v

held a great deal of memories. It was small, but as a single dad, it was all he could afford. I pulled into the driveway and cut the engine. It wa

ed my key to go inside. “Dad?” I called

the mail went. It never went on the dining table or on a kitchen counter. It always went on

d. He could give Marie Kondo a run for her money. I walked into the kitchen and noti

organized but he ate like shit. He would get so caught up with work, he would skip meals. He did eat a lot of takeout, w

popped it in the microwave to defrost and rummaged through the pantry to find something to

erole, it is,

olded what was in the dryer before carrying it into his bedroom. His bed was neatly made. A book sat on the n

and was calling it an office. He left the bed, just in case I needed a place to crash. It was sweet. I

idea of a mother. My dad had done his best, and I never lacked for love or attention, but a mother offered a little something different. Her life had been

e casserole, covered it with foil, and popped it back in the oven on the warm setting

ad from the drawer

load in the wash. Make sure you toss it in the dryer before you go to bed. I have an e

ese. It is high in sod

early age. I wasn’t ever going to be Pioneer Woman good, but I could hold my

planner, I needed to be in attendance, but the rule of thumb was not to stick out like a sore thumb. A lot of clients wanted their guests to have the impression

d help knew who we were. That was all that mattered. I flipped through my closet, trying to decid

d. Red was a no-no. Red screamed siren. Sirens upstaged party hosts. I went with the black, beaded gown that fell just above the knees. It

lf something to eat before digging into all the tin