Jason’s POV
I’ve always hated family dinners.
Not because of the food, our chef cooks better than most five-star restaurants, but because of what it represents. But the moment it was placed on a long dining table with too many silver forks, too many matching napkins, and too many watchful eyes, it stopped being about taste. It became performance.
Family dinners meant pretending. Pretending the silences weren’t heavy. Pretending the smiles didn’t feel rehearsed. Pretending the arguments brewing just beneath the surface weren’t waiting for the wrong word to spill over
Smiling when I don’t feel like it. Listening to my mother’s endless questions about Ava and me, as though she’s directing some reality show that only she approves.
And the rule? At least three dinners a month till the wedd
