I met Marjorie’s mom that day, and she was the complete opposite of mine. No yelling. No cutting remarks. No constant tension that made you feel like a mistake just for breathing.
She smiled gently and asked, almost casually, if I wanted to help her bake chocolate chip cookies.
I couldn’t resist.
It was the kind of offer you don’t say no to. Warmth in its purest, simplest form—hands in flour, the smell of melting chocolate filling the kitchen, laughter without judgment.
A moment of normalcy I didn’t know I was starving for.
And yes, I know what you’re thinking: “That’s The Godfather reference, right?” Yeah, maybe it was. But in that moment, it didn’t matter. It was real. It was a little escape from the chaos of my own head.
“You know, Marjorie is thinking about marrying you soon, rig
