My Healthy obsession

The conversation

The walk home gave me enough time to think about the conversation I was about to have. I had gone over the words so many times that they no longer sounded like mine. This meant a lot to me more than I cared to admit, but if tonight wasn’t the right time to talk about it, I’d wait. Some conversations deserved the right moment.

The knot in my stomach hadn’t loosened by the time I got home. I took in a deep breath and slipped my key into the lock. Stepping inside, I quietly shut the door behind me, before bending to slip off my shoes. I placed them neatly on the shoe rack by the entrance. 'Was he home?' I thought to myself while making my way to the living room.

“I’m home.”

“I’m in the living room,” his voice carried through the house, warm, soothing, and familiar. a small smile tugged at my lips.

my comfort place.

I picked up my handbag and made my way to the living room. He was stretched out on the couch with the television playing softly in the background. He looked up the moment I stepped into the room.

“Hey, babe.” I leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Hey, beautiful.” The corner of his mouth lifted into a faint smile. His reached for my hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze before letting go.

“How was work?”

"It was okay." I shifted the strap of my handbag higher on my shoulder. " busy enough to keep me on my feet all day."

"And yours?"

“The usual.” He reached for the remote and lowered the volume of the television before leaning back against the couch.

"So...did you work from home today?" I asked leaning against the couch beside him.

“For the most part. Went out to hang out with the guys for a couple of hours, then came back.”

“Okay.” My gaze drifted to the television. A sitcom was on, filling the room with laughter.

“I don’t think I’ve seen this one before.”

“You haven’t.”

“Worth watching?”

“It’s alright.”

I hummed in acknowledgment.

“I’ll go change and make dinner.”

“Okay.”

I headed upstairs, hung my handbag on the hook behind the bedroom door, and changed out of my work clothes into an oversized T-shirt and a pair of shorts. After tying my braids into a loose bun, I made my way downstairs.

Cooking had always been the easiest way to quiet my thoughts. But not tonight. Even with the familiar smell of spices filling the air, tonight was different.

Every few minutes, my thoughts wandered back to the conversation I wanted to have. After dinner, I decided. We’d both be more relaxed then.

By the time I had finished cooking, he was no longer in the living room. I didn't have to check to know where he'd gone. He was probably upstairs.

After dishing the food and setting the table, I headed upstairs to call him. The bedroom door was slightly ajar. I gave it a light knock before peeking inside.

“Dinner’s ready.”

He looked up from the laptop resting on his thighs. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

I nodded before making my way back downstairs. A minute later, he joined me at the table. We ate in comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional clink of cutlery against our plates. When he finished, he took a sip of his water and stood from the chair.

“Thanks for dinner.”

“You’re welcome.”

He headed upstairs to our bedroom, while I lingered at the table for another minute before gathering the dishes.

It didn’t take long to clean up. After putting the last dish away, I headed upstairs for a quick cold shower.

The cold water did nothing to quiet the thoughts crowding my mind.

Once I was done, I slipped into a satin camisole and matching shorts before making my way to the bedroom.

He was sitting against the headboard, his attention solely fixed on his laptop. I slipped beneath the covers beside him. Without taking his eyes off the screen, he lifted one arm in silent invitation. I shifted closer, resting my head against his chest. His arm settled around me comfortably while his free hand began tracing slow circles across my back.

“Can I talk to you about something?”

“Mhm.”

I rested a hand against his stomach, absentmindedly tracing slow circles of my own over the fabric of his T-shirt.

“I’ve been thinking about culinary school.” His fingers continued their lazy circles across my back.

“To improve my baking and cooking… and maybe take it professionally.” This time, his hand stilled.

“Culinary school?”

I nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while.” He was quiet for a moment before speaking again.

“I thought we agreed baking and cooking was something you enjoyed.”

“It is."

" then why does it have to become more than that?"

I frowned.

"what do you mean?"

"you bake already."

I know, but-"

"you don't need a school to keep doing something you love." His voice remained calm, almost patient.

“If baking and cooking helps you relax, then bake. Try new recipes. Fill the kitchen with cupcakes and all the homemade pasta you want if that’s what makes you happy.” His hand moved from my back to the nape of my neck, stroking it gently once… then again. It was brief, familiar and comforting. Then it returned to rest against my back and I missed the comfort it brought me.

“But turning it into a career…” He continued, letting the sentence linger between us before giving a small shake of his head.

“I just don’t see the point.” The words landed harder than I'd expected.

“I just thought if I learned professionally—”

“Ellie.”

I closed my mouth. Whatever argument I'd been about to make suddenly didn't feel as convincing anymore.

“We’re already saving for you to go back and finish your degree next year.”

I nodded.

“You know money’s tight.”

Another nod.

“So why stretch ourselves even thinner over something that started as a hobby?”

"I could pick up extra shifts. Save for it myself."

"why put that pressure on yourself?"

"Because it's important to me."

"so is finishing your degree."

"I know, but-"

"Finish school first," he murmured. " then we'll see."

I let out a slow breath. For a moment, I said nothing.

“…You’re right,” I finally said.

“One thing at a time.” He replied. His hand resumed its slow circles across my back. His tone wasn't harsh, wasn't angry. If anything, it sounded reasonable. Maybe he was right and I was asking for much at once.

A few minutes later, he closed his laptop and set it on the nightstand before easing down onto the bed. I lifted my head long enough to give him room, then settled against his chest again as he slipped an arm around me.

I shifted with him, resting my head against his chest once more.

His breathing gradually settled into a slow, steady rhythm. Mine didn’t. I lay awake staring into the darkness, replaying every word of our conversation. Had i been selfish? Unrealistic? Or simply just wanted something that mattered to me? Ugh... I wasn't sure anymore. My eyes grew heavy, and Somewhere between doubt and sleep, I drifted off.