“You said I do it myself,” he complained when he finally phoned.
“You can do it yourself and still call me.”
“I did. I’m calling.”
“Good.”
“Bye.”
A month later, Jamie received his first paycheck from the garden center. He studied it with a frown for an entire minute.
“They paid me wrong.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I can count.”
He was correct. The next day, he marched back and had the mistake corrected.
At nineteen, he cooked soup for the first time, talking himself through each step.
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