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“I don’t know.”

I don’t knowwas code for if he knew the answer, I might ask him to cook it. “I’ll be down in a minute,” I said.

Before he went into his office to do whatever it was he did in there, he asked if I wanted to go out for a late lunch. I quickly agreed. I was happy that he wanted to spend time with me, which was also depressing since he was my husband. As I got out of bed, I caught sight of myself in our full-length mirror. I was wearing flowered flannel pajamas, with messy hair and crusty old mascara under my eyes. I wouldn’t have wanted to have sex with me either. Then again, Jim peed with the door open, so how picky should he be?

I grabbed my clothes and headed to the shower. After cleaning the leftover makeup off my face and washing my hair, I was presentable. No more drunken sailor here. Jim was on the phone in the living room talking about some networking event that he wanted to attend.

When I went into the kitchen to pour myself coffee, I found the pot was empty. Jeez, how much coffee did he drink? Jim walked in and saw me looking at the empty coffee pot. He asked if I wanted him to make some more, but I told him I’d have tea. He put water in the kettle and turned on the stove, then put the empty coffee pot in the sink.

“Are you going to wash that?” I hated sounding like a nag.

“I will. Later,” he said. I put on my purple latex gloves, turned on the water, and washed the coffee pot. Jim stared at me. “I told you I’d wash it later.”

“My later is later. Your later is never.”

Jim went back to his office while I made waffles and bacon. When everything was done, I called him and Gia in. Gia pulled a chair out from the kitchen table and made sure it scraped the floor as loudly as it could. She put a waffle on her plate, grabbed the syrup, and poured half the bottle on it. It took everything inside me not to say anything. Then she stuffed a huge piece of the waffle in her mouth. I was worried I’d have to Heimlich her, and I didn’t remember how.

I asked her to get napkins for everyone. She didn’t say anything but did get up so quietly that it made me nervous. It felt like when you’re in a haunted house and you know that when you turn the corner, something’s going to jump out at you.

“I’m sorry if I didn’t handle the whole sex thing well. You threw me off when you blurted it out,” I said. “All I wanted was to make sure you were all right.”

“I know.” She licked the syrup off her fingers. “I felt weird talking about it.”

“I hope this was your decision and not because you felt pressured.”

“If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have. I make my own decisions.”

I was glad to hear she was stronger than I was when I was her age. When I was seventeen, I didn’t think I had a right to say how I was feeling. I still didn’t stand up for myself enough.

“Can I ask if you’re okay and if you used protection?” I asked.

“Yes and yes. Now can we change the subject?”

I was not going to get more out of her. I pushed the plate of bacon toward her. “You want some? I made it extra crunchy for you.”

She took a strip of bacon and went upstairs. I didn’t know if she was still mad at me or having second thoughts about having sex. I hoped it was the latter.

Jim came in and sat down in the same spot where Gia had been sitting. Before I could tell him that she’d spilled syrup on the table, he put his arm down in it. He grumbled as he wet a paper towel and wiped off both the table and his arm. It was karma for his drinking all the coffee. After he finished cursing to himself, I told him that I’d talked to Gia. He was relieved she was okay and quickly changed the subject. While we ate, we discussed what to do about the broken thermostat in our bedroom and whether we needed to finally paint the exterior of our house. He polished off three waffles and five slices of bacon. Then he put his plate in the dishwasher and left. Another family breakfast over in breakneck speed. It had taken me twenty-five minutes to cook it and two minutes for everyone to scarf it down.

Just as I finished washing the dishes and wiping down the sticky table, Jim came back in and took his keys off the hook. “I’m going to go help Sam hang some shelves,” he said. “When I get back, we can go to lunch. Where do you want to go?”

We did what we always did when faced with a decision as big as where to eat. “I don’t want Mexican, Asian, Greek, or Thai,” I said.

“I don’t want French, Japanese, or Middle Eastern.”

We stared at each other a moment, until I said, “You pick.” He came back with La Cucina, which was our favorite place. I was happy because it was where I wanted to go and one of the few places we always agreed on.

La Cucina was a family-run restaurant that Jim and I had found by accident years ago. We’d been dating for four months when he asked me to take him to urgent care. He’d been opening a package with a knife, when the knife slipped and cut his hand open. I was honored that he’d chosen me to take care of him. When I got to his apartment, he had a dish towel carefully wrapped around his arm, but the blood was soaking through. After the doctor stitched him up, we were starving. Next door to the urgent care was a nondescript storefront flying an Italian flag. There was a banner that read “Grand Opening,” but no one was inside. We’d stopped to look at the menu when Angelo, the owner, opened the door and greeted us warmly. It would’ve been embarrassing to walk away, so we went in and had the best Italian meal either of us had ever had. That day, we were the only customers, but over the years it had become very popular.

“I’ll be back around one thirty,” he said and left. A few minutes later, Taylor came to get Gia. I wasn’t thrilled they were hanging out so much. I didn’t think Taylor was the best influence on her. The house rattled as Gia slammed the front door behind her. I never got why teenagers slammed doors. Was it that they were so happy to be free of their parents that they wanted to make sure the whole neighborhood knew it?

When Jim and I got to La Cucina, it was two o’clock, which for our town was like having lunch in the middle of the night. There was one other couple sitting at the bar. Angelo greeted us with his big Italian grin. He wore a white apron stained with tomato sauce. “It’s so good to see you both,” he said and pulled us into a group hug.

“How’s the family?” Jim asked.

Angelo replied with the same answer he’d had for twenty years. “Driving me crazy, but the loves of my life. Your favorite table is waiting for you.”

Every table in the restaurant was lovely, but there was one we liked the best. It was in a corner by a window with a view of a duck pond, and it was the most private table in the restaurant. When Jim and I were dating, we would sit at that table for hours having intimate conversations and kissing without feeling self-conscious.