How to say "I love you"

At first, it sounds like this:

It's an October evening and he and I are making up after a new-relationship quarrel over something both trivial and earth-shattering.

And I say: "You know, you make my heart say things that I don't want it to say."

"What is your heart saying?" he asks coyly.

I pause and consider for a moment whether I should open this emotional floodgate, swinging it wide for every ounce of vulnerability to come tumbling out. I give in.

"I think it says: I love you."

He laughs a little at his success in setting me up, then pulls me into his arms.

"I love you, too."

I bury my face in his shoulder, my smile squeezing out a jubilant tear onto his shirt sleeve.

Then I laugh, too.

"I can't believe you tricked me into saying it first."

A decade later, it sounds like this:

All three of our children are tucked away and slumbering at last and I'm preparing an evening snack for the two of us.

I holler from the kitchen down to the TV room: "I think this is the last day for the pie. Are you sure you don't want a slice?"

"No, that's OK, you can have the rest."

I happily and unashamedly scoop the last pile of apples and buttery pastry onto my dish and carry it to my post next to him on the couch.

He presses buttons on the remote to set up our movie.

I pierce a forkful of apples and say to him: "You know, whenever you bake a pie it seems like you eat one slice and then I end up eating the rest. Do you even like pie?"

"Pie is OK."

I feel at once surprised, appalled and glutinous.

"But you always get so excited about baking them."

"That's because you love them so much. I bake them for you."

I'm back-posting like a mad person today in an effort to catch up on cementing our family's holiday memories. If you care to cruise through them, click here, here and here.