Page 25 of What About Now

“Oh, I can handle dinner.”

“Brogan, this is a partnership. I don’t expect you to do all the cooking and cleaning. Just go relax and we’ll figure it out together. You’re not my maid. You’re my wife.”

“Together.” She nods and leaves the room.

I get busy unpacking the first two boxes when she appears with another in her arms. “I’m helping so shush it,” she says, before I can tell her she doesn’t need to help me. It’s not because I don’t want her in here with me or that I have anything to hide. I don’t want her to think that she has to help me.

“How was the rest of your day?” I ask, as we work to fold and hang up clothes.

“Good. I came home and did some cleaning, as you know, and had only been sitting for maybe ten minutes when you got here.”

“You went through your clothes fast.”

“Yeah, it’s easy. If I have not worn it in ages, and have no desire to, it went to the donate pile.”

I hold up a shirt that fits that description perfectly. “Where is this donate pile?” I ask, wadding up the shirt.

She points to the corner of the room where three large clothes baskets sit filled to the brim. I toss my shirt into one of the baskets and keep working. Together, we make quick work of getting me moved in, and the donate pile grows by another full basket.

“Thank you,” I say, pulling her into my arms, and hugging her tightly. “Now, let’s eat. I’ve worked up an appetite.” Releasing her from my hold, I lace my fingers with hers and lead us to the kitchen. “What sounds good to you?” I ask her.

“Honestly, tuna casserole. I’ve been craving it. Do you eat tuna?”

“Yep. I’m not a picky eater. I’ve never made it, so tell me what I need to do.”

“I can make it.”

“You can, and we can also make it together. Teach me your ways.” I bow to her, making her laugh.

“Okay, I’ll grab the ingredients. We need a baking dish and a mixing bowl. Both are in those cabinets.” She points to the lower cabinets next to the stove as she makes her way to the other side of the kitchen to grab the ingredients.

“What now?”

“Well, we open and drain the tuna, which is the worst part, but this is so good.”

“I can handle that.” I grab the two cans of tuna and get to work.

“Now dump them in the bowl, and I usually rinse the can out with soapy water so it’s not stinking up the entire house for days.”

“Good thinking.” I do as she suggests, and then toss the cans. She’s already got a mixture of the rest of the ingredients going into the bowl.

“What now?”

She instructs me, and we work in tandem to make dinner. “How long should I set the timer for?” I ask, sliding the casserole dish into the oven.

“Twenty minutes.”

“Great. I’ll wash up these dishes while it cooks. Go finish your movie.”

“Maddox”—she shakes her head—“it was one I’ve seen before.”

“Fine, pick one out for us to watch after dinner.”

“You want to watch a movie with me?”

“I do.”

“And you’re letting me choose?”

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