Jason is the kind of guy who rinses his plate and hugs his mom.
I thought I’d seen a lot already. My mom died when I was 10. My dad worked two jobs, and we scraped by on whatever we could afford. I learned to cook because we couldn’t afford takeout, not because it was cute or trendy.
Thanksgiving at our house back then was usually a small chicken, a box of Stove Top, and maybe a pie if Dad had overtime. It wasn’t pretty, but it was ours.
Fast forward to now: I married Jason.
Jason is the kind of guy who rinses his plate, hugs his mom, and actually listens when people talk. We met at work. He fixed my computer three times, and then finally asked me to get coffee.
« Oh, an orphan. How… resilient of you. »
He grew up very differently from me. His parents have a big, perfect house and a dining room that looks like it’s waiting for a magazine photoshoot. The first time I went there, I felt like a stray dog tracking dirt in.
Jason’s dad, Richard, hugged me right away. « So this is the famous girlfriend, » he said. « We’re happy to finally meet you. »
