After dinner tonight, Enzo helps me clear the table. He’s pretty good about doing stuff like that, or at least he’s gotten good about it after several snarky comments over the years. But now, he’s great. He brings all the plates and glasses into the kitchen without even being told.

“Another delicious dinner,” he declares as he drops a couple of plates into the dishwasher.

I look down at the plate in my hand. It’s Nico’s plate, and it’s hardly been touched. I didn’t feel like fielding any complaints tonight, so I went with the tried and true macaroni and cheese. It’s got his three favorite things: noodles, butter, and lots of cheese. And usually, he eats like a horse. Between him and Enzo, I’m lucky one of them doesn’t take a bite out of me.

“Is Nico okay?” I ask. “He didn’t eat his mac and cheese.” “Maybe he had big lunch?”

“Maybe ”

“Maybe he is sick of macaroni and cheese?” “Never.”

He grins at me. “Maybe he’s been eating Little Kiwi’s flies.”

That horrible praying mantis has molted again. I have discovered every time it molts, it gets a little bit bigger. And it’s already way too big, in my opinion. But Nico loves that insect. He asked to bring it to the dinner table last night after he came back from doing chores for the Lowells. That was a hard no.

I look down at the plate, resisting the urge to eat the leftover macaroni myself. I don’t need the calories though, especially since I’m now having health issues. Although I still don’t believe that I need to see a doctor. I looked it up, and automatic blood pressure cuffs are notoriously inaccurate.

“By the way,” I say. “When I was at work today, this nurse checked my blood pressure while I was all keyed up over something, and it was apparently really high. She was making such a big deal out of it.”

Enzo is usually sympathetic when I tell him stories about my day at work. But this time, he frowns at me. “Why is your blood pressure high?”

“I don’t know.” I scrape the mac and cheese into the garbage disposal and stick the plate in the dishwasher. “Hey, let’s get the dishes going.”

“But the dishwasher is not full.”

“Yes, but Martha is coming tomorrow, so I want to get these dishes washed and put away before she comes.”

He scratches his chin. “I do not understand. Why do we have to clean the dishes to get ready for the cleaning person? And before dinner, you were vacuuming.”

“I just want to make sure everything is clean for her.”

“But she is coming to clean!” He shakes his head. “Maybe this is why your blood pressure is high, yes?”

“Whatever,” I mumble. “It wasn’t that high.” “You said ‘really high.’”

“No, I said pretty high.” I try to push past him to get to the dishwasher. “Can we please get these dishes clean for tomorrow?”

Enzo reaches into the cabinet that contains the dishwasher detergent. He fills up the cup, then slams it closed and presses the button to start the cleaning cycle. When he’s done, he turns to look at me, his muscular arms folded across his chest. “Okay, now we do not have dishwasher excuse. We can talk about your blood pressure.”

“Oh God.” I roll my eyes. “Look, I wouldn’t have said anything if I thought you were going to make such a big thing about it.”

“Why wouldn’t I make a big thing about it?” he retorts. “You are my wife, and I want you to be healthy and live forever.”

“That’s sweet, I guess,” I admit. “But you’re making too big of a deal out of this. I was just stressed out, and that’s why my blood pressure was high.”

“Fine. Then you go to a doctor and get it checked out.” “But—”

“You never go to the doctor, Millie,” he points out. “Neither do you. And you’re even older than I am.”

He looks like he’s going to protest, but then his shoulders sag. “Fine.

We both go see doctors. Okay?”

Fine. Fine. Enzo is obviously going to nag me about this until I agree, so I’ll go to the doctor and let them check my blood pressure, but I’m sure it will all be fine.

“Also,” he says, “we should get life insurance policies for each other.” I don’t like the turn this conversation is taking. It’s bad enough I have to find a new doctor to see and make an appointment. “Life

insurance policies? I don’t know about that. Why would we get those?” “Why wouldn’t we?” He glances out the window, where we have a

spectacular view of the Lowells’ much larger house. “What if something happened to me? You would be alone with the children. You should have money.”

I close my eyes, not wanting to imagine the death of my husband. It’s almost unthinkable. “Okay, so take out a life insurance policy on yourself then.”

“And you should have one too.” “So you get a payoff if I die?”

He presses his lips together. “Millie, you know this is not for me. This is for our children. So they have a roof over their heads. You know we are barely able to pay the mortgage as it is.”

He’s not wrong. A lot of people with children have life insurance policies. Several years ago, we were talking about it, but we both got so upset at the idea of one of us dying that we never ended up getting them.

I’m not sure if my blood pressure is high or not right now, but it

feels high.

“I know this is a sad thing.” Enzo picks up my hand in his. “I would not want to ever lose you. But this is responsible.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“Also,” he adds, “Suzette recommended a very good insurance agent.

I could give him a call tomorrow.”

Oh. Suzette was behind this. Now it all makes sense.

“So for eleven years, you don’t think we need life insurance,” I say. “And Suzette says one word about it, and now we have to call this guy tomorrow?”

“Millie.” His face flushes slightly, although it’s hard to tell because of his olive skin tone. “I am trying to take care of my family, no matter what happens to me.”

“Fine. Okay!”

God, why is he making me feel like I’m the one being difficult? Life insurance is a big deal, isn’t it? I know it’s important, but I don’t want to rush into buying something, especially when we don’t have a lot of disposable income.

It’s not like I’m dying tomorrow, after all.