The storms we choose

The whisk rattled against the glass bowl, and frothed the batter into an airy pillow of chocolatey goodness. There was something so deliciously comforting about the random sounds of the kitchen. The ticking of the gas stove lighting, drawers being opened and closed, the soft sighs of his love as she rustled through utensils, quietly damning the last person to move the measuring cups - all of it were the noises of nurturing, while he was nestled into the embrace of his recliner.

His mom had always been up early on holiday mornings, baking, beating, braising the foods that would be on the banquet table later that evening. He roused gently: no alarms, no school, no reason to rise, no pressure- just the sleepiest dazy drowsy laziness that comes with the freedom of the schedule-less. Hearing his mom's frenzy in the kitchen while he bathed in the glory of his temporary freedoms reinforced the decadence of his leisure. Throughout the day, he would be forced to relax. His mom would wait on him hand and foot and do her best to create the foundation upon which every future woman would be measured. She hoped that his appreciation for her coddling would permanently set the same standards for the eventual wife that would take over her role.

Reaching his arms far beyond his head, he heard the pops and cracks of his spine announcing their new alignment. He toyed with the idea of creeping into the kitchen silently to sample other selections of sweets, but thoughts of a swatting spatula kept him reclined in his seat.

Their love was an easy one. She was addicting; her manner made it impossible to resist her, but she was a lot - . a lot of love, a lot of joy, a lot of laughter, a lot of passion and a lot of woman. While his mom had been understated and measured, his girl was excessive and unscripted. With his mom, less was more. With his lovely wife, more was more.

"Cake is going in the oven now, baby. You can make the coffee in 20 minutes and it will be timed perfectly," her sweet voice called from the kitchen.

In the beginning, he had been caught up in the whirlwind of her, and had been obsessed with possessing her. Like a moth to a flame, he was hypnotized into singeing his wings daily, nightly, and every time in between. He had to have her because he must, and he didn't dare to question whether he would be enough for her - he would be. He was a hard worker, a good provider, an amazing lover (or so he had been told) and he would appreciate all that she had to offer, until...he realized that there really was no end to her need for connection. What he gave would only satisfy the tip of her need. The obvious answer was to increase what he offered, except when he gave more, her never-ending abyss grew. The more he loved, the more she craved. His love became a fuel that turned her twister of love into a full blown category 5 tornado. He loved it all, but began resenting that it was never enough.

And she knew. She knew her flaws and acknowledged her vacuum of energy and promised that she would learn to reign it in and appreciate "normal, human levels of emotional give and take". And she truly believed it when she promised it, and worked so hard match his capabilities and find a manageable balance until... she craved and caved until she was a life-draining siren again - in the most loving and innocent way, of course.

He poured two piping cups of coffee into their favorite mugs, followed by a sinful amount of sugar and cream while she danced on tiptoes around the kitchen. She hummed her little siren song, while slathering the cake in drippy ganache, oblivious to the effect she was having on him. She finished off the last bit of icing with a swirl and licked drips of the frosting off her fingers. Looking up and locking eyes with her love, she misread his hunger for her as hunger for their midday treat.

Swirling the last chocolate-coated finger in her mouth, she giggled. "Good enough to eat?"

He adjusted his stance to be a bit more comfortable. "You have no idea."

"Then let's indulge!"

He followed her song to the table, where they ate and sipped, sipped and ate. Every bite was followed by an immediate moan of approval and appreciation from both of them. She was moments from licking the plate, as she always enjoyed everything to the last drop but he knew what was coming next and smiled in the anticipation of it.

"Mmmm mm mm! Want another?"

He burst out laughing. He knew it was coming and had been completely prepared for it, but she still could entertain him.

"Well, we could, or...or... I have another idea. We could have another slice tomorrow."

Bobbing her head in agreement, she considered this for less than a second. "Or. orrrrr... I have another idea! We could eat it all today."

He laughed harder, not because she was joking but because she was dead serious. "Don't you ever worry that one day you will have had so much chocolate cake that you'll get sick of it?"

Scrunching her nose, she thought for two seconds this time. "Nope, cuz there are more flavors to bake. By the time I get tired of them, I'll go back to chocolate."

He tapped the end of her nose playfully. "Ok but what about calories?"

She leaned up and bit his finger, still extended. "Calories, shmalories."

"Ok but what if you make all the cakes and we run out of money and there's no more electricity and we can't ever have cake again."

She paused for three seconds this time, and arched her eyebrow. "Are we really talking about cakes?"

Lifting his plate in her direction, he smiled and succumbed. "Fine. Another slice of your finest, please, madame."

"Yes sir, just one more coming right up! And that's all you get now, you see? One slice - and then the rest gets put away for tomorrow. We have to measure our desires, my love. Surely, you understand?"

He pursed his lips to prevent any snicker from coming through. He knew it wasn't exacly a lie. She did believe that this second slice would be the compromise they achieved. But when it was over, she would look at him with that grin and push just a bit more. And he would say no, and walk away. And she would be stung momentarily, but she would adjust. And tomorrow there would be more cake.