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.
He grew up very differently from me.
Jason’s dad, Richard, hugged me right away. “So this is the famous girlfriend,” he said.
“We’re happy to finally meet you.”
His mom, Diane, shook my hand like she was touching something fragile. “Jason mentioned you grew up… with just your father, right?” she asked, tilting her head.
“Yeah,” I said. “My mom passed when I was a kid.”
Diane smiled tightly.
“Oh, an orphan. How… resilient of you,” she said. “Jason always did have a soft spot for charity cases.”
Richard gave her a look.
Jason cleared his throat. I laughed it off, because what else do you do when someone stabs you with a smile?
“Did you learn to cook from a box?” she’d ask.
Or, “We hope the poor little orphan girl can manage a casserole.”
Always with that laugh like she was just joking. Always in front of people.
Jason would check on me later, but in the moment, he kept the peace.
I told myself I could handle it. I’d survived worse than a stuck-up mother-in-law.
Then we bought our first house.
It’s not huge, but it’s ours. Old hardwood floors, a tiny yard, a kitchen that needed work but had good light.
