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sterling tings each time I drop silverware into the organizer. I have to squint to make sure each one goes in the right slot. Finn’s making a lot of noise trying to get all the pans to fit.
    “By any chance, was your kitchen in Connecticut a little bigger?” I ask.
    “What gave it away?” He sighs, pulling out a solid black pan. “What the hell is this thing? Can I get rid of it?”
    “Cast iron skillet,” I say. “Why on Earth do you own it if you don’t know what it’s for?”
    He does a bicep curl and sets it on the counter. “Hell, I don’t even need a gym membership while I have one of these.”
    “Skillets make frittatas, not muscles.” I say muscles flirtatiously. It’s a good word for that.
    “A fri-whatta?”
    I squeeze my eyes shut as I laugh. His furrowed brow alone has me doubling over.
    “I’m serious,” he says.
    “I know.” I gasp for breath. “That’s why it’s so funny.” I point behind me, into the other room. “There’s a box that says donate if you want to put it in there.”
    He glances over but leaves the skillet where it is. “Thanks, but since you interrupted my workout, I think I’ll squeeze in a few reps as we go.”
    I smile, and in the silence that follows, I think about Finn’s arms. How they might feel around a woman. How they might feel around me. It’s nice to be held. I wish Nathan would knock on the door. Drag me home. Put his own arms around me. Make love to me. Remembering his vows has made me feel warm inside, fuzzy. And maybe even a little guilty? Which is odd for me. I’ve never been a big believer in guilt or regret.
    I remember a recent discussion Nathan and I had over the summer. A friend of mine admitted over drinks to having second thoughts about her fiancé. I came home, turned on a bedside lamp, and told Nathan.
    “Will she marry him anyway?” he asked.
    “I think so. Out of guilt if nothing else.”
    “You wouldn’t have gone through with our wedding if you’d had any doubts,” Nate stated.
    I agreed. “And I hope you wouldn’t have either.”
    “Probably not. I have no way of knowing, though. I never had any.” He sat up against the headboard, his eyes sleepy but engaged. “But she’s staying with her fiancé out of guilt and nothing more. How sick is that?” he asked. “Imagine if no one felt guilt. We’d be free of our own demons.”
    “Without guilt, there’d be no remorse,” I said. “Sure, we’d all be happier if we could forgive ourselves for this or that. But imagine the world we’d live in if people had no reason to think twice about how they treated others.”
    “All right, but hypothetically speaking—if we could learn as a society to deal with our guilt in a healthier manner, we’d function better. Don’t you think?”
    “Give me an example.”
    He thought a moment. “Take your friend. If she didn’t feel guilty about calling off the wedding the week before the ceremony, she’d save herself a lot of misery. Yeah, it would suck. People have flights and hotel reservations and both parties have put a lot of money into it. But now, what’ll happen is—they’ll get back from their honeymoon, and reality will settle in. Maybe they won’t realize it at first. Maybe they even have a kid or two. Ten years down the line, they’re divorcing, tearing the family apart, fighting each other tooth and nail, taking years off their lives from the stress.”
    I nodded along with everything he said. Nathan’s not only smart, but emotionally intelligent. I love that about him. “Or stay together and set a bad example for the kids,” I said, thinking of my own parents. “But I think what you’re talking about is shame. She’d be ashamed to call it off because of how it would look and what it would cost everyone. She wouldn’t necessarily be remorseful.”
    “What about you?” he asked. “You claim that you never feel guilty.”
    I waggled my eyebrows at him. “And imagine if the rest of the population were like