“And I’m perfectly happy to cook. I can understand your father’s casseroles coming in handy while we’re under construction, but lately I’ve been wondering whether you’d be just as happy living like this forever.”

“Um,” I said. “No. Yes. Maybe?”

“How about this? On Sundays we get a menu plan for the week. I do most of the cooking, and you can be sous chef and navigate the dishwasher.”

“Sure,” I said. “As long as we can cherry pick the best of the casseroles. I mean, why waste them? And a steady diet of cooking would get old fast, too.”

John nodded. “Deal. And let’s add dinner out once a week to the mix.”

“Preferably out of town so we don’t run into my family.”

We knuckle bumped on it. I taught him the Michael Jackson and we knuckle bumped again.

“Thanks,” he said. “I always wished I could moonwalk.”

We sat there quietly while we decided whether to quit while we were ahead or keep going.

“We made this decision,” John said. “These decisions. To build a life together, to buy this house. We can talk about improving things, but what I’m not okay with is the way as soon as things get the least bit challenging, you’re ready to give up on us.”

Tears surprised me by streaming down my cheeks. “I think,” I whispered, “when things get tough, I might want to leave you before you can leave me.”

John wiped my tears away. “I won’t leave you. Ever. I’m in one hundred percent. And I’m an accountant, so you can count on that.”

I laughed. “It’s a good thing you’re not a comedian, because that’s a really bad joke. And I won’t leave you either.”

He leaned over and kissed me. “Good to hear.”

“But sometimes when things get tough and I’m spinning, it has to be okay to share my feelings, you know? I don’t need you to try to fix things. Or fix me. I just want you to listen. And maybe talk me down from the ledge.”

“Intellectually I get all that. Stop trying to fix each other. Celebrate our differences. Be responsible for our own happiness.”

“Love is patient, love is kind,” I said.

“Love is blind,” he said.

“You’re a poet and you don’t even know it,” I said.

“Love means never having to say you’re sorry,” he said.

“Love hurts,” I sang.

“Love the one you’re with,” he sang.

“Okay, where were we?” I said.

John shrugged. “Not trying to fix things is easier said than done. How about I’ll work on it while you’re working on your casserole withdrawal.”