The Pareto Efficient Relationship

"Yes. You should have. Especially after I left a message."

"I know. I'm sorry. You were good." She flinched; she half looked like he'd just struck her, and half like she was gearing to hit him back. "That didn't come out right. It's just... I've never been one for just sex. I've tried those types of arrangements, but they've never worked. I need more, and I didn't know if this—you and me—could ever work, you know? I got confused, but instead of calling, I just... worked. It's a bad habit of mine."

She stared at him for some time before speaking, her expression unreadable. "So why didn't you think this could work? Because you think we're too different?" She snorted when he nodded his response. "That's ridiculous, Michael. You and I are exactly the same."

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, I seem to remember you saying that I wrote about 'insane monetary policy' for a living. And you're... you're a vegetarian." It was a lame thing to say, but it was all that he could think of.

She shook her head, and he was relieved to see a smile playing at her lips when she spoke. "Deep down we're the same, Michael. I'm not sure if our careers led to our lifestyles or vice versa, but both of us have conflated the two. The result is a dull, rules-oriented, blinders-on existence, but one that manifests itself in completely different ways. Who knows; maybe we need a little difference in our lives, for balance, fun, and sanity."

When he didn't reply she rolled her eyes. "I could give you a long explanation about how we each turn to our own forms of rationality to prescribe our actions, or how we both argue for a living—you in academic journals, me in editorials and with the spoken word—but instead I'll give you a handy metaphor: you went to Harvard and I went to Yale. Can you get any more, 'different but exactly the same,' than that? They're bitter rivals, but they're both elite—and kind of elitist—Ivy League universities."

Michael stared at her. What she said made sense, in a weird sort of way. "Maybe." He paused, mulling over her words. "Harvard is so much better than Yale, though."

They looked at each other, grins spreading across both of their faces.

"I don't think so, Michael. At least my school isn't swamped with tourists every day." She stepped aside to let him in the front door. "And as I told you in Kansas City, I'm only sort of a vegetarian." She leaned against the door as she shut it behind them. "While I might make you eat vegetable lasagna with a butternut béchamel sauce tonight, there will be bacon and eggs tomorrow."

"Bacon?"

"Bacon, one of my biggest vices in life." Her smile broadened. "Acceptable?"

"Maybe." He paused. "But I want only plain pasta"

She blinked. "What?"

"No funky pasta. If I want chickpeas or lentils, I'll eat chickpeas or lentils. Pasta should be made from durum wheat, not that other crap."

"Okay." Her voice cracked, like she was trying not to laugh at him. "Well, as long as we're on the subject of food, no side-veggies-as-main-meals. There's nothing worse than being presented with a plate of broccoli as if it's a meal. It's not; it's a side. If I'm at your place, I expect vegetable lasagna, portabella burgers, rice and beans... hell, I'll be happy if you just have roasted red peppers, spinach, and fresh mozzarella available so I can make my own sandwich."

"I can do that. But I want to eat meat around you."

"Well, I want to eat your meat, too, so that shouldn't be a problem." She grinned, and reached forward to unbutton his coat.

He smiled back, covering her hands with his own to help with the buttons. "That's flattering, but not what I meant."

"I know what you meant. I'm fine with that, though we'll have to investigate the sources. I'll only tolerate happy animals in my presence."

He raised an eyebrow as he threw his coat on the couch behind him. "You realize they're dead, right? I'm not sure how happy they are."

"You know what I mean—happy before they died. By the way, we're bringing something good if we go to a potluck."

He sucked in a sharp breath, and then slowly exhaled. Was she worth the being the losing end of a game theory problem? "Deal." She smiled, and he reached out to pull her towards him. "But I'm in charge of transportation."

"We'll see about that. Two of us going to Kansas City often enough might actually have an impact on Amtrak ridership." She leaned forward to kiss him, but then pulled her head back and looked up instead. "What about... how do you feel about Indiana Jones props?"

"Hmmm? Indiana Jones props? Like what, a fedora?" He was only half listening; his mind had moved on from words.

"Not quite what I was thinking, though if you want one it wouldn't look bad on you." Her jaw quirked and she blushed. It was the first time he'd seen her blush; it was kind of cute. "I was thinking more along the lines of his, um, other gear. Like what I mentioned in the bar that night."

He froze. "I guess some of that can be on the table." He gave her waist a little squeeze. "Especially if you're serious about the potlucks and fighting me on transportation."

She chuckled. "Well, we have to keep things Pareto efficient, don't we?"

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One year later

Michael stood in the kitchen, hands on his hips. "This isn't going to work."

"What isn't going to work?" Goldie stood in front of him, holding her bike helmet in one hand and an overflowing pannier in the other. One leg of her jeans was rolled up to the knee, and her shirt bore the tell-tale sweat stripe of the messenger bag that had been slung across her chest; he assumed she'd dropped it in the front hall with her bike. "I got some sweet potatoes, if that's what you're worried about. We can make both regular and sweet potato fries. It should be enough"

"Oh, good." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "But that's not what I meant. This," he said, sweeping his arm around to indicate the piles of plates, glasses, napkins, and silverware in the kitchen. "This afternoon, I mean."

It was Sunday, and they were hosting an afternoon potluck. One part house-warming party, one part kitschy Earth Day celebration, all of their friends would be in attendance.

Both of their leases had ended the previous month, and they'd decided to buy a house together. The process had been full of compromises and exchanges; her rain barrels for his new grill, her soaps and detergents for his peanut butter and coffee brands, her low-flow shower heads for his wood-burning fires on cold nights. They managed without too many arguments, but when the exchanges weren't quite equal, they'd long since discovered that the bedroom was a fabulous place to restore balance to their cost-benefit analyses.

"Oh, it will work quite well, I think. Your friends, being selfish—" She gave him a mock innocent smile at the glare he sent her. "I mean, being rational economists, will bring crappy things to the potluck. My friends, being good and trusting little hippies, will bring vegetarian dishes that they slaved over."

He spluttered. "Wait, they're all bringing vegetarian dishes? But they're not all vegetarians!"

"True, but they're considerate of each other's dietary concerns." She flashed him an evil grin. "I bet the big break will be between the vegetarians and the vegans."

"Vegans." He shook his head. "It's a good thing you're making hamburgers."

"Me? Oh, no. I'm not making hamburgers. You are."

He shot her a teasing smile. "But cooking is your specialization, dear. It falls under your domain in our division of labor."

"Ah, well, it may be my specialization, but it also reproduces gender norms. Plus, it's meat, so I'll pass on this one."

"I should never have bought you that feminist economics book for Christmas. You've been spouting off that 'reproducing gender norms' nonsense for months," he grumbled, giving her rear a playful smack as he took the pannier from her. She grinned at him. "Okay, I'll make the burgers. It's a good thing you made that chocolate cake, Golds. No vegan dishes here. Well, besides the French fries, I suppose, but they don't count since they're deep fried."

She was quiet, too quiet. He glanced over to see her lips twitching.

"Goldie? You said you made the chocolate cake I love so much, the one you make all the time. What's so funny?"

"I did make the cake. But it's vegan."

"What?" He stared at her. "The cake I've been eating all year is vegan? What about the frosting? That, too?"

"Feel like you're going to be ill?" A wry grin spread across her face. "I know you love that cake, and you certainly love the frosting, no matter where I put it."

He felt his face redden as he remembered where she had put last night's leftovers. "I do like it. I just... I'm surprised, that's all." He paused. "Vegan? Really?"

She turned and walked towards the hallway. "Don't worry, hunny. I bought some nice, full fat ice cream from a local creamery, and I have some locally-crafted chocolate covered bacon that you can sprinkle on the top. You can de-vegan that puppy in no time. And you know," she called out, her teasing voice trailing down the stairs, "we still have a few hours before everyone gets here. I'm awfully sweaty from that last trip. Want to help suds me up? I'm sure you can find a way to get back at me for making you eat a vegan cake all year."

He smiled and began to unbutton his shirt as he followed the sound of her voice. "Only if I get to use the finest, locally-crafted soap that you buy at our local farmers' market. And only if it came from free-range, humanely-treated goats."

"Of course," she said over the sound of the shower. "We have to be Pareto efficient, after all, don't we, Indy?"

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Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it! As always, comments, votes, and feedback are appreciated.

To any economists out there, yes, I realize that I stretched the truth/terms in some areas (Pareto efficiency, departmental stereotypes, etc). My apologies, but it was all meant to be in good fun. If something related to my treatment of economics truly bothers you, feel free to send me an email with your critique and I'll try to incorporate your specific feedback into any edits I may make in the future.

-T