As I lay in bed the other night tossing and turning, I finally rolled onto my stomach and looked out the window. I sighed and announced to Seth, as though he couldn’t already tell, that I was wide awake.
“I can’t sleep,” I said in the darkness of our room.
“Why?” he said. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. I think I’m hungry.”
It was 10:30 p.m. and we had eaten dinner a few hours before but lying there I couldn’t stop wondering if the hamburger we’d had leftover from the night before was still in the fridge.
“Do you want something to eat really?” he said.
“Is that hamburger from last night still in the fridge or did you take it for lunch?”
“It’s still there with potatoes. Do you want it?”
“I don’t want to get up,” I said even though I knew I wasn’t going to sleep until I ate something.
“If you are hungry, you should eat. Do you want me to go get it?”
I lay there silent.
“Well?” he said.
I did want the hamburger and I did not want to get out of bed and this man, my man, was offering to go downstairs in the dark chill to heat it up and bring it to me. In that moment I decided I could probably live with the guilt that might come with saying yes.