I sit at my desk researching cocktails and food to make for our housewarming party while Matthew scrubs away on the new couch behind me, removing the ink stains I somehow left earlier when I was writing in my journal. He uses a homemade concoction of hairspray, a rag, and a vegetable scrub brush; it works. A few minutes later I'm dancing backwards from the kitchen to my office and he grabs my arm to keep me from sticking my foot into Patsy's water bowl.
"I'm Jessica," he says, "and I break everything!"
"I do not break everything," I reply. "I just mess it up."
And it gets fixed. By someone (usually him).