When Ruth gets upset with me, her Icelandic accent comes out.
"I didn't seenk I was doing anything wrong," she says, through tears, in a recent fight when she talks of leaving me.
"What? Sink? What sink?" I say.
Ruth starts to sob.
"Oh, think," I say.
Suddenly I realize that this intruder into my fortress, this crusading Viking, is my best friend. This is the voice I hear through the tears and the accent. This is my best friend.
"Don't go," I say.
L.A. Affairs chronicles romance and relationships. Past columns are archived at latimes.com/laaffairs. If you have comments to share or a story to tell, write us at email@example.com.