The first morning of our marriage was a Monday.
Not a honeymoon morning in a destination Vivian had strong opinions about and that we had promised to take in the spring. Not a ceremonial first morning full of the specific performance significance that weddings sometimes required of the day after. Just a Monday, coastal and ordinary, with the boys awake before six and Kelly's footsteps in the nursery and the smell of coffee from the kitchen and the specific, sustaining texture of a life that was simply continuing as itself.
I lay in bed for a few minutes and listened to Monday.
Lucian was already awake. He was at the window with his coffee, looking at the garden in the early light with the expression he used when he was thinking through something he had not yet decided how to say. I had
