Just Love and Tuna

John and I text each other during the workday. Sometimes it is about practical matters, “Home at 6” or “Buying milk and The New York Times.” Other times we’re romantic, “Thank you Sexy Man!” And then there are also the texts triggered by a wave of cancer fear like, “Don’t die today.” And “Please stay alive; I need you.”

A couple of weeks ago one day’s messages led to a single phrase that has begun to feel like a new title for our story. We had texted during the day about plans and timing; my estimated arrival time home was shifting with each new work responsibility that landed on my desk. I kept texting to say I’d be later and later, and would we have dinner, I wasn’t sure etc. And John finally texted, “I’ll be waiting for you at home with just love and tuna.”

“Just love and tuna” seemed to summarize who we are as a couple. Prosaic—tuna from a can and whole-wheat toast, accompanied by enormous amounts of love, accented with yummy sex. That has been our formula or recipe from our earliest days, even before sex was on the menu. We were book nerds and writing geeks and had a loving friendship filled with appreciation and humor. I love that John loved my writing long before he met me, and he loved that I “got” him from the very first time we sat down over coffee.

“Just love and tuna.” That simple and that rich.