My Boyfriend’s Mom Kept Calling Me the Wrong Name, So I Caused a Thanksgiving Full of ‘Yelling’ & ‘Crying’

Oh, that’s such a heartwarming story! Two years ago, at work, I crossed paths with Arnold, and boy, did we hit it off right from the start! Arnold was just the partner I had been looking for – someone who shared my love for 90s sitcoms and terrible puns.

He was truly one of a kind. Arnold had this amazing way of making me feel special, always paying attention to the little details and truly listening when I spoke. He knew how to turn a rough Monday morning around with my favorite coffee surprise and became my rock during stressful work presentations, holding my hand every step of the way.

Arnold was not just a partner, but a true companion who always made me feel valued.

Meeting the family can be nerve-wracking, right? Your story takes me back! For those two blissful years, it seemed like you and Arnold were sailing smoothly until meeting the parents stirred up some unexpected waves.

Your anxiety before the visit is totally understandable – outfit on point? Check. Delicious cookies? Check. But then, it’s the non-stop Scarlett show at the family gathering.

It must have felt like a whirlwind! Hopefully, Arnold noticed your efforts, and the storm clouds cleared up eventually. Family introductions can be quite the adventure, can’t they?

Oh, the tangled webs of relationships! It took me a bit to connect the dots that Scarlett, with her whole high school sweetheart glory, was the infamous ex-girlfriend Arnold’s family just couldn’t let go of. Nine years of history is no small thing, and it seems she was quite the queen of their hearts.

Arnold’s transition from Scarlett to our beginning came as a surprise to many, especially his forever-devoted mom, Melissa. While we’re here building new memories and spreading love, it seems Arnold’s fam might still be holding on to the past like a cozy old sweater. Let’s hope they warm up to the idea of us being the new chapter in Arnold’s book of love!

“Oh, Scarlett was such a pretty girl,” Melissa gushed, barely looking at me during our conversation. She seemed to hold a deep admiration for Scarlett, almost as if she was a part of their family all along.

Trying to be polite, I mustered a smile, although I couldn’t shake off the discomfort I felt at that moment. “That’s nice,” I said, attempting to engage further in the conversation.

I expressed my anticipation of getting to know everyone better. Melissa’s response was distant, her attention drifting elsewhere. Luckily, Arnold, sensing my unease, offered a reassuring squeeze of my hand, providing a sense of comfort amidst the awkward situation.

It sounds like your first dinner with Arnold’s family was quite an interesting experience. Despite your attempt to connect through offering help and bringing chocolate chip cookies, it seems Scarlett’s presence overshadowed everything else.

The way Melissa constantly talked about Scarlett and eventually started calling you by her name might have made you feel like an outsider. It’s natural to feel a bit uncomfortable in such situations, but hopefully, with time, things will become more inclusive and you’ll feel more at ease within the family dynamic.

Just remember, it’s okay to assert your presence and carve out your own place in their lives.

Repeatedly correcting someone can be challenging, especially when it seems like they’re purposefully getting your name wrong. In this situation, it must have been frustrating for you to have to continuously remind Melissa that your name is Jasmine. It’s understandable that after enduring her persistent misnaming during a family dinner, you finally reached your breaking point.

Sharing your feelings with Arnold was a positive step towards resolving the issue, and hopefully, he can offer support in finding a solution to this ongoing problem. It’s essential to assert your identity and have your name respected, so hopefully, this open conversation will lead to a better understanding between you and Melissa.

Arnold’s compassion and assertiveness in handling the situation with his mother were truly admirable. His gentle but firm approach displayed a deep understanding and care for both his mother and his current girlfriend, Jasmine.

It was evident that he prioritized open communication and setting boundaries to ensure respect and peace within his relationships. Arnold’s friendly tone echoed a sense of maturity and consideration towards all involved, showcasing his empathy and responsibility in navigating delicate familial dynamics with sincerity and kindness.

In the midst of my internal struggle with guilt over potentially causing tension between Arnold and his mother, I found myself navigating through Melissa’s subtle, yet persistent, tactics during our next family visit.

Instead of addressing me as Scarlett, she playfully rotated through a myriad of names, evading “Jasmine” at all costs. It became a comical dance of names, with her sweetly inquiring, “Jennifer, could you pass the salt?” only to be met with my patient correction.

Despite the irritation simmering beneath my smile, I refrained from voicing my frustrations to Arnold, opting to navigate the situation with a hint of exasperated grace.

I made up my mind—I was going to handle this on my own.

I took the high road, showering her with kindness. I brought her favorite flowers, pitched in with household chores, and even spent an entire afternoon flipping through dusty old family photo albums, hoping something—anything—might thaw the ice between us.

But no matter what I did, she stayed cold.

Then, a few weeks before Thanksgiving, Melissa invited everyone over for a backyard BBQ. I saw it as a golden opportunity to connect with the family, so I made sure to show up with a smile and a dish in hand.

While we all gathered around the grill, the smoky scent of burgers in the air, Arnold’s sister Amy turned to me and struck up a conversation.

“Arnold tells me you’re quite the chef, Jasmine,” Amy said with a warm smile. “He was singing your praises to my husband just the other day—couldn’t stop talking about your cooking.”

I let out a small laugh, a touch of heat rising to my cheeks.

“Oh, he’s probably giving me too much credit,” I said modestly. “I just like to play around in the kitchen.”

That’s when Melissa pounced, a sly glint in her eye.

“Well then,” she said, deliberately twisting my name, “why don’t we have Jennifer cook the turkey this year? Let’s see those famous skills in action.”

A flicker of irritation sparked inside me at the mention of the wrong name, but I masked it with a practiced smile.

“Absolutely,” I said smoothly. “That sounds like a wonderful idea.”

Behind my calm response, though, a quiet fire had been lit. If Melissa was going to play games, I was more than ready to match her move for move. Over the next few weeks, I threw myself into perfecting my turkey recipe—every spice measured with precision, every detail fine-tuned. I was determined to prove that I could do more than just keep up—I could outshine Scarlett in every way that mattered.

Thanksgiving Day arrived, and Arnold and I made our way to Melissa’s house, hands full of wine and dessert—but noticeably, and deliberately, no turkey in sight.

The moment we stepped through the door, a hush swept across the room like a cold breeze. Melissa’s smile faltered as her eyes dropped to our hands, scanning for the missing centerpiece of the feast.

“Wait… where’s the turkey?” she asked, her voice rising with panic.

I tilted my head and gave her my sweetest smile. “Oh, the turkey? I thought Jennifer was in charge of Thanksgiving dinner this year. I’m Jasmine, remember?”

The silence that followed was almost theatrical. You could hear a pin drop—or perhaps the sound of Melissa’s jaw hitting the floor.

Beside me, Arnold fought to keep a straight face, his lips twitching with barely contained laughter.

“What do you mean?” Melissa gasped, her eyes wide with disbelief. “You promised you’d cook the turkey!”

“Did I?” I replied coolly, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t recall making any promises. Maybe you meant to ask Jasmine—not Jennifer.”

Melissa blinked, flustered. “But… what are we supposed to eat now?”

Amy’s voice cut in, filled with concern. “Yeah, seriously. What’s the plan?”

I offered a casual shrug. “I’m sure Melissa has something up her sleeve. She is the legendary hostess, after all.”

Then, tilting my head and smiling just enough to sting, I added, “Oh wait—was I meant to cook dinner? That’s odd. I thought you assigned it to some mysterious ‘Jennifer.’ I’m Jasmine, remember?”

The room froze. For a moment, no one moved. You could hear the ticking of the clock in the hallway.

Next to me, Arnold’s shoulders shook slightly—doing a poor job of hiding the smirk spreading across his face.

Melissa’s face twisted in fury, her voice rising like a siren. “You did this on purpose!”

I blinked, feigning innocence. “Did what, exactly? I’m just taking a cue from you, Melissa. If you can’t be bothered to remember my name, why should I remember your instructions?”

Arnold stepped between us, his jaw tight as he placed a calming hand on my shoulder.

“Mom,” he said, his voice calm but firm, “this has gone far enough. You know her name is Jasmine. Pretending otherwise isn’t funny—it’s rude, and honestly, it’s beneath you.”

I smiled sweetly, the picture of politeness with just enough edge to cut.

“Oh, was I supposed to make dinner?” I said, tilting my head. “I assumed someone named Jennifer was on kitchen duty. I’m Jasmine, remember?”

The room fell into a stunned hush. For a beat, no one moved.

Then I caught the twitch at the corner of Arnold’s lips—a suppressed grin. He was proud. Maybe not of the drama, but of me, standing my ground.

A man talking to his mother | Source: Midjourney

Melissa’s eyes shimmered with tears, but her voice cracked like a whip. “How dare you!” she screamed. “After everything I’ve done for you, Arnold! And you bring her into our family—this woman who’s ruined Thanksgiving!”

Arnold didn’t flinch. His tone was calm, but there was steel in it. “No, Mom. The only one ruining Thanksgiving is you. Jasmine is my girlfriend. She’s part of my life—and whether you like it or not, she deserves your respect.”

That was the match to the powder keg.

Voices exploded around the room. Melissa was shrieking now, incoherent with rage. Amy burst into tears, clutching a napkin to her face. Someone knocked over a glass, and another relative tried to play peacemaker, only to get drawn into the shouting. The perfect holiday dinner had transformed into chaos.

And yet, in the middle of it all, I stood my ground—head high, heart steady. Arnold’s hand found mine, his grip sure and unwavering.

Let them yell.

I wasn’t going anywhere.

“I’ve tried so hard to fit in with this family,” I said, my voice unsteady, trembling just enough to betray the weight behind the words. “I’ve been patient. I’ve been respectful. Even when you couldn’t show me the same courtesy—when you refused to say my name like it was a curse. I’m not Scarlett, and I’m not trying to be. I’m Jasmine. And I’m the woman your son has chosen to love.”

Melissa’s expression shifted, the defiance in her eyes flickering. Her face crumpled under the strain of something deeper—something raw.

“You don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice cracking as emotion surged to the surface. “Scarlett was like a daughter to me. When she left… it felt like losing a child. A piece of me went with her.”

The room stilled. For a moment, the chaos receded, replaced by the fragile silence that follows a truth too long buried.

And I realized: this wasn’t just about me. It was about grief, about letting go. And maybe—just maybe—it was the beginning of something honest.

“I do understand,” I said gently, my voice low but steady. “Losing someone you love—that kind of pain doesn’t just disappear. But that doesn’t give you the right to pretend I don’t exist. I’m not here to replace Scarlett. I’m here because I love your son. I want to be part of this family—but not at the cost of erasing who I am.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unflinching.

For a beat, the room was frozen in silence.

Then Melissa’s face hardened. She raised a trembling hand and pointed toward the front door. “Get out!” she shrieked, her voice sharp with fury and grief. “Both of you—get out of my house!”

Arnold didn’t argue. He didn’t plead.

Without a word, he reached for my hand, his grip strong and sure.

Together, we turned and walked out—into the cold night, into the unknown—but side by side.

The next morning, the light was soft and quiet, in stark contrast to the storm the night before. As we sat on the couch, still wrapped in the aftershocks of everything that had been said, Arnold’s phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen, then sighed. “It’s my mom.”

He opened the message and read it aloud, his voice flat but steady.

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?

The words hit like ice, but I stayed silent, bracing for whatever came next.

Arnold looked up at me, his gaze unwavering—steady and sure. His eyes, full of warmth, searched mine.

“She didn’t cause the yelling, Mom did,” he said, his tone suddenly firmer. “You stood up for yourself, Jasmine. You spoke the truth. That’s not chaos—that’s courage.”

Then, without hesitation, he began typing.

Mom, I love you, but if you can’t accept Jasmine, you’re going to lose both of us. She didn’t ruin Thanksgiving—you did, by refusing to treat her with basic respect. I won’t let anyone talk about the woman I love that way. Please think about what really happened before you text me again.

He hit send, set the phone down, and pulled me into his arms.

“I choose you,” he whispered. “And I always will.”

And in that moment, I knew—whatever happened next, we would face it together.

“Mom,” he typed, his thumbs moving with quiet certainty, “I don’t need your suggestions about who’s right for me. I’m happy with Jasmine, and she’s the woman I’m choosing—now and always. If you can’t respect that, then maybe we need some time apart.”

He hit send.

A breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding slipped out of me, replaced by a feeling I hadn’t felt in what seemed like months—relief. Not just because he stood up for me, but because he chose us. Without hesitation. Without fear.

I looked at him, his face calm but resolute, and something settled inside me.

No matter what happened with his family from here on out, we would face it side by side.

“I’m sorry it came to this,” I whispered.

Arnold turned to me, his hand gently squeezing mine.

“I’m not,” he said softly. “Sometimes the truth has to break things before it can build something better.”

And just like that, I knew—we were already building something stronger. Together.

“Don’t be,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of my head. “You stood up for yourself—and for us. I’m proud of you.”

And in that moment, I believed him. Not just in words, but in the way he held me, like I was something worth protecting, worth choosing.

Looking back now, I don’t regret any of it. Sometimes, you have to raise your voice—not out of anger, but to make sure you’re finally heard. Even if it means ruffling a few feathers. Or, in our case, a few turkeys.

And who knows? Maybe by next Thanksgiving, Melissa will remember my name. Maybe she won’t.

Either way, I’ve got a killer turkey recipe, a spine made of steel, and a man who has my back.

That’s more than enough.

In the weeks that followed, Arnold and I turned our focus inward—on us. We built our own rhythm, created new traditions, and began shaping a little world where mutual respect and love came first. It wasn’t perfect, but it was ours.

As for Melissa? Well, sometimes it takes a jolt to the heart to spark real change. And while there’s still work to be done, progress has its own quiet victories. These days, when we visit, I hear my own name a little more often—and with a little less hesitation.

We’re not a picture-perfect family. But we’re learning, one awkward holiday and heartfelt conversation at a time.

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Disclaimer: This work is inspired by real events and people but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and certain details have been altered to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or real events is purely coincidental.

The author and publisher make no guarantees regarding the accuracy of events or portrayals and are not liable for any interpretations drawn by readers. This story is presented “as is,” and the views expressed are solely those of the fictional characters.