We had a fight. Like most fights, it ended about something different than what it began with. Like most fights, I couldn’t tell you what it was about even if I did want to broadcast it to the world.
It concluded with me in the bedroom, resting and wiping away tears. He left for the kitchen to check on a pan of black beans he was soaking. The beans had nothing to do with our fight, that much I do remember. They were there because John has been asked fitness advice from enough people that he feels obligated to keep up a certain persona. Apparently, this persona now includes soaking our own beans instead of just buying them ready to eat. (If any one is interested, I am currently taking bets on how long this will last…)
I heard him piddling around the kitchen and hoped — prayed — he was attempting to salvage the evening. Men are dense and often mine seems the most clueless of all. But I have made him watch enough romantic comedies for him to know the proper handling (and narrow window) of a post-argument comeback.
I didn’t wait and wonder very long. Eventually my impatience — which ironically did come up in our fight — got the better of me. I walked into the kitchen but to my appalling surprise he was just chopping carrots.
“I’m thinking of adding them to the beans. Do you think that’s a good idea?” he asked innocently.
I couldn’t believe it. I braced myself for some ridiculous explanation on vitamins leveling a woman’s emotions. I almost began a second argument. I’m proud that I did not snap, but will admit my reply still consisted of the words, “I don’t care.”
Then he opened the freezer, where a bowl of instant chocolate pudding was cooling. I laughed with relief, grateful that my husband truly did understand that carrots are not apology food.
We ate before it was quite ready, but that’s okay. Slightly runny chocolate pudding is the food of forgiveness.