My Husband Invited His Whole Office to Thanksgiving Without Telling Me — So I Turned the Tables

Thanksgiving dawned like a freight train.

My coffee was chilly as I tried to get crayons out of Lily’s sticky hands and grab Max mid-cookie theft as he climbed onto the kitchen counter.

“Lily, sweetie, we color on paper, not the walls,” I advised, taking the purple crayon from her.

She smiled at me with that maddening innocence.

“Max!” I yelled, snatching the dish as he grabbed another cookie. Crumbs fell down his chin like confessions as he laughed. I lifted him off the counter and gave him a toy whisk for peace.

The bird roasted, the table half-set, and the potatoes? Still fat, but determined.

Hosting Thanksgiving every year was my Super Bowl. Too much, stressful, and overwhelming, yet I enjoyed the sensation of success. Even if my in-laws merely ate and commented.

After turning back to the kitchen, the front door opened and my husband’s voice filled the hallway.

We’re here!

We?

I turned, bowl of partially-mashed potatoes in hand, to see Alex smiling in the foyer. He smiles when he makes a smart choice that will spoil my day.

Behind him, a stream of strange folks entered, smiling, talking, and carrying wine bottles and snack bags. My pulse jumped.

“Alex,” I answered slowly, each word cutting, “who exactly is ‘we’?”

His smile continued. “A few coworkers. You say Thanksgiving is about community, right? They had nowhere else to go.

Looking at the bowl, I tightened my hold.

“How many?”

Shrugging. “Fourteen. No more than 15.

Fifteen. On my most planned dinner day, 15 strangers entered my home.

I saw myself throwing the dish of potatoes at his head.

But I don’t toss food. At least not yet.

Instead, I breathed deeply, suppressed my fury, and smiled tightly as I entered the living room, where the mob was uncomfortably hovering.

Lily was displaying one visitor her crayon masterpiece on the wall, while Max toddled confidently with a mouthful of crackers.

“Hello, everyone!” Chirped. The guy dropped his bag of chips in shock. “So glad you could join us! “Since this was unexpected, we must collaborate to organize this feast,” I added, paused.

Alex smiled briefly. Finally.

He hoped, “I mean, you’ve got everything under control, right?”

Yes, certainly. But you’ll take the kids upstairs so I can concentrate. Baby, thanks.”

He looked like he wanted to protest, but my glare made it clear: Don’t. He smartly gathered the kids and fled, wearing Lily’s construction-paper turkey on his shirt.

I maintained a grin for the visitors.

“Okay! “Yes, Marcus—you,” I responded, pointing to the guy who dropped the snacks, “help me finish mashing these potatoes. And Rachel? You set the table.”

They blinked, unclear whether it was punishment or custom. I rushed them to decide.

Everyone got a task soon. My pop-up kitchen brigade arose like a terrified intern army.

Beautiful chaos. A person burnt the rolls. Another substituted salt for sugar in pie crust. We succeeded by sheer willpower and a large pour of wine.

By supper, the table looked stunning. Turkey golden and steaming, mashed potatoes silky, and dishes lined up like Thanksgiving ads.

I sat at the head of the table, drink lifted.

“Thank you all for coming—on very short notice,” I smiled at Alex. Teamwork made this feast possible. Isn’t that what holidays are about?

The boss laughed at Alex. Alex, you didn’t tell us we’d be in the kitchen!

Everyone laughed. Alex sunk lower into his chair, looking apologetic. I had a magnificent vindication.

After dessert, I clapped. “All right, team! Time to clean. Alex, you lead dishwork.”

His colleagues didn’t blink. Like clockwork, they rose, gathered plates.

I sipped wine against the doorway, watching Alex elbow-deep in dishwashing suds, whipped cream on his face, and despair in his eyes.

Max waddled and pulled his pants. Alex knelt, sighing.

What, Mommy’s the boss? He whispered.

“You bet your paper turkey,” I thought, smirking.

Alex brought me tea on the sofa later, when the house was quiet and the kids slept.

“Leah,” he apologized. I underestimated how much goes into this. I should not have surprised you.”

No, I said after a moment of stillness. Shouldn’t have.”

He grinned sheepishly. “But…you were amazing.”

Savoring my tea, I sighed. “Next time, maybe we limit guests.”

He froze. “Next time?”

A chuckle. “Hopefully not. But if so, bring takeout.”

Thanksgiving was a crazy journey, but I drove.