The rarity of our fights reminded me of the rarity of rain in Los Angeles. You get used to the persistent placidity, the unrelenting sunshine. You don’t realize how badly the rain is needed until it has come and gone, when the dust you never noticed hovering in the air is cleared away, and you can smell the hint of sea salt on the breeze, see the craggy details of the mountains in the distance. When the storm passed, there was a new crispness in the air of our home, an unflinching clarity I hadn’t realized we’d longed for beneath the serene surface of our marriage.
