"I don't see that living in separate houses stands in the way of our being married and loving each other," Brody
It's not, Kauffman says, that their jobs force them to live in different cities: They choose to live across the street from each other in San Francisco.
Most mornings, Kauffman says, Brody makes the trek to Grenzeback's for coffee and when he arrives, make no mistake, he's not home. He's a guest.
Grenzeback refers to rooms as "her kitchen" and "her bedroom," not "ours." There's no picture of Brody in her bedroom.
Everywhere you look, Kauffman says, it's unmistakably her space.
The couple honeymooned like any other newlyweds, then went to their separate abodes when they got back, Grenzeback tells Kauffman.
"A lot of people … are gonna think, 'This is nuts. You guys aren't really married!' " Kauffman says.
"The trick for a successful marriage," Grenzeback responds, "is to figure out what works for the two people and not to get too caught up in, 'Well, it's supposed to look this way or it means we're not really married.' "
"We've got a great arrangement," Brody says, "and I don't want to jeopardize it."
And there's a chance their living under one roof would jeopardize it, Brody adds.
Both say their marriage is built on not insisting either one give up his or her identity.
And, Kauffman says, the difference is as plain as the condition of their units: While Grenzeback's is nice and tidy, Brody's is very, well, sloppy.
"There's a big difference!" Brody concedes.
His place has a "bachelor pad look to it," Kauffman says.