Jacob pulled down the fine china. “That isn’t your mother’s recipe is it,” he asked.
“No, it’s my grandmother’s,” Deborah said, adding a bit more salt. “Can’t have a holiday without it.”
“This may be our first Thanksgiving and all, but we may want to consider our own traditions.”
She kissed him on the cheek. “We can begin with the plates. Don’t those belong in a museum?”
He laughed. “These have been in my family as long as that recipe has been in yours.”
“Are you sure you want to start that discussion?” Deborah pointed to the camera atop the bookcase. “Want to set the timer on that? I say our tradition starts now.”
Jacob raised an eyebrow. “A photo?”
“Yes, for every meaningful meal we share during our marriage.”