There, Outside

I come home with groceries. My hands are full. Darren, there, outside, watering the azaleas. He looks at me and smiles. What's for dinner? You'll have to wait and see. He laughs. Waiting, seeing, you might say that sums us up.

I go inside. Kitchen light is on. A note on the cutting board counter: I love you. I peel it off and take it out. What's this for? It's for you. Why not tell me outside? I didn't want to forget.

I get dinner ready. Stuffed pork chops, green salad, crusty bread to sop up all the good stuff. He comes in later, after the gardening and the bathroom and the crossword. What's the occasion? I love you. Is that all? I didn't want to forget.

After dinner we read, we sip tea, the college game is on mute. In the background, the soft and soapy working of the dishwasher. It gets dark outside. Kitchen light is on.