He nodded, trying not to smile at the idea of dishes coming out of the oven a little overdone - and of course burned hands weren't funny, but he imagined they did come with the territory. "Well, I can definitely vouch for your mashed potatoes. And I've never had real spaghetti... at least, I don't think so," he said, realizing as he glanced down at his plate, "I guess it's really hard to say what I have and haven't done... but I certainly don't remember having spaghetti, so I'd love to try some of yours, sometime." It was hard, living this life that was only half there, only memories other people had of him and memories he'd made that only went back a few years and were clearly full of holes. "I know I'll remember it this time," he tried to say enthusiastically, smiling up at her again. The doctors had said that even if his old memories never came back, he could still make new ones. He shouldn't forget those - and that was a relief, because to live a life that you were never sure you remembered at all... that sounded like torture.