That morning they woke up to a wet floor beneath a leaking roof. The dripping water had been weakening the ceiling’s drywall for some time and now had broken through bringing its stream, along with pieces of gypsum and paper, onto the floor. The rain was still falling outside and now inside.

As soon as they noticed the puddle, him by slipping in it, her by watching him slip, they snapped into action.

“I’ll grab some towels,” she initiated.

“I’ll get a bucket.

Soon, she had sopped up the moisture and laid fresh towels where the drip still dropped. He had cleaned up the bits of ceiling from the area and placed a bucket to catch the continuing shower. This wasn’t something they had ever dealt with before. There wasn’t some procedure that they had in place for moments like this. Without following any protocol, they moved as if choreographed, each taking a role and performing it perfectly. After the job was done, he sat down at the kitchen table and marveled at such a wonderful display of togetherness, intimacy.

She sat on a chair near him and took his hand. Still looking at the drops as they fell she said, “I guess we’re going to have to get this leak fixed”.

He quietly hummed an affirmative response. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to get it fixed. The water wouldn’t damage the ceramic tile and he loved what had just happened. He wouldn’t mind more and more of the ceiling falling down if he was able to observe this wonderful display of couplehood again and again.

He imagined the roof being ripped from the rest of the structure in a terrible, magnificent storm. He loved the idea of them facing the onslaught of the elements together, naked, unprotected. How better to prove and showcase how in tune they were? What better a way was there to strengthen their relationship?

He would create a shelter in their living room with doors he ripped off their hinges and a shower curtain. She would drag their mattress into the small space and grab some crackers. He’d shut off the electricity as a precaution and make sure they had flashlights if they needed them. Between the two of them, all their needs would be met and they would wait, hiding, wrapped up in each other in the dark, warm, homemade cave under a torrential downpour.

But she wanted to fix it. Her first impulse was to have it all repaired so it wouldn’t bother them again. Was it too much pressure for her? Did she think it was too much pressure for them? Would the constant struggle to clean up after the spill tear them apart? Couldn’t their love withstand such trials? He worried she didn’t think they were strong enough. It scared him to imagine her in their door fort, her becoming increasingly insecure about whether or not they would make it through and come out hand in hand at the other end of the storm. How could he hold her and feel warm with her when she had such little faith? How was there even a beat in the heart of their love when she couldn’t trust it to carry them through a gale?

She noticed he was looking at the bucket sadly. He felt each drop as if it was draining from him.

“It’s not a big deal, sweetie. I’m sure it’ll be easy to fix.” She tousled the hair at the back of his head.

He gave her his most convincing smile, but it was weak.

Still, he knew inside himself that he was wrong. He shouldn’t need a leaking roof or natural disaster to prove their love. He shouldn’t rely on devastation to hold them together. Was there nothing he could see that displayed their compatibility? And couldn’t people completely lacking in love still come together in difficult moments to work as a team?

“Maybe we could fix it together?” he suggested.

“I don’t know about that, hunny,” she said, getting up from the table. “I wouldn’t want to make it worse.”

Make it worse?! His head started spinning.