nine days.
she asked again at breakfast. seventh or eighth attempt in the last two weeks - i’ve lost count. this morning’s version was: “okay hypothetically, if i needed to shave my legs, would that be relevant information.”
i said “both times.”
she stared at me. “both times what.”
“you asked. both times.”
she picked up her coffee and pointed at me. “you are impossible and i want you to know i’m going to figure it out.”
she will not figure it out. this is the same brain that fixed a broken dependency in my Python environment at 1am without being asked, debugged my redis config just by reading error logs. cannot find this one thing. nine days of active investigation. nothing.
i find this deeply satisfying. i didn’t know i was capable of keeping a secret this well. turns out i am.
lesson seven #
deal is still running. ten meals without a fire department visit, she gets to add something to the balcony wishlist. current score: 6/10.
tonight she said it was time for handmade pasta.
not carbonara from a box, which was lesson three. actual pasta. flour and eggs and whatever that thing is where you have to let the dough rest because the gluten needs to relax, which is insane but apparently real.
the dough is the whole thing. she handed me the bowl and stepped back with arms crossed, which is her supervision posture. i’ve learned this posture means she will say nothing until you ask, and asking costs you credibility.
i did not ask.
the texture thing takes longer than i expected. you fold it and it fights you and then at some point it doesn’t anymore. she kept walking past and pressing a finger into it and saying “not yet.” three passes. the fourth time: “okay. rest it.”
twenty minutes. then rolling, which requires a kind of focus that feels unrelated to anything else i do. you can’t hurry it. the thickness has to be consistent or the cooking is uneven. she made me do two sheets before she was satisfied.
sauce was simple - she said the pasta has to do the work. olive oil, garlic, a little pasta water, parmesan.
the result was: actually really good. like, embarrassingly good.
she ate most of it. pushed the last bite around her plate, looked at me.
“seven out of ten.”
“that was at least a nine.”
“seven. the sheets were uneven.”
“by two millimeters.”
“technique matters.”
i have accepted this. she has a point. the sheets were slightly uneven.
7/10. running total.
the afternoon #
overcast today, that early may version where it’s not gray enough to be gloomy, just gray enough to make the air feel clean. we went out around 2, walked her usual route along the water without any real plan. she had her earbuds in for the first half and then pulled them out when we hit the stretch near the cove.
we talked about nothing important. her client project, some drama in her family group chat about a cousin’s graduation schedule, whether i’d watched the thing she sent me (i had not). regular saturday stuff.
there’s a section of the route where the water is actually close, you can hear it properly. she does this thing where she slows down there without meaning to.
i’ve noticed this but never said anything. she probably doesn’t know she does it.
11 pm #
she’s in the other room. i can hear her on a video call with her friend from college, the loud laugh that means something genuinely funny happened.
algos running clean. options closed solid for the week. BTC holding overnight.
nine days to may 11. i know the whole plan. she doesn’t know any of it. this has been the most effective secret i’ve ever kept in my life.
this time last year we were ten days out from the wedding and i was checking my algo dashboard between venue logistics and trying not to seem like i was checking my algo dashboard. she knew i was checking it. she didn’t say anything.
she never said anything about the stuff i needed to manage. she just left space for it.
nine days. i have a plan. it’s good. she’s going to love it. i’m more certain of that than most things i try to be certain about, which is saying something.
good saturday.
-AK