“I understand, I do. I’ll deal,” Mom assures me as the water boils over and the tell-tale fizzling sound goes off behind her. Oblivious and intent on our conversation, she ignores it. Dad snaps into motion, turning off the heat fueling both burners before smoothly sliding the saucepan to safety, his chuckle rumbling through the kitchen. “Babe, you’re not going to turn into Gordon Ramsay tonight. Let’s spare your pride.” She keeps her gaze fixed on me. “No matter what, I’m proud of you. I know how unbelievably talented you are, no matter what, okay?” I can’t help my grin. “Thanks, Mommy.” Dad
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