My Boyfriend Brought His Mom’s Food for Him to Eat at My Birthday Party

I’m an introverted person by nature. It was just one of those things that made me who I am. So, for my birthday, I just wanted a weekend with those closest to me. I lit candles around my home, made some tea, and began cooking. I wanted everything to be perfect. I knew that my parents were going to bring the birthday cake, but I wanted to cook the meal. I wanted everyone to feel at home and loved—so I had carefully crafted my menu, making sure that everyone invited would have one thing they loved to eat.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you out to dinner, Gabi?” my boyfriend, Jamie, asked the day before when we were grabbing coffee.

“Yes,” I said. “I want to cook for all of us. Other than you and my parents, it’s just Nicole, Jenna, and the boys. Only the closest people.”

“But it’s supposed to be your special day,” he pressed on. “Don’t you want to be spoiled? I can do that. I can take you out.”

“No,” I said, taking his hand. As much as I appreciated his sentiment, I just wanted to be surrounded by my people. We could always have dinner together any night. I knew that Jamie wasn’t impressed with my answer. He got along with my family and friends just fine, but if he could help it, he preferred to be alone with me.

I got more excited as the guests began to arrive. There was just something about being at home with my favorite people. My birthday playlist blasted through the speakers as everyone sat down and caught up over a charcuterie board while I finished the final dinner preparations. As I was taking dishes to the dining table, Jamie walked in at last, his smile wide and infectious. He followed me into the kitchen and that was when I noticed that he was carrying a large Tupperware under his arm.

“What’s that?” I asked. “Do I need to make some space in the fridge?”

Jamie shook his head. “Mom’s food,” he said. “It’s okay, you don’t have to worry about it—I’ll take it to the table later.” I didn’t even look at the contents of the container. I just assumed that Jamie had told his mother that I was cooking and that she wanted to add to the meal. I instructed Jamie to open bottles of wine and juice for the table. And once everyone had settled and dinner was served, I asked Jamie for his plate to carve the rosemary chicken for him since it was his favorite.

He waved it off with a chuckle. “Oh, I don’t need any. I brought my mom’s cooking. Honestly, no one can match her skills in the kitchen.” I paused, the plate in my hand suddenly feeling heavy. “Oh! The Tupperware!” I said, remembering Jamie’s mother’s food. “I’ll get it,” he said, standing up.

“What did your mom make?” I asked, trying to keep the mood light, hoping Jamie didn’t think I had intentionally left it behind in the kitchen. “Was it one of my favorites?”

He walked into the kitchen and returned with the container, with an excited look on his face. “No,” he replied, a bit too proudly. “It’s just that her food is always better. You know, you can’t really trust anyone else’s cooking.” The room turned silent, with only the music adding to the ambiance that was slowly changing. I was offended. Of course, I was. But I didn’t want to have a confrontation with Jamie. Instead, I smiled at the table.

“Well, why don’t we all try some of Jamie’s mom’s food?” I asked. As nods of agreement circled and the food was sampled—it was delicious—but still, the initial sting of Jamie’s words lingered. I decided then that a subtle lesson was in order. As the dinner plates were clearing, my mother brought out the birthday cake, and everyone toasted and sang for me.

The next day was part two of the birthday weekend. I had wanted the same group of people to go go-karting and excitement buzzed around us. Jamie was gleaming with anticipation until I called out just as he approached the kart next to me. “Sorry, Jamie,” I said, as my father, dressed for the occasion, joined us. “Dad will drive with me—I can’t really trust anyone else driving me.” Jamie’s smile faltered, his eyes flickering with realization as he connected the dots. He ended up waiting alone as everyone else teamed up, the irony not lost on him.

Despite the fun on the track, the drive home was quiet, the air thick with unspoken thoughts. Jamie and I met at a coffee shop, ready to discuss our relationship a few days later. “I just felt so embarrassed at the track,” he admitted, his voice low. “And at your birthday dinner… I didn’t realize how my words came off until it was too late.”