The husband and wife opened their home in Chicago for a going-away party for a friend. The husband wasn’t a huge fan of parties, was maybe not as social as the wife, but was agreeable. The wife had party parameters, but she was a fan. She liked having people over. An ideal party was a group of close friends who all knew each other. If there was a backyard, or a grill going, all the better. She also enjoyed throwing a bigger party, but could get stressed about mixing different pockets of friends. In this case, she felt like the pressure was off, since it was more about offering the space than hosting. Snow began to fall as guests arrived, boots and jackets began to pile up by the door. Some guys arrived with instruments, a cello, a guitar. They set themselves up by one of the living room windows, started playing some kind of low-key jazz. The party was going. Giant flakes of snow fell behind the musicians; the wife scanned the room, people listening, talking, enjoying. It was a scene from a movie. It’s a thought she had often.
Look at this, hunny. Whose life is this.
Her husband put his arm around her. It’s our life.