How My Parents Fell For My Husband

by Amy Sohn

The next day, my dad wrote to say how happy I seemed, and how beautiful I looked. I got choked up reading it because most of the time when he sent emails, they were passive-aggressive and weird.

Over the next few months, my parents got to know Jack better, and given the fact that he was from a different background and a lot older than me, I thought they did a pretty good job of making him feel welcome. There was only one thing they didn’t seem to like: They weren’t exactly sure how he made a living. When they asked, I explained that he sold his paintings, but I rarely gave details about how often or how many. Then I’d change the subject. Soon they stopped asking, and we settled into a kind of uncomfortable silence on the issue.

That winter, I invited Jack to spend the holidays with my parents, my brother, and me at their country house in the Berkshires. For my brother’s birthday our cousins always came over and my mom always made lasagna. This year, Jack offered to do it for her. “That’s very generous of you,” my mother said, but she didn’t look happy.

In the morning, Jack did his prep work, all except for the salad, and then we left to go see Gangs of New York. We got back at five o’clock and I saw an entire salad in the bowl sitting out on the counter. “You didn’t have to do that,” Jack said, blinking.

“I was just trying to be helpful,” my mother said.