Twenty Years

​Walking into my parent’s house at Christmas feels like entering a gingerbread house. Every inch of their home is covered in fake snow, tiny Santa figurines, garland, and tins packed with more Christmas cookies than anyone could ever eat. I swear the decorations multiply at night, with everything illuminated by the warm glow of twinkling lights. My wife and I stay a week with my folks every Christmas, which is also our anniversary. It may sound crazy that we spend our anniversary with my parents, but my mom introduced us, and it just wouldn’t feel right not sharing the day with them.

Twenty years ago, my mom saw my now wife, Amy, working in a coffee shop. She was convinced that we would hit it off and invited her to our family’s Christmas dinner, insisting that she wouldn’t take no for an answer. I was mortified, and I couldn’t believe that anyone would agree to join a stranger's holiday meal to meet their single daughter, but I am so thankful she did. The moment she walked in the door, I was a goner. She was breathtaking. Her long, chestnut hair was pulled up in a bun at her neck, and she wore pressed khaki pants and a dark green button down that made her look effortlessly put together. I glanced at myself in the mirror, cursing that I was only wearing torn up overalls, and my bleached blonde pixie-cut hair was sticking out all over the place. I had taken...