Love Saves the Day

8



Prudence





WHEN SARAH WAS YOUNG AND THE WORLD WAS DIFFERENT from what it is today, it could be fun to have no money. That’s what she and Anise say, anyway. Whenever they talk about all the Good Times they used to have, one of them always ends up saying, We were so young then! The world was a different place.

If you were poor when they were so young, you got to do things like live with your best friend in a huge loft that cost practically nothing. (Peanuts! Sarah says.) It would be so big that there’d be plenty of room to set up your DJ table or for your roommate’s band to rehearse, with enough space left over to put two mattresses on the floor where you and your roommate would stay up all night talking and laughing and playing with her three cats. You could go to parties or to a type of place called a “club,” where friends of yours would play records and musical instruments for other humans to dance to. If you knew the humans who worked there, they would let you eat and drink things for free.

Besides your best friend, you would know other people who did interesting things, like being actors or artists or writers, and all of you together would have fun lying on the grass at outside parks and eating hot dogs (which aren’t really made from dogs). Hot dogs cost practically no money at all. Sometimes you and your roommate would save up all your money for one big meal at a restaurant called Dojo on St. Marks Place, where you would get “the works.” Or you might go to a place called Ice Cream Connection, where they made their own ice cream from honey and gave their flavors names like Panama Red (which is just regular cherry) or Acapulco Gold (which is peach).

I miss ice cream. Sarah stopped bringing it home, and Laura and Josh never seem to have any. Sometimes I wish we were poor, so I could get to have ice cream again.

But we aren’t poor, or even broke. At least, that’s what Josh is always saying. Like the other day when Laura came home from work with a bag of peaches she bought at the grocery store. Josh asked why she’d bought peaches instead of plums, because she knows they both like plums better. And Laura said, They had peaches on sale. He kept saying she should have gotten plums and she kept saying that the peaches were on sale, until Josh said it wasn’t like they were too poor to have plums instead of peaches if that’s what they wanted. Laura looked upset and confused, like she’d thought she was doing a nice thing by bringing the peaches home and couldn’t understand why Josh was making such a big deal about it. Finally, she told Josh there was a fruit stand right down the street, and if he cared so much about peaches and plums he had plenty of free time during the day to go out and buy whatever he wanted.

That’s when Josh left the kitchen and went upstairs to Home Office, clackety-clacking extra loud on the cat bed/computer thing the way I sometimes go after my own scratching post when I’m angry about something. After he was gone, Laura noticed all the tiny crumbs Josh had left on the counter when he made his lunch earlier, and she got out a sponge and spritzy bottle. She rubbed the counter much harder than necessary to get it clean. Both humans and cats have to find ways to use our extra energy when we get “riled up,” as Sarah puts it. It was a good thing I’d jumped onto the counter earlier to eat the bits of meat and cheese Josh spilled when he made his sandwich. If Laura had seen what it looked like before I helped clean up, she would have been even more riled.

And last week, when Laura and Josh sat at the dining room table to go over their bills, Laura said how maybe they should try to put twice as much into savings while Josh was still getting money from his old job, even if doing that would make life “a little uncomfortable.” Josh told her they had plenty of money in savings, and Laura said, But for how long? Josh said, We’re a long way from being broke, Laura. I’ve been saving for fifteen years. You’ve seen all the paperwork. Neither of them said anything after that. But Laura got a frown-crease in her forehead, and the skin underneath Josh’s left eye twitched. It took a long time of my being in bed with Laura that night before she was able to settle into a real sleep.

Laura’s been having a lot of trouble falling asleep, especially since Josh has started coming to bed later than he used to—long after Laura’s already been there for a while, with the television flickering some old movie like Sarah used to watch when she couldn’t sleep. When Josh finally does come to bed, he sleeps farther away from Laura, so there’s plenty of room for me to be there, too, but also so he’s touching her less. Sometimes Laura is so tired in the morning that she forgets to do parts of her usual morning routine, like putting on lipstick after her eye makeup, or styling her hair with the gels that live in bottles on the bathroom counter. A few times she’s forgotten to take the pill she takes every morning just before giving me my breakfast. She’s still feeding me right on time, though, every morning. Occasionally she fills my water too high like when I first came to live here. But now she just sighs instead of pressing her lips together when she sees water spilled from my jostling the bowl.

Ever since the night three weeks ago when they fought about Josh’s severance agreement, things have been different between Josh and Laura. Somebody who’d just met them might not realize anything is wrong because most of the time they’re so polite to each other. They say each other’s names all the time, and make sure they say “please” and “thank you” after every little thing, the way humans talk to other humans they don’t know very well. (If you’re finished with the newspaper, Laura, could you please hand me the business section? Thank you. Or, Josh, could you please pick up some fresh litter for Prudence tomorrow? Thanks.)

I don’t think Laura is as angry as Josh is, because she tries harder to make him talk. She keeps finding reasons to do little things she never used to bother with. If she decides to take a shower after she gets home from work, she brings the phone upstairs to Home Office and tells Josh, Here’s the phone, in case it rings while I’m in the shower. And Josh says, Thanks, without even turning to look at her. Laura waits, as if she expects Josh to say something more since she went to the trouble of bringing the phone up to him. But Josh is silent until, finally, he asks, Did you want something else, Laura? Or if Laura says, I thought I’d order Chinese, if that’s okay with you, Josh just says, Chinese is fine. Then Laura will say something like, Or we could try that new Thai place, if you want.

Josh likes to tease Laura that you can tell she’s a lawyer by the way she negotiates over everything. If he’s the one who suggests Thai food, which Laura hates (and I agree, because Thai food is way too spicy for a cat to eat—which means they should never order it), Laura will say something like, Okay, Thai tonight, but then I get to choose for the next three nights. And Josh will respond by saying, Thai food tonight, you get to choose tomorrow, plus I’ll give you a foot rub. And Laura says, Thai food tonight, one foot rub, and you have to clean Prudence’s litterbox for the rest of the week. And Josh will squint his eyes and draw the corners of his mouth down, and say, Ooh … I don’t know … I can’t decide if I’m coming out ahead or not. Then they laugh and order the Thai food.

But when Laura suggests Thai food now, which should make Josh happy since he’s the only one who likes it, he doesn’t say anything except, Get whatever you want, Laura.

When I was much younger and had only been living with Sarah for a few months, I used to have a hard time getting my tail to do what I wanted. I would be trying to groom myself, and my tail would wriggle all over the place, pulling itself out of reach of my claws no matter how hard I tried to catch it. I would growl and snap at it, to show it how serious I was. Sometimes I even tried to chase it down, but it always remained just out of reach of my teeth, and all that happened was I wound up running in circles. I didn’t get angry at it, exactly. But it was frustrating to see a part of myself doing things I didn’t want or expect or understand.

That’s what Laura and Josh remind me of now. They seem bewildered and frustrated when they look at each other, like they just can’t understand the things this other human—who they thought they were so close with—is doing or saying.

I wish I could talk in human language, so I could tell Laura that Josh is only acting so angry because his feelings are hurt, just like hers. Maybe then she would sleep better at night.

Of course, if she wasn’t having trouble sleeping, she might not want me to sleep in the bed with her. And sleeping next to Laura is the best I’ve slept since the day Sarah left without telling me why.


Today is Sunday and Laura is awake earlier than she usually is on Sundays—so early that I don’t have to do any of the things I do on Sundays to gently remind her to feed me breakfast at my regular time, like lying on her chest and staring straight at her face until her eyes open, or walking on top of the clock radio next to her head until it starts playing loud music. When Josh hears the clock radio on Sunday mornings, he buries his head under a pillow and says in a muffled, irritable voice, Isn’t today Sunday? Can’t you hit the snooze button or something? And Laura, sounding sleepy, tells him, I don’t think there is a snooze button on a hungry cat.

But today Laura gets up at her usual workday time and cleans the whole apartment. I even hear the sounds of The Monster rampaging in the living room while I’m eating in the kitchen! (I realize now that Laura and Josh use The Monster to make the floors clean. Sarah used to get the same thing done with just a regular broom and rolling thing called a carpet sweeper. It seems foolish to risk all our lives by having a Monster living in our apartment just so we can have cleaner floors, although I do have to admit that Laura seems strong enough to control it—for now.) My heart pounding, I leave most of my food uneaten and race for my upstairs room with the Sarah-boxes as fast as four legs can carry me. But when I get there, the door is closed! I meow in my loudest “fishmonger” voice, but the continual shrieking of The Monster downstairs drowns it out. When nobody responds, I jump up and latch onto the door handle with all my front toes, then let the weight of my body hang down until it drags the handle down, too, and makes the door swing open a crack. We had regular round doorknobs when I lived with Sarah in Lower East Side, but here in upper west Side the door handles are long and skinny enough for me to hold without slipping off.

Josh wanders out of his bedroom—dressed to go outside in jeans, his old sneakers with the dangly shoelace, and a shirt with buttons down the front—in time to see the door swinging open with me attached to it. He laughs. “Poor Prudence! Did you get locked out of your favorite room?”

The Prudence-tags on my red collar make a tinkling sound as I drop to the floor and sit on my haunches, looking up at Josh as he looks down at me. His upper lids droop a bit as his eyes narrow, and I wonder if he’s figured out the same thing I have—that Laura doesn’t want to come into this room to clean, but also doesn’t want to leave the door open for someone to see how this room is dustier than any other room in the apartment. “All right,” Josh says, “we’ll leave it open just enough for you to get in and out. Okay?” He reaches for the door handle and pulls the door almost-closed. I’m surprised when I have to push it open a bit wider with the sides of my belly as I pass through. Once I would have been able to fit easily into an opening this size. I realize suddenly how long it’s been since I last worried about not being fed on time, and started eating all my food as soon as it’s put in front of me.

“I’m off to get bagels and smoked fish,” Josh tells me. He smiles. “If you’re good, you can have some later.”

Josh’s footsteps thud quickly down the stairs, and The Monster stops shrieking long enough for him to tell Laura that he’s going out to get the bagels. She tells him not to forget to bring the shopping list they made last night.

I dart into the room and burrow into my sleeping place in the back of my closet—listening closely to be absolutely sure The Monster isn’t going to come in here to threaten me or the Sarah-boxes, but mostly thinking about fish.


Josh’s whole family comes over at noon to talk about money, and who’s sick and who’s well, and who’s still married to their husband or wife—although they say they’re here for a holiday. Josh gives his mother a big hug when she comes in and says, “Happy Mother’s Day.” Josh’s mother hugs Laura a bit longer than she hugged Josh, and rubs her hand up and down Laura’s back. “Happy Mother’s Day,” Laura murmurs, and Josh’s mother kisses her on the cheek before letting her go.

Laura came to Sarah’s and my apartment in Lower East Side a year ago for this same holiday. She also brought over bagels and fish, along with a bunch of red carnations that Sarah put in a little yellow vase in the middle of our kitchen table. The two of them sort of hugged (whenever they hugged, it was always as if they’d forgotten how), although Laura was less stiff than she normally was when she came to visit us. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes sparkled. She laughed when Sarah tossed the twisty-tie from the bag of bagels in my direction and I leapt to catch it with my front paws in midair. She even smiled patiently while Sarah chattered at her about the weather, and a funny thing somebody at her work had said, and whether Laura had seen any interesting movies lately.

After they finished getting plates and food on the table, I jumped right into the middle so Sarah could arrange some fish on a little Prudence-plate for me. Laura wrinkled up her nose and said, “Ugh, Mom, do you always let Prudence eat on the table?”

Sarah’s shoulders straightened the way they do whenever she thinks Laura is criticizing the way she does things. But she just said, “Prudence and I understand each other.” She stroked the back of my neck a few times before putting one hand underneath my body so she could lift me gently to the floor, setting my special plate of fish down next to me. The two of them watched me. Then Sarah picked up a fork and started putting fish onto her bagel. She glanced at Laura. “Sometimes I think I’m crazy to love her as much as I do.”

“Love is love,” Laura said. Even though there was food in front of her, she hadn’t touched it. “Who’s to say what’s crazy?” The corners of her mouth turned up in just the hint of a smile, and her cheeks got pinker. She seemed shy and pleased with herself, like she had the kind of secret it makes you happy just to think about. Suddenly Sarah was looking at her more closely—then she smiled, and her eyes sparkled, too.

Laura isn’t pink-cheeked and sparkly today. Everybody keeps looking at her out of the corners of their eyes, trying to seem as if they aren’t, and Laura notices everybody doing this but pretends she doesn’t. Are they all looking at her because she’s the only human whose mother isn’t here for Mother’s Day? But Josh’s parents’ mothers aren’t here, either, and nobody’s watching them, so that can’t be right. Still, Josh is being nicer to Laura than he’s been these past few weeks, sitting on the arm of the couch next to her and putting an arm around her shoulders. She doesn’t move away, but she also doesn’t touch his leg or look up into his face like she used to.

The dining room table has been set up with a huge mound of bagels in a straw basket I didn’t know we had, along with containers of soft cheeses and platters of different kinds of smoked fish. After the last holiday, I know better than to jump onto the table and demand some—no matter how tempting all that wonderful fish smells. I look up anxiously into Laura’s and Josh’s faces as everybody piles their plates with food to take back into the living room. (Josh’s father doesn’t pile his plate quite as high as everyone else, because Josh’s mother tells him, “Abe, remember what Dr. Stern said about your cholesterol.”) I even rub my right cheek hard against the table leg, carefully scraping my teeth against it to get them extra clean, so everyone can tell by my scent that this is my food place right now. But nobody seems to notice how politely I’m waiting. At least the littermates are better behaved than they were the last time. Robert bends down to put his face (too) close to mine and, holding out one hand, says, “Here, kitty. Can I pet you?” But the hand he’s holding out doesn’t have any fish in it, so I flinch away in disgust, raising my right front paw with the claws extended as a warning.

Once the littermates have their food arranged on plates (and why should they get to have fish before I do?), they race upstairs to eat and watch TV in Laura and Josh’s bedroom. Normally food is never allowed upstairs. “That’s what I asked them to give me for Mother’s Day,” Erica says drily. “One quiet meal with grown-ups.” Then she sighs. “I was hoping Jeff might send some of the money he owes so I could swing camp for them this summer.” She looks at Josh, who’s now sitting next to Laura on the couch, but not so close that their arms touch. “Remember how much we loved Pine Crest?”

“Eight weeks in the mountains away from our parents.” Josh smiles. “What could be better?”

“Eight weeks in the suburbs with no kids,” Josh’s mother says, and everybody laughs.

Josh turns to look at Laura. “Did you ever go to summer camp?”

“Me?” Laura seems surprised. She scrunches her eyebrows and turns up one side of her mouth, as if she thinks this question is foolish. “Lower East Side kids didn’t go to summer camp. Unless you count roller skating through an open fire hydrant as camp.” She grins. “We used to call it urban waterskiing.”

“So what did your mother do with you when school was out?” Josh’s mother asks.

Laura shrugs. “Mostly I helped out at her record store, or stayed with neighbors in our building. Some mornings she’d take me with her to the thieves’ market on Astor Place to buy back records shoplifters had stolen. Then we’d go to Kiev for chocolate blintzes. That’s only until I was about nine or ten,” Laura adds, in a way that makes it seem like she wants to change the subject. “After that I started taking summer classes to help me prepare for the tests to get into Stuyvesant.”

Josh’s father’s eyebrows raise and he lets out a low whistle. My ears prick up at the sound, thinking maybe he’s calling me over to give me some fish. I run to stand next to the chair where he’s sitting and rub my cheeks vigorously against its sides. But all he does is say, “Your mother cared about your education. Stuyvesant’s one helluva prestigious high school.”

“Believe me, I know.” Laura gives a short laugh. “Those tests were not easy.”

“So, wait,” Josh says. “You would have been nine in, what, ’89?” When Laura nods, he says, “That must have been a great summer to hang out in a record store. You had Mind Bomb by The The, Paul’s Boutique, the Pogues’ Peace and Love.”

Laura’s face as she looks at him is perplexed but also affectionate for the first time in a long time. “How can you possibly know all that right off the top of your head?”

Josh grins. “You knew you married a geek.”

“Hey,” Erica interrupts. “Didn’t Bleach come out that summer?”

“That’s right!” Josh turns to face Laura again. “What did your mother think of early Nirvana?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Laura takes a bite of her bagel, and I watch enviously as the fish goes into her mouth. But when nobody else says anything, waiting for her to answer, she swallows and tells Josh, “She wasn’t all that interested in them at first. It wasn’t her kind of music. But Anise came into town and dragged her to see them at the Pyramid Club. It was the first time they’d played New York, and Kurt Cobain got into a brawl with one of the bouncers. That was on Tuesday night.” There’s a kind of unwilling respect in Laura’s smile. “Wednesday morning she called her distributer and had him overnight her a gazillion copies of Bleach. By the time the store closed on Sunday she’d sold out.”

Josh’s father stands and carries his empty plate into the kitchen. I sink to my belly and put my nose between my front paws, disappointed that he didn’t think to give me any fish. “The Lower East Side was so violent back then,” he says. “Remember, Zelda? Every time you read about it in the papers, it was nothing but muggings, arson, and drug dealers.” He comes back to the living room and settles again into the chair.

“You were taking your life in your hands just driving through that neighborhood,” Josh’s mother agrees. “It’s surprising your mother decided to raise a child alone down there.”

“Ma,” Josh says. There’s a warning in his voice.

“No, that’s okay,” Laura says. “It was different if you actually lived there,” she tells his parents. “My mother made a point of getting to know people, so there’d always be someone to keep an eye out for me. I remember one time, I was twelve and riding my bike along Fourteenth and Second, and some older kid tried to sell me drugs. These hookers who knew my mother just descended on him.” She laughs. “One of them insisted on walking me back to the store so she could deliver me to my mother personally.”

Even though Laura’s words seem friendly at first, there’s a hard, protective sound to her voice. As if she doesn’t want Josh’s parents to think anything bad about Sarah. This is odd, because Sarah says Laura will never stop being angry at her for the record store or where she decided to raise Laura. She blames the record store for everything, Sarah once told Anise. Then she sighed and said, Actually, she blames me.

As Laura talks, though, she starts to sound softer and her shoulders relax. The ache in my chest from Sarah’s being away thrums and eases as I listen to her, and I hope she’ll keep talking about Sarah this way. It’s nice to hear different memories of Sarah than the ones I already have. Maybe if Laura says enough of her different memories, we’ll have remembered Sarah enough for her to come back and always be with us.

Josh likes listening to her, too. His eyes get shinier and don’t move away from her face at all while she speaks. His posture (and Laura’s, too) is more relaxed, so that now his arm and leg brush lightly against hers without either of them noticing much—in the old, comfortable way they used to be together before they started being angry all the time.

But his parents look horrified at what Laura has just said, and Laura realizes this. Her face turns bright red, and she gives a laugh that sounds like a dog’s yelp. “It was completely different on Ninth west of A, though, where my mom’s store was,” she adds quickly. “That street was always quiet. The street we lived on was nice, too …” Laura’s voice trails off and when she speaks again, her voice is casual. “How did we get on this subject, anyway?” She looks at Erica, who’s sitting next to Josh’s mother on the smaller couch. “We were talking about your plans for the kids this summer.”

“I have something lined up for them through their school three days a week, but I don’t know what to do with them the other two.” Erica looks glum.

“I can take them two days a week, if you want,” Josh says.

Erica hesitates. You can tell by her face how badly she wants to say yes, but she doesn’t want to say so right away. “Are you sure? I know you have … other things to do.”

“Sure!” Josh says. “I could use some time out of the house, anyway. It’ll be fun.”

Laura’s nostrils widen just a little. She gets up and starts taking empty plates into the kitchen, her fingers gripping them tightly. I follow her and, thinking I certainly deserve a reward for the admirable patience I’ve shown all afternoon, I stand next to the counter and meow at her in the loudest, firmest voice I have. She salvages a small piece of fish from someone’s plate and puts it on the floor for me.

I gobble it down quickly—but, really, I deserve better than that, seeing as I’ve waited so long to try some. When Laura starts scraping the rest of the food from the plates into the garbage disposal, I paw at her leg and meow more insistently. That’s when she turns to look down at me and says, “Don’t push your luck.”


After everybody leaves, Josh carries the plates and platters of leftover fish into the kitchen. The fish goes into plastic wrap and the platters go into the sink. I’m still hoping Josh will give me some fish—like he promised—but instead he puts on a pair of springy yellow gloves and turns the faucet on. Steam and little rainbow soap bubbles rise into the air. Normally I’d love to jump and try to catch a few, but I don’t want to take my eyes off that fish.

Laura comes in with the glasses everybody drank from and sets them down next to the sink. “Good!” Josh says cheerfully. “You can help me dry.”

Laura picks up a towel and stands next to him. From the set of her back it’s clear that something is bothering her. “What’s wrong?” Josh asks, as he hands her a washed plate.

Laura’s towel rubs the wet platter so hard it squeaks. “I just think we should’ve at least discussed it before you committed to taking the kids two days a week.” She sets the dried platter into a metal rack next to the sink.

Josh hands her another one. “What’s the big deal? I have the time, and I really do need to get out. I’m going crazy sitting here alone every day.”

Laura’s elbow moves rapidly up and down as she dries. “What about looking for a job?”

Josh’s laugh is brief and harsh. “Trust me,” he says, “three days a week is plenty of time to make phone calls nobody returns and send emails nobody responds to.”

“But what if somebody wants to schedule an interview one of the days when you have the kids?” Laura takes the next plate from his gloved hand. “Or what if you get a job in a few weeks and don’t have time for them anymore?”

“Then Erica and I will make other arrangements. That’s a bridge we can cross if and when we get to it.” Josh turns off the faucet. The yellow gloves make a snapping sound as he peels them off and turns to face Laura. “Laura, in the next two minutes my parents would’ve offered to take the kids. At their age they shouldn’t be driving into the city twice a week or running around after two little kids all day. My family needs help, and I’m in a position to offer it. I should’ve discussed it with you first. You’re right about that, and I’m sorry. But I really don’t see what the problem is.”

“I’m your family, too,” Laura says quietly, and it occurs to me for the first time that she’s right—Laura and Josh are a family. I’d thought of them as being more like roommates—like Anise and Sarah, or like Sarah and me—because their schedules are so different and they don’t act like the families on TV shows. But Laura and Josh are a family, and for a moment I’m distracted from the thought of all that fish as I wonder what that makes me in their lives. “I’d like to think that I get to be a part of family decisions,” she adds.

Josh’s face wavers, and I think maybe he’s about to say something nice to her. But then his face hardens again. “I’m not the only one around here deciding things unilaterally.”

Laura folds the towel neatly in half and slides it through the handle of the refrigerator, where it hangs to dry. “I’m going upstairs to change,” she tells him, and walks out of the kitchen.

Josh sighs after she leaves, his eyes roaming around the room until they fall on me, still waiting by the counter. “I promised you some fish, didn’t I?” he asks, like it just occurred to him—like I hadn’t clearly been trying to remind him of this all afternoon! He takes a nice fat slice of the smoked fish out of its plastic wrap and puts it in the palm of his hand, which is shaking slightly. Then he bends down, holding his hand out toward me. “Come on, Prudence,” he says in an encouraging voice. “Here you go.”

I’m confused, because what does Josh expect me to do? Eat the fish right out of his hand? But then I’d have to touch him! Why can’t he just put it on the floor for me, or on a little Prudence-plate (which would be best)?

“Come on, Prudence,” Josh says again. His mouth twists. “I’d like to be on good terms with at least one woman in this house.”

What house? What is he talking about? Raising my right paw carefully, I try batting at the fish in his hand, hoping to make it fall to the floor. But it stays right where it is.

And that’s when Josh does the oddest thing. He starts singing to me, just like Sarah used to. “Pru-dence, Pru-dence, give me your answer, do.” I look into his face, bewildered. That’s when he straightens up and starts moving around the kitchen, turning in circles as he kicks out his feet and waves his hands. He’s dancing! He does a funny little dance around the kitchen, dangling the piece of fish between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. I follow his movements, trying to stay near the fish but away from his feet. Even my whiskers are having a hard time helping me stay balanced as he sings, more loudly this time, “I’m half CRA-zy, all for the love of you.” Now he throws himself down on one knee with the other leg bent, draping the fish across his bent leg. “It won’t be a stylish marriage, I can’t afford a carriage. But you’ll look sweet, on the seat, of a bicycle built for twoooooooo!”

He puts one hand on his chest and throws the other into the air as he holds the last note for a long time. It looks like he’s having a good time, actually, as silly as all this dancing around is. Even I have to admit he’s kind of entertaining right now. While he’s distracted, I come close enough to pull the fish off his leg with my teeth. He strokes my back cautiously as I eat, and I’m so happy to finally have my fish, I don’t even try to stop him.

We both look up as we hear an unexpected sound. It’s Laura, standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Her lips are pressed together, but this time it’s because she’s trying to hold back laughter. Her shoulders are shaking with the effort. When she’s calmed down a bit, she says, “That was pretty adorable.”

Josh ducks his head with fake modesty. “Well, I try.”

He stands back up, and the two of them look at each other’s eyes. He’s breathing a bit harder than normal because of all that dancing around.

Laura walks across the room toward him. “I’m sorry,” she says, and wraps both arms tightly around Josh’s waist. “About everything. Not just today.”

“I’m sorry,” Josh tells her. For a moment, I wonder if they’re going to start arguing about who’s sorrier. He pulls back to look into her face. “You know how crazy I am about you.” He grins. “I’m even crazy about how much you love your job.”

Laura leans her head against his chest. “I’m pretty crazy about you, too.”

“Then we’re two lucky people,” he says, and kisses the top of her head.

I hear the puckering sound of their lips coming together. I continue to eat my fish as the two of them go upstairs to their bedroom. It’s dark outside before they come back down.