with something new every time he cooked. In my wallet, I have the tattered newspaper clipping of that old, decrepit cabin for sale that my grandpa saw his future in, the thing that started it all. I keep my mom’s copy of the Grimms Fairy Tales she used to read to me on my bedside table, along with her engagement ring tucked into a drawer. And I have my dad’s tiny notebook of recipes in the silverware drawer in my kitchen. It’s all I have left of the three most important people in my life who were taken from me before I even had the chance to experience real life with them.
