Isaac: We got this place when I was a kid. It was a weekend house, at first. But Coral, my father’s eccentric Swiss second wife, fell in love with this part of the country. It became her home in a way that our apartment in the City, where he’d lived with my mother, was not. This was entirely hers. Eventually, they moved up here full time. She was some kind of amateur everything. And she made friends like no one else I know. People loved Coral. She was my mother, even though she wasn’t. And this was her house. And now it is mine.

Over the years, we have, I have, maybe half a dozen friends up here. Plus the people who remember Coral. Many people remember Coral. And my father. They threw parties. People remember them. People came to tea. People came over. This house was once — alive — in ways that it hasn’t been since she died. I’d like it to be that way again. Alive. People say, well people say, the way to do that is to marry Amy and have some kids. That is what people say.

I don’t know about kids. I never have. But Amy wants kids, Amy has always wanted kids, and Amy is usually right. About everything. Sometimes I think, what if I am very fucked up and what if Amy, maybe, is right?

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