I Tried to Surprise My Wife at Her Office—But the Security Guard Said He Sees “Her Husband” Every Day… Then the Doors Opened – Part 6

That makes me feel simultaneously better and worse. We climbed the four flights to our apartment, elevator still broken, naturally, and collapsed on our couch. Emma immediately stole my sweatshirt, even though she had approximately 40 of her own. I didn’t complain. This was what marriage was. Sharing sweatshirts, telling embarrassing stories at hypothetical future parties, and building a life together that included both catastrophic misunderstandings and children’s hospital wings.

My phone buzzed. A text from Marcus. Dinner next Friday. Julian’s cooking, which means I’m ordering backup pizza just in case. I showed Emma who laughed. Tell him yes, but request the pizza regardless. Julian’s cooking is ambitious at best. You’ve had his cooking once. He tried to make Coco Van and somehow both undercooked and overcooked it.

I didn’t know that was possible. That’s actually impressive. It’s something. I replied to Marcus with a yes and a pizza emoji, then tossed my phone aside. You know what’s weird? I said everything about our lives. Well, yes, but specifically I’m kind of glad all this happened. The paranoia, the stalking, all of it.

Emma raised an eyebrow. You’re glad you convinced yourself I was having an affair. Not glad about that part. But if it hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have really understood what you do. I wouldn’t have gotten involved with the hospital project. I wouldn’t have met Marcus and actually become friends with Julian.

I’d still be sitting at home in my pajamas, living completely separate from your world. And now, now I’m sitting at home in my pajamas. But at least I understand your world, and I’m part of it in my own weird way. She cuddled closer. I like having you in my world. Even though I’m still wearing taco pajamas, especially because you’re wearing taco pajamas.

Never change, Noah. Not even if Julian offers to take me shopping, he will offer. Marcus has probably already suggested it and I should say whatever you want. But for the record, I love you exactly as you are. Questionable fashion sense and all. We stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other in our small apartment with its broken elevator and its character, watching the city lights flicker on as evening settled in.

My phone buzzed again. This time it was Julian. Marcus tells me you said yes to dinner. Just so you know, I’m actually a competent cook. That Coco Van incident was an anomaly. Emma’s propaganda campaign against my culinary skills is unfounded and borders on defamation. Then Marcus, he’s already panicking about the menu. I’ve ordered pizza.

See you Friday. Then Tyler’s mom, Victoria. Tyler wanted me to tell you he’s building a Lego hospital now. You’re responsible for this obsession. Then a photo from Julian. Him and Marcus on their couch. Both Pomeranians asleep on their laps. Marcus making a ridiculous face while Julian looked exasperated but fond.

Emma looked over my shoulder reading the messages. We have weird friends, the best kind. And I agreed. And somewhere in the city, at a hospital wing that bore our name, kids like Tyler were getting treatment and care and maybe building Lego spaceships with draw bridges. And somewhere in a corner office, a security guard was going home to his daughter who was in remission.

Grateful for a facility that gave her the best chance. And here in our small apartment with its character and its broken elevator and its view of the city lights, Emma and I were exactly where we needed to be together. Even if I was wearing taco pajamas, especially because I was wearing taco pajamas.