Kissinger’s FriendYou’re married to your work,’ his father had fired. His mother had struck back, ‘Better than being married to oneself, as you are.’ At home, in bed with a nasty flu, he had overheard much of their heated exchange. Since that row, his parents hardly spoke to each other and studiously avoided each other. Almost a year had passed, and they had yet to make their peace. Like busy boarders in a hotel, they now used home mostly for sleeping, showering, making phone calls, and snacking in the kitchen.
Their rooms were at opposite ends of the apartment. Separate bathrooms and different schedules made it reasonably easy for them to cohabit without having to interact. She rose at dawn and went to bed not long after dusk; he came out of his room after eight and was rarely home befor
