The Things He Brought.

He brought his food processor to her apartment two months after they started dating. The food processor made her happy. It was a kitchen item she had always needed, always wanted, and this one came to her, for free. He carried it up the stairs with a strong forearm. She liked that he shared his things. He was such a good boy.

Chopping, shredding, and mixing: verbs of her past now, and this certainly was no blender. Interchangeable blades! No liquid necessary! For a while she felt married. Married to this versatile appliance that could do anything to her food, whether she liked it or not. She carried home fruit, just fruit, in brown paper bags - two arms wrapped around the ones she'd always admired but never bought, like mangoes and melons, pineapples and papaya, starfruit and guava - concocting morning juice blends and then keeping them cold in glass pitchers to marvel at its color. Threw wooden spoons in there for effect. Sipping from small cups, saying "Ahhh" to the walls. Soon enough she was real comfortable. She began grinding her meats. Beating her farm eggs. Slapping around cake batter like she was born to do it.

He brought his rice cooker to her apartment four months after they started dating. The rice cooker made her happy. It was a kitchen appliance she always needed, always wanted, and this one came to her, for free. He carried it up the stairs with a strong forearm. She liked that he shared his things. He was such a good boy.

Watching the stove, making sure the rice did not stick, did not burn, and all the rules she'd heard over the years, like "never stir" and "boil the water first." She threw it out the window. Rice cooker, yo! Never pay attention again. A whopping 95% of Japanese kitchens use them, did she know that? One day she even made a beef stew in her rice cooker. She set it to "warm" and it cooked at 150 degrees Fahrenheit. Thank you to the cookbook he carried in his other hand devoted entirely to dishes prepared in a rice cooker. When the rice was done the cooker would beep like Beep! Smiling through exciting Mets innings on TV. Strike him out, take your time, rice is ready.

He brought his snow cone maker to her apartment six months after they started dating. The snow cone maker made her happy. It was a kitchen appliance she always needed, always wanted, and this one came to her, for free. He carried it up the stairs with a strong forearm. She liked that he shared his things. He was such a good boy.

"Snow cone maker!" she screamed in his ears. "These exist? Like, they make these in real life?" Yes. They sure did. This was no 1979 Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine where one stupid ice cube magically transformed into some Kool-Aid dessert. Oh, no. This was the real thing. Red and retro with a stainless steel blade. No assembly required and scratch resistant. Slushies 24/7 from now on. That was the rule. Bad day? Slushie time. PMS? Have a slushie. Can't sleep? A slushie is like a glass of warm milk. She promised.

He brought himself over to her apartment eight months after they started dating. He made her happy. He was someone she always needed, always wanted, and this one came to her, for free. He carried himself up the stairs, his strong arms swinging. She liked that he shared his things. He was such a good boy.