There were no grand romantic gestures. We did not suddenly become the carefree teenagers we had once been.
Instead, we began learning how to live together.
I discovered that Anna liked the bedroom window open slightly at night, even in cold weather. She learned that I needed two cups of coffee before I could have a sensible conversation in the morning.
We disagreed about the television, the temperature of the house, and whether leftovers should be eaten the next day or thrown away.
Once, she reorganized the kitchen cupboards while I was out buying groceries.
When I returned, I spent ten minutes searching for the salt.
She stood in the doorway, trying not to laugh.
“You’ve been married to me for less than a week,” I told her. “And you’ve already made my own kitchen impossible to navigate.”
She laughed until she had to sit down.
It was an ordinary moment.
