The Husband just cannot seem to get over my betrayal of our formerly shared horror affinity, and will talk to anyone who will listen about it. At least that’s the way I interpreted his recounting of a conversation he had at work the other day, a conversation whose end result was his admission that I’m not the only woman who can no longer handle scary stuff, at least according to female coworkers and wives of male coworkers. Mothers all.

Last night I begrudgingly accompanied TH to the neighbors’ annual haunted house. And by begrudgingly, I mean I was a major asshole about it: deep guttural sighs, zipping up boots angrily, arms crossing and glares thrown. “You don’t have to go, you know. I can just be the creepy adult who shows up alone,” he said, and I snapped, “I want to do it for you,” because I’m nothing if not a model wife. After a few complaints about my back and work day, we walked around the corner and beheld the neighbors’ front yard, a.k.a. entrance to the haunted house, where a china doll sat in a tiny rocking chair staring at a TV as a creepy female voice intoned over ghoulish music. “I just can’t,” I said to TH, my resentment converting to fear, and I waited outside for him.

We returned home, where he manned door duty as I sat on the couch, avoiding the crowd. This is why we work well, TH and I: his accommodation of my introversion/moodiness with his innate friendliness. During a ten-minute stint when he had to step away, I counted the seconds until his return, coupling my countdown with a running commentary on our door traffic: “Did you hear that jerk? He asked if he could have a Reese’s because it’s his favorite. Like I offered him a menu! That kid tried to take two! Kids these days are ridiculous. When are you coming back? I hate this.” TH rescued me, a pattern in our relationship, and I returned to the couch from where I could roll my eyes unobserved. The explosive finale came when a neighbor asked if her preteen son could use our bathroom. TH let him in while I gritted my teeth at people’s lack of boundaries. And then…blessed quiet.

TH is an introvert too, but the nicer sort who doesn’t assume everyone is out to pick his pocket or take advantage of him (thanks a lot, Dad and heredity). So he reconciles me to society, forces me out of my comfort zone, and gives me room to breathe by clearing the path ahead when he knows it’s all too much for me. It’s a mission that The Kid has unwittingly signed on for too, one he’s already making strides at: I can no longer remain unmoved by disaster footage or horror movies or long-distance commercials. My emotions, formerly hidden under layers of sarcasm and concealer, are now, always, just beneath the surface, a river ever threatening to flood. He connects me to the world in a way I never asked for or expected; he takes me from spectator to participant as I man the path around him. And at nearly eleven months, as the days and grins have stacked on top of each other, the cumulative effect of his meaning can be overwhelming–tears for no apparent reason, love that alternately warms and burns–but it is helping make me who I am meant to be. It is a gift. It is grace.

My family, a group more comfortable trading jabs than sweet nothings (thank God, because I don’t speak Sweet Nothing), likes to recall a time when I was about eight and frustrated with people (read: them) always being around. “I want to be LONELY!” I finally yelled, trudging off to my room as The Parents laughed at my mixup of that word with alone. In New York I found a place where I could be alone but not always lonely, surrounded by people all the time. But now we’re back in the ‘burbs, and I have TH and TK around to keep me showing up for this gig called life, and I don’t get to be alone. And even when I’m scared, I don’t have to be lonely. A little girl came to our door last night and told TH about the decorations he masterfully assembled, “Your house is spooky.” He laughed, and as she grabbed her candy and bounded down the porch steps, she threw back, “But I’m not scared of it!” Little girl, I’m getting there too.