13. Love is in the details
Note: I figured I needed to alternate the dangerously heart-achy objective posts with either a bit of humor or just good ol' takes on love. The mood struck, a rarity.
Last Sunday I made a food run with my dad to a Mexican restaurant. I bought him a burrito. Before we even got home he said:
“Ohh. I forgot, your mom's probably not gonna eat this, there’s pico de gallo in it.”
I always assume my mother is not hungry. She feeds herself at odd ass times of the day and only consumes the blandest forms of sustenance ever. When I purchase food or when we eat out at restaurants she usually just eats off my dad’s plate. It didn’t occur to me that she might eat some of that burrito, nor was I aware that she has a personal aversion to pico de gallo—but my dad knew.
My parents aren’t very affectionate with each other. Their preferred method of exchanging tokens of love are trading playful verbal shots at each other, with extra sarcasm (gee, I wonder where I got that from). However once I saw them hold hands while walking down the street. Once.
They don’t shower each other other with gifts. They don’t openly publicize cheesy couple stuff on social media, my dad doesn't have any accounts. My parents are low-key and they always stay in their own lane. Their love shines brightest when you catch them both laughing when one of them roasts the other good—at least I think so.
When planning a vacation my dad sources out the nearest Chinese or Japanese restaurant to their hotel. They’ve been to more countries in Europe than myself, and they’ve eaten Chinese food because my dad is fully aware that my mom doesn’t feel like she’s had a proper meal unless she consumes rice.
I’m not so much impressed that my dad compromises on eating amazing food while traveling abroad—it’s that he’s cognizant of the fact he has to book a hotel thats within proximity to jasmine rice, almost every time. Sure, you can interpret this as a husband’s adaptations to his wife’s predispositions—but it’s more than that.
I’ve watched my mom predict my dad my whole life. I’ve seen her take mental notes of my father’s favorites, preferences and dislikes for as long as I can remember. After all these years they have a sort of silent rhythm together, this beautiful cadence that has developed over time.
It might sound mundane, boring even…. nah. No way.
Love has this odd way of making you subconsciously listen, even when the object of you affection isn’t necessarily speaking. You might watch them get ready in the morning, while they put on make-up or shave, or note that when they undress they cross their arms while they pull a shirt over their head, or maybe you've noticed that they've ordered a cobb salad 3x in your presence so they're probably partial to them. Little things. Minute pieces of information too small to admit you pay that much attention.
Yeah, love can be grand, elaborate and obvious, but it can also be in the minuscule details.