had plans to celebrate with my family tomorrow, but this was Christmas Day. It was supposed to feel familial, magical, and traditional. I was being an optimist. The last thing I wanted to do was ruin the holiday.

I put the rolls on the small counter which took up most of the kitchen. The island was covered in food, more than it was on Thanksgiving. Dave’s younger sister, Jen, brought potatoes and coleslaw. Mary, my new mother-in-law, was a very small woman. She was able to weave her away between her family members and snag her granddaughter to give her a big kiss.

“How’s my Ju-ju?” she asked, somehow able to lift her off the floor. She pushed the fruit bowl out of the way to sit her down. “Want to help me make some dessert?”

“She’s not even two yet, Mom,” I reminded her.

“Oh, she can help me mix the batter,” she insisted.

“Uh…” I wasn’t sure how I felt about being separated from my daughter for long. Part of me wanted to keep her close, since she made me feel less out of place.

Dave reached over and said, “She’ll be fine. Let’s help get the presents out of the back room.”

I smiled and agreed with him, but before we left the kitchen, my father-in-law announced, “I’m lightin’ the charcoal! We’ll have a fully cooked bird by dinnertime!”

Mary and her brothers cheered, but it took me a second to realize what he meant. “You don’t think he’s…” my voice trailed off, but Dave got the message.

“I’ll check on him in a bit. Hopefully he doesn’t intend on grilling that bird.”

We went back to the task at hand, and I was a bit worried about the dinner ahead of us. I was not going to feed my daughter raw turkey. The house had one long hallway reaching all the bedrooms. The one in the back had all the presents stacked up, which we carried one by one into the living room.

It was breathtaking how long we waited for dinner. Dave tried to tell his father that the oven was open, and he could finish off the turkey that way. David Sr. was stubborn. For some reason, both he and Mary were convinced this was some revolutionary way to cook the bird. When dinner finally rolled around, it wasn’t so apparent.

Even a novice cook could tell this turkey was raw. I don’t mean raw as a throw-away term, but genuinely, heart-stoppingly raw. The chefs on the food network would have strokes just looking at it.

“Might as well put the light meat on your plate and make a beeline for the microwave,” my husband muttered to me.

“I might just skip it altogether.”

“They don’t seem too upset about it.” I look over at my in-laws to find them ecstatic about the view of the dinner. Everything else looked wonderful, but the centerpiece wasn’t appetizing to gaze upon in the least.

“I would like to thank everyone for coming here on this beautiful day. Thank you, Lord, for brining us this wonderful woman into our family.” David Sr. started to get a little choked up at the end.

Mary finished for him, “And our first ever grandchild. We could never forget about you, Ju-ju!”

My daughter giggled at her nickname being mentioned and looked at the massive bird. Cringing, I filled her plate with stuffing, potatoes, and green beans instead. Dave took a plateful of turkey for both of us and stuffed it in the microwave. Jen, who was sitting on the other side of my daughter, yelled at her brother to do the same for her.

“I saw him working the grill out there,” she said. “The wind was brutal. Half of the time, he wouldn’t notice when the fire went out and he’d have to light it all over again.”

“Didn’t he at least wrap it to cook the inside?”

“Yeah, and look how good that turned out.”

I watched as David Sr. and Mary ripped apart the turkey. The latter, being a huge fan of the movie Christmas Vacation, yelled, “Save the neck for me!” I learned she was being dead serious when her husband butchered the neck off and put it on her plate.

It was like a crime scene. Blood dripped from their mouths, pooling onto the rest of their food. Jen, Dave, and I were the only ones not partaking in the bloodbath. Luckily, my daughter was not paying attention and focused on her food. It felt like hours for Dave to come back with our meat, but by then I’d seen enough to render my appetite gone.

I sat there for a long time trying my best to stay sane and happy. I avoided the food by feeding my daughter some mashed potatoes. I’d like to think I was handling myself quite well until one of Mary’s brothers started talking about the women he brought to his cabin.

“Excuse me, but I need to use the restroom,” I said.

Dave moved over to my chair to keep feeding our daughter, while I entered the long hallway of bedrooms. Passing the bathroom entirely, I found the room where we took the presents from and closed the door behind me.

Everything was piling up. Being out of place was hard enough, but the dinner and conversations were starting to break me. I looked out the window at the falling snow and suddenly yearned for my family. I wanted my father to be decorating the fireplace, and I wanted to help my mother stuff the turkey before we put it in the oven. I could even deal with my annoying sisters more than I could these people.

There was a landline on the nightstand. I looked at it intently before taking it and calling home. My mother picked up.

“It’s awful, Mom, so awful!” I explained everything to her, and she got upset about the food the most. She was a strict cook.

“Why didn’t you stand up and bring the turkey inside?” she asked.

“Well, I didn’t want to take over their family dinner.”

“It’s not their family dinner, sweetie. It’s your dinner. It might be too late for tonight, but next time, I want you and Dave to be the heads of the kitchen. You are part of that family now, so it’s okay to help.”

“I guess I’m having trouble integrating. I miss you,” I admitted, wiping a tear.

“As do I, but it’s not like we are skipping out on Christmas dinner. Ours is tomorrow. We can talk more about it then, and I will teach you how to organize the cooking. For now, you get back out there and accept that these are the people you married into.”

“It sounds bad when you say it like that,” I couldn’t help but to chuckle.

“You know what I mean. No matter what mishaps are happening tonight, just remember they’re trying. Trust me, I’ve met them, so I know what I’m talking about. They love you.”

“Thanks, Mom. You’re right.” I thought back to the short dinner prayer. They didn’t have to include me in it, but they did. I may have been focusing too much on the bad to understand that they meant well.

I took a deep breath to gather myself, and walked back out there with confidence, still avoiding the turkey. “Next time, you’re all mine,” I whispered to it, already planning how I will organize dinner on Easter.