After I gave up on the cake, I offered to cook something else, maybe something simple like noodles or eggs. But Phillip said no.

"Let me cook," he said, already rolling up his sleeves.

I didn’t argue. I was still too embarrassed about the cake. So I let him.

He moved like someone who had done this many times before. He took out onions, tomatoes, and spices from the shelf. He didn’t even look at the labels. He knew exactly what to do. He chopped onions so fast, I thought he might cut himself. But he didn’t. He boiled something on the stove, then added a sauce that smelled like...