“Oh, this one.” She points to a Greek chicken recipe. “With lemon and oregano. That sounds amazing.”
I grimace at the mention of more chicken but tell her, “Save it. We'll make it this week.”
“And this shakshuka for breakfast. Have you ever had it?”
“No, but it looks good.”
She's practically bouncing with excitement now, and I love seeing her like this. Animated and engaged, talking about cumin and harissa like they're the most important things in the world.
“You really like this,” I observe. “Cooking. Taking care of people.”
“I guess I do.” She looks almost surprised by the realization. “I never really thought about it as something I was good at. It was just... something I did.”
“You're very good at it.” I tug her closer until she's tucked against my side. “You're taking care of me, and I'm actually getting better. That's not nothing.”
Pink fills her cheeks. “You're doing the work. I'm just helping.”
“You're doing more than helping.” I press a kiss to the top of her head. “You're giving me a reason to do the work.”
We sit like that for a while, comfortable and quiet, the laptop forgotten. Her hand rests on my chest, right over my heart, and I think about how two weeks ago that heart was failing.
Now it's healing.
Because of her.
***
I wake up and am shocked to see it’s after seven. This never happens. Lying there, I take stock of myself. I'm not anxious or stressed. I don’t have the gloom of the upcoming day hanging over me. Instead, I’m… excited.
Excited to see Jennifer. Looking forward to our morning walk, and cooking breakfast together and arguing about whether quinoa actually tastes good or if people just pretend it does. I’m not the biggest fan but I tolerate it.
This is what living feels like, I realize. Not existing, not grinding through obligations, but actually living.
I take my morning meds, check my blood pressure (128/82 - the best yet), and I'm making coffee when I hear her car on the gravel.
I meet her at the door with her cup already prepared. Cream, no sugar.
“Good morning,” I say, and I can hear the smile in my own voice.
“Good morning.” She takes the coffee, goes up on her toes, and kisses me. Just a soft press of lips, casual and sweet. Like we do this every day.
Like this is normal.
And maybe it is becoming normal. This new life I'm building, where health and happiness matter more than quarterly earnings.
“Ready for the walk?” she asks.
“Always.”
We take the trail at our usual pace, and I tell her about the email I sent to my board last night. How I declined the in-person meeting and offered to video conference instead. I skim over how venomously they pushed back but take satisfaction in telling her how they ultimately agreed.
“How do you feel about it?” she asks.
I consider that before answering. “Nervous, relieved, and oddly proud of myself.”
“That’s not odd at all. You stood up for yourself. That's huge.”
I snake my arm around her waist and tug her closer. “I'm learning from a very stubborn woman who steals my phone when I'm being an idiot.”
