“Damn, I hope it’s not burned,” I grumble as I pull the homemade lasagna from the oven.

I sniff it, taking in the cheesy and tomato smell. No, it’s perfect. I’m still a bit put out that despite my parents wanting me to have lunch at their house every Sunday, I’m still expected to make lunch from scratch and bring it.

Not that I don’t love my parents, it’s just that I’ve had a long week, and cooking something to their liking means buying organic ...