Last night we stayed up late and talked so much.
We talked about why sex is important to us, about fantasies, about what we each get from it. What we give. Why.
I understand being afraid. I understand being overwhelmed by the idea of coming home, living together, waking up next to each other every morning and going to sleep next to each other every night.
Then you said something that broke my heart a little: you asked me what would happen when you screwed it up. Not if you screwed it up, but when.
I couldn’t even catch my breath for a minute. Then the words came flooding out. I wanted to give you a synopsis of what was said to come back and read when you are afraid:
What will happen when we’ve made plans and have to cancel last minute because you have to work?
Nothing, honey. I will laugh. Part of loving a chef is understanding that you are not a line cook. You are not a dishwasher. You are not a server. There isn’t anyone who can replace you. If you have to go, you have to go. You are passionate about what you do. That’s one of the things I find so sexy about you. We will reschedule. If they don’t understand, that’s too bad. I do.
What about holidays?
You work in a kitchen, babycakes. We’ll never have holidays together. Well, maybe Christmas, but never Christmas Eve. It means that Memorial Day through Labor Day I’ll know you’re alive because your checks direct deposit. I’ll know you’re alive because food will mysteriously disappear from the fridge and the hamper will mysteriously be full. I assume that I’ll stumble across your handwriting on the grocery list and know you’ve been home. Does that mean I’ll never be disappointed? No. I’m sure I will be at times. But I will understand.
What about anniversaries?
Remember our first anniversary? When we made plans to go out, spend the first day of our second year together over dinner and drinks? I still don’t know what all you had planned. You told me to get pretty and wear something nice. I was getting my nails done when I got the text. Everyone called out. You worked six days a week and you were supposed to rest on the seventh, but you had to go.
I came and sat at the bar in ripped jeans and a tank top and waited for you. I had a drink. You clocked out for a few but didn’t want to leave the kids in the kitchen unattended, so you made me dinner there and brought it out to me. My favorite. Chicken Alfredo.
Remember how worried you were I would be upset? That I would hold onto that and bring it up later, kick you when you were down, remind you that we couldn’t even spend our first anniversary together?
Do you remember what we did do? In case you don’t, here’s a rundown: Anniversary Dinner. It was perfect. The calendar is not the boss of us.
What about when you’re tired and sit for a second and pass out in the chair in the living room, never coming to bed?
When you’re not in bed by the time you should be home, I’ll go looking for you. If I find you asleep in our chair, head back and snoring, shoes still on, I’ll take your shoes off for you. I’ll try to wake you up. If you’re so sleepy that you just can’t, I’ll get you a blanket and kiss your forehead.
I am so lucky that you work so hard that you can’t even get all the way in the house before passing out. I know you want to be in bed with me. If you aren’t, it isn’t a decision you willfully made. You sat down to take your shoes off and that was it. How could I be angry?
What about when you smell like food?
Well, you’re a fantastic chef. I assume that means you would smell good. And I like the way your sweat tastes. Yum.
But if it makes you miserable, I’ll run you a bubble bath and sit on the side of the tub to wash your back. If you put your head in my lap, I’ll even wash your hair for you.
What about when you leave debris laying around?
You mean your sixty-seven water glasses next to the bed? I’ll pick them up on my way through in the morning and put them in the sink. Then I’ll make sure you have a full one and your Claritin and ibuprofen are waiting next to it when you wake up.
If your clothes are in a pile next to the bed because you were too tired to put them in the hamper, I’ll shake Tallulah out of them and put them in the wash for you. You’ll need them again tomorrow anyway.
I don’t care how it happened before. That wasn’t me.
I love you for you. Every part of me loves every part of you.
I understand that you aren’t perfect. But you’re perfect for me.