I’m 25, and I still can’t wrap my head around what happened that Thanksgiving.
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.
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