MY SIL REPROGRAMMED MY OVEN SO THE CHRISTMAS TURKEY WOULD BURN AND TO EMBARRASS ME IN FRONT OF GUESTS
Christmas is everything to my husband’s family. Big tree, even bigger expectations. Every year, someone new hosts—and since my husband and I had just gotten married six months ago, the honor (and pressure) was all ours this year.
Now, I knew from the start that hosting Christmas would be stressful. But this year, it wasn’t just about food and decorations. My husband’s grandmother—the matriarch of the family and owner of a thriving business—was finally retiring. And she’d promised to announce which grandchild would inherit the company on Christmas Day.
It was no secret that my sister-in-law, Amanda, wanted it badly. She practically treated Grandma like royalty, complimenting her outfits, always being “coincidentally” around when Grandma needed help with something. Meanwhile, my husband and I weren’t even trying for the business. We had our own goals and life path, but still—this was Christmas, not The Apprentice.
Anyway, I worked for days to make everything perfect. I cleaned every inch of the house, decorated like a Hallmark movie exploded in our living room, and prepped an entire Christmas feast, complete with a 17-pound turkey as the centerpiece. I even had timers, printed recipes, and my oven’s smart settings programmed and double-checked.
But about halfway through the evening, as laughter echoed from the living room and Grandma was sipping her cider, Amanda called out, “Does anyone else smell something… burning?”
My stomach dropped. I ran to the kitchen, opened the oven—and there it was. My beautiful, painstakingly brined turkey… was charred. Blackened. Totally inedible.
I was stunned. I know I set it at 325°F with a timer. But somehow, the temperature had been cranked up to 500°F, and the timer was off completely. My husband stood next to me in disbelief, while Amanda strutted in, smirking.
“Oh no,” she said with faux sympathy. “Every hostess messes up now and then.” Then she laughed and added, “Though I can’t recall anyone in our family making this kind of mistake.”
I wanted to cry—but I also wanted to scream. I knew she’d done something. Our oven was digital, and Amanda used to work retail in home appliances. It would’ve been nothing for her to tweak a few settings when I stepped away earlier.
Before I could say anything, Grandma stood up from the couch and said, “Hold on! I have something to say.”
Everyone grew quiet.
She walked slowly into the kitchen, holding her cider with both hands, and looked around at the food, the decorations… and finally, the ruined turkey.
“I’ve been watching this family all year,” she said calmly, “to decide who would take over the business. And let me tell you something—how someone treats others matters more to me than ambition ever will.”
Amanda smiled sweetly, probably thinking this was her moment.
Grandma continued, “Amanda, dear, I saw what you did to the oven.”
The entire room gasped.
Amanda’s face turned ghost-white. “W-what are you talking about?”
“I may be old,” Grandma said, “but I’m not blind. I saw you reprogram it when you thought no one was looking. I was sitting in the den—right by the open kitchen. You didn’t even notice.”
Amanda’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.
“And that,” Grandma said firmly, “told me everything I needed to know about your character.”
Then she turned to me.
“You, my dear,” she said with a warm smile, “handled this disaster with grace. You didn’t point fingers. You didn’t retaliate. You tried to keep the evening going for everyone’s sake. That kind of calm under pressure? That’s the kind of leadership I want.”
My jaw dropped. “Wait… are you saying—?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m giving the company to you and your husband.”
Amanda burst into tears and stormed out of the house before dessert was even served.
As for me? I ordered takeout, poured myself a glass of wine, and served pie with a grin.
The turkey may have burned, but Amanda? She roasted herself.