That makes sense. She grabs the eggs and cracks them on the edge of the bowl, then looks back at the box for what she's supposed to do with the butter. "This has to be melted," she says, picking it up. "Is there a pot for that?"

She looks over at him doing the dishes, and feels a tiny pang of guilt that he's stuck with the dirty job while she's just stirring batter. "You want help?"