On a more ordinary California night, the long jagged roofs running uphill make cutouts against the sky. I’m aimlessly surfing the internet while Talia writes the bibliography for her dissertation; the water boils so I can make Barilla Medium Shells and the broiler heats up to cook fish. Claude runs around the house; his new words are rug, ado for avocado, arms and legs. Soon the whole house will have to be disassembled again, as if our life is coming apart.

So many things were set in motion in these first years of Claude’s life, so many beautiful and damaging things, things that would tear us up and crash us together, things that would take years to repair. Attachment can be so delicate.

« back forward »