HoneyBunch had been single and alone a tad longer than I had when we first met. His sons went off to college and only came home for short visits; two of mine had come back to live with me so I was rarely alone.
On the rare occasion I did not have to cook for five, I indulged in Pop Tarts and cheap bottles of wine for my dinner. HB talked about steaming broccoli in the microwave and wrapping it inside a cold corn tortilla. He talked about yogurt and hot cups of green tea for breakfast; I feasted on pancakes and mugs of coffee.
He could not go a day without tomatoes and salad for lunch. The only time I tolerate tomatoes are when they are tucked inside a hamburger. As for his broccoli tacos, I would have smothered them in cheese to help make them palatable.
We were culinary opposites, but we still fell in love with each other.
Once we settled into married life, I pulled out my calendar and sat him down one evening to discuss my hectic work schedule. I sometimes worked six days a week; sometimes I worked fifteen-hour days. He would have to fend for himself on those days, but I promised to make it up to him and cook for him on all the others. I would make sure he never ran out of his favorites, but there would be other things to eat as well. He would have lots of healthy and delicious options.
I outlawed microwaved broccoli in corn tortillas.
He sat there and blinked. After a few seconds, he smiled at me.
For the first time in almost thirty years, someone wanted to take care of him instead of expecting him to always care for them. When he said this to me, I mentioned that he was my corn tortilla. I felt safe wrapped in his love and care and wanted him to feel the same.
He asked if that made me his broccoli. As much as he LOVES the stuff, I am flattered.