My Sunday mornings begin with waffles and the New York Times. I read the Week in Review and Sunday Magazine while Jack warms real maple syrup on the stove and mixes the batter. He pours orange juice for both of us and sets out the whipped cream. Sometimes he stops cooking for a moment to read over my shoulder or to love on me a little.

This time is ours. It’s time to catch up after a week of contrasting schedules. (He has a real job; I deliver pizzas.) It’s time for us to go beyond the day-to-day, “We need more milk,” “I’ll do laundry tonight,” utilitarian conversations. We let the news and the waffles help us recharge.

After breakfast, we sometimes go to a local coffee shop. There, with the hum of other people’s conversations and soft music setting the mood, I take in a hazelnut mocha (blended, no whip) and more of the newspaper. While drinking an iced coffee, Jack strikes up easy conversations with other patrons. He talks about home owners’ associations and national news events. He shares stories from his life and commentaries on local events. He makes friends and, occasionally, humors me as I read something aloud. He endures my fact checking questions (How can there be an odd number of twins?) and lowers the window shade or hands me his sunglasses when I start to squint.

We sit like that, reading and chatting and making fun of each other and enjoying our coffee and each other’s company until it’s almost time for me to go to work. At about 10:30, we rush home so I can throw on a green polo and black pants and grab tennis shoes. Then we head off to another day of opposite schedules.

But first I get my Sunday morning, with good food, good news and a good man.

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