Summary: Angela takes stock of the various changes that have taken place within the family.

I never thought I'd be so grateful to be busy. The days and weeks have been flying by, leaving me very little time to dwell on the growing closeness between Tony and me. But on nights like these, when the silent house is like a soft, thick blanket in which my heart and mind can warmly snuggle, I can think about all the things that have changed – and all that's remained the same.

Ever since Jamaica, there has been the most subtle of changes between Tony and me – so subtle that the casual eye would accuse me of imagining the silly flirting or tender looks that pass between us. But I know it's there. I didn't imagine his hand low on my back as we left Stromboli's and walked the short distance to the revival theater a few weeks ago. I wasn't dreaming when he took my hand during the movie and held it until the credits were over. Then there was his intense encouragement during my business party – that absolute confidence he has in me that is so infectious if only because it comes from him. But there was more behind it this time. It's been these moments, so small, only a glance, a smile, a few kind words that wouldn't have been said so easily a year or two ago, these moments that creep behind the steadfast veneer of our relationship.

While such nearly imperceptible moments have dotted the landscape of our lives, the problems and issues that inevitably crop up like weeds have commanded much of our time and energy, thereby allowing me to slip contentedly into the familiar comfort of our friendship and partnership. As I feared, Sam and Jonathan have not adjusted seamlessly to life at the same school. They may not be siblings, but as Tony himself is so fond of saying, we are a family. And in any family, the children are wont to argue. Ours are no different, regardless of whether their parents' relationship is unorthodox or not.

It came as a relief to be reassured we weren't likely causing permanent damage to our children, but Tony's "Supermom Syndrome" is most definitely a matter that needs to be addressed. It's ironic that he started going to college in part to fill time in his efficient day only to now find himself swamped with responsibility. But as the kids grow – as well as the Bower Agency – so do problems and demands for which we seek his help. I'm glad he's returning to the group session, and the rest of us have begun accepting more responsibility around the house. As a bit of an aside, I can't help but marvel at exactly how unique our arrangement is. I'm actually going to do more housework to ease my housekeeper's workload so that he can go to college and eventually leave me without a housekeeper. I guess it would seem unusual on the surface to pay an employee for less work and not care that his priorities do not begin and end with my laundry. I want Tony to realize his full potential, and it's moments like these – when I can't ignore the persistent line that still divides our roles – that I wish we could just end this charade.

But I digress. Aside from the drama wrought by the children, there was the requisite drama wrought by Mother. Though grudgingly, I will admit that the discord between us was the result of my own thirst for prestige. Richard Braden offered me expansion and exposure that will likely take me a decade to achieve on my own. But simply put, the price was too high – and it had nothing to do with dollars and cents. The Bower Agency is mine, and it will be a long time before I even consider sharing it with anyone again. The creative process, the personnel, the clients, every corner of its operation is under my control, and I never before had to face the possibility of someone else making decisions, especially poor ones.

And while I was having visions of landing accounts the likes of Proctor and Gamble, Levi Strauss, and Sony, my autonomy and my mother were slipping away from me. I let my short-sighted ambition push away the woman who washed office windows, went without paychecks, and helped me land my first account when The Bower Agency was nothing more than a dream and a name on a business card. While I concede that it was my actions, or lack thereof, that forced us into a virtual civil war, her stubborn behavior only exacerbated the problem. Why couldn't she just speak her mind calmly and logically instead of sabotaging the negotiations? I know I would have listened to her objections. At least I want to believe I would have. But I guess I was more than a little seduced by Braden. Maybe her immature stunts were the kick in the pants I needed. Or not. In any event, I'm just happy that we're both back where we belong, professionally and personally. Mother may not be the easiest person to live and work with, but I love her and don't want her anywhere but close by.

So there's no doubt it's been a busy few weeks, and the future doesn't seem to be slowing down. In a coup I would only boast about so wantonly in this private space, I have my hands full at work with four new accounts that followed me from my brief time with Braden. Meanwhile, he didn't retain one – not one – of my clients. So I wonder, who needed whom more?

Tony seems to be doing better with his time management. I've been taking care of my own dry cleaning and errands while Sam and Jonathan have been packing their own lunches in the evening and making their beds in the morning. For his part, Tony dropped an extra class he registered for in an attempt to more quickly fulfill his general education requirements. Next week he takes an aptitude test to help him pick a major. Is it any wonder that someone with his background and thirst for knowledge can't settle on field of study?

And all of this activity keeps us operating as a team, the same cohesive unit we've been for five years. We argue and make up with familiar regularity, laugh and talk about our days, and seek each other's council on everything from the main course for dinner to the color of a model's shoes for a photo shoot. Saturday night we finally watched "When Harry Met Sally," and the humor I found in the film's premise last year when I saw the preview all of a sudden carried a subtle resonance. But we still laughed and cried, and when the credits went up, I found myself reclining against him, his arm stretched along mine, resting on my hip. We sat like that for a while after he stopped the movie and talked about our plans for Sunday. It was incredible, sharing that intimate space with him, not pulling back in panicked self-consciousness at the first realization of what we were doing. When the mantel clock announced Sunday's official arrival, I eased away and turned toward him to wish him good night, and the magnetic heat of his eyes meeting mine hit me like a nuclear explosion. I could barely whisper the words, but I had to escape quickly before I forgot that we'd agreed to wait. I understand what Tony needs right now: a friend, someone to help him get through college and decide his future, someone to help with Samantha, and someone to talk to and offer advice and support. He needs to take that aptitude test and pick a major. He doesn't need to navigate a romance with the woman who signs his paycheck and sleeps across the hall from two teen-agers. That can wait. I can wait. But I can't ignore any longer what I see and feel. So if there's now a little more simmering beneath the surface, it's at least tempered by that promise of tomorrow, as well as the occasional indulgence of today.

Even if Tony and I don't identify as a couple, we are a family. And like any family, we cover for each other and help each other out. How many times did Tony cook dinner on his day off, or sit up with Jonathan until the wee hours of the morning when he was sick? Housekeepers generally aren't expected to clean gutters or change motor oil or shovel snow, yet Tony did that as easily as he sewed on a button or ironed curtains. He also was far from just a housekeeper when he recreated my prom in the living room and danced with me till dawn, and it wasn't my housekeeper who I kissed so impulsively in St. Louis when I learned he hadn't spent the night with another woman. And it most certainly wasn't my housekeeper who sat on a bench in Jamaica telling me he had thought about us getting married. That was Tony, my best friend, my partner, the man I love.

I don't think either one of us right now can picture any kind of a future independent of the other. Yet I still pay him, and the foundation our or arrangement is still his employment. Were Tony to secure other employment, I can't see him, with his admirable, if frustrating, pride, continuing to live under another's roof, even mine. As much as this is his home now, I have little doubt that we would have to be married before he would live here outside of his role as housekeeper. And I so ardently wish that weren't the case. I wish we could just exist in our current situation without the inevitable, albeit rare, reminders of our roles.