To tell this story, I need you to have a little bit of background about myself. Some things just make more sense with that extra context. My husband jokes with me saying I did not grow up in a real place. I grew up next to a castle. The stories of my childhood are a bit too perfect. Most things, even the bad parts of my life, have been fairly perfect.
I first met Daniel when he was sitting over at the neighbors front step in late May. She was reading to him and called me over to introduce. I said if he needed anything our house was right there, he was always invited. About two days later he showed up. He took it slow coming over to play and slowly it became dinner. Denise was visiting and before taking him to Prichard beach with the kids she had him call his mother who didn't seem to care that he was going with strangers somewhere.
Our town had no crime. I grew up in a large house and had my own bedroom. My father cooked amazing food and always looked to include his kids in all elements of his life. We were his world. My parents practiced modern parenting techniques 20 years before it became popular.
I have always felt like he tried to be the opposite of his father. His father was hard on him and never really said that he loved him.
His ancestors owned slaves
Dinners continued and grew in frequency. He picked at his food and complained about vegetables. He would sometimes tell me about the wonderful food his mom cooked for him and then proceeded to eat the whole thing in front of him. I could tell he hated them but he ate and took seconds.
We started to get closer.