He came home last night sometime after 9pm (we had talked around 7 and he said that he shouldn’t be much more than an hour) with a huge smile on his face. After how sick he had been for the past week, I was happy to see that he was feeling better – enough to (sort of) balance the less-happy part of me for him coming home so much later than he had said he would. Plus I knew he had been studying, which was good, but I had never seen anyone so thrilled with life after a multi-hour study session.

He asked if I wanted tea, telling me I did and singing in the kitchen as he got everything ready. When he came back into the living room with the tea he was also carrying two plates with cheesecake on them. And I started crying.

He had been meaning to bring me flowers for two days, he said (I started crying again), for taking such good care of him while he was sick. On a totally unrelated note, he never notices anything when he walks in the street – just focused on getting to his destination. But last night while he was walking home, he saw a bakery and thought of a recent conversation we had had about how much I like cheesecake (the American kind, not the Israeli kind). He thought of me when he usually doesn’t even notice or think about anyone or anything. He was on a happy high because he loves me, and it felt great to realize it every once in a while.

Is it any wonder I cried? And then we ate the cake, found a ridiculous Australian movie on TV and made popcorn, because cheesecake followed by popcorn is a wholesome, nutritious dinner. I have a great life.


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