Elizabeth, though—her scales are balanced differently. She’ll take the good night’s sleep. She’s impulsive in a self-preservative way. She’d rather spend her money on a vacation than diapers or dorms. She values serenity. Aside from the drama of our early days, she’s lived a life aimed toward comfort, not complication, and love is nothing if not complicated. I was her glitch, her one messy misstep. She’s not interested in chasing further pain.

“Loving a child is the same as loving heartache,” she’s said more than once. She claims she wouldn’t survive the devastation if tragedy were to befall Jonah, and I believe this feels true for her. I believe that she’s never consciously wanted biological children of her own. I am, however, a man of science, and so it’s difficult for me to believe that a primitive part of her brain hasn’t issued the urge to procreate. She is a woman, after all.

And so I take her up on the offer. I let her get her maternal fix by picking up sandwiches and Cokes and playing bad cop to my lazy son while I head over to the Yacht Club with Nick.

4.

The marina is crowded with chipper families and their friends—friends who feel special because they were chosen as guests. They made the cut on a beautiful day. I walk Nick down Long Wharf, pointing out behemoth yachts and their puffed-out owners, pausing to admire the sleek speedboat I plan to buy when I retire. We circle back to the bait shop, and while waiting on line, I try to pick the boy’s brain, but he seems to abide by the old adage to not speak until spoken to, which is a shame, because I’m running out of questions. Does he know how to tie a slipknot? A clinch? Has he ever been crabbing? Surfing? Mets or Yankees? Jets or Giants? Does he have a five-year plan? Two-year, then? What about school? Does he like it?

“School is okay,” he says. “Fifty-fifty, and each half extreme.”

What in the world does that mean? “What does that mean?”

“You know, the good parts are great: classes, campus, freedom, so much happening. The weird parts are rough, though.”

“Rough how?”

“The social scene can be dark. My advisor gives zero support. Everything is so damn expensive. A lot of obnoxious rich kids.”

Was that a jab? A slip? “What about Jonah? Does he feel the same way?”

Nick shrugs. “I guess. Speaking of . . .” He is suddenly preoccupied with time and the parking lot. “Do you think we should call him again? It’s almost eleven.” He shades his eyes with one hand and searches in all directions. “Maybe he thinks we’re meeting someplace else.”

“He knows where to find us.”

“Hey, didn’t we see those guys at the thing last night?”