The town smells of fertilizer for the fruit trees that feed us through the winter. L thinks I'm too much of a purist: I mean, she says, everything's modified and engineered so where do you draw the line?
On Sunday we watch P play tennis.
A man (the USTA coach) sits with us; L introduces him as Mark. He is even-tempered, spittle gathered in the corner of his mouth as he watches.
People pass one another beers call one another "bro" and "man" and "this is waiting for you" (the beer).
The guy (he's playing) is in less-good-shape: sweet face/ thick limbs/ olive-skinned with freckles and a soft voice. Mark with a soft voice too. P talks to himself as he double-faults (direct attention to the task).
calves pronounced
cool sneaks
breathable t-shirts
towel red from taking sips of gatorade and wiping his mouth
L has eyes for him only, turns her body towards him always: her slightly distended belly with its beating heart: her second heart. She says: women's bodies have been doing this forever.
I arrived Friday night: at the subdivision with the plastic tub made to look like porcelain; the place filled with their mixture of personal objects wine and dishware. Romare Bearden above the gas-fueled fireplace. Their first "real place." They're not attached to places. P was cooking round zucchinis stuffing them with quinoa and feta and bacon; they had goose-eggs; we drank wine, L just a sip, and then to bed. P and I stayed drinking and talking: him pouring more so that the next day I felt it. L, he said, told him how they teased me, how this is how we are, how he had hated his brother, he gets it, he has no delusions, she's no saint. And I told him things too although that's another story.
[They love Norman Rush. Rush ran the peace corps in Botswana from (1978) the year before L was born to the year I was born (1983). L says no one has depicted romantic love as accurately as he. I never liked his prose, though, so haven't gotten through it, and don't know whether I'd agree: these are the sticking points.]
July 4th: P grasps L's shoulders (drunk): "I've given you life from my rib." She laughs head back nostrils flared and offers him her lips.