She realized three months after she married him that she probably shouldn’t have. It started to be obvious to Monica then, how damaged she was after the breakup with Charlie, what a relief it had been to be light-hearted with Simon. Seductive relief.

But it didn’t seem to be any big deal. It wasn’t like she and Simon were religious, or romantic, or even serious. They enjoyed their time together and wanted more; they agreed that their circumstances permitted them to have more; they went for it with no eternal promises. They were old enough to make their own decisions and had the resources to pay for them. They said that they didn’t want to offend any parents by premarital cohabitation. So they married, and Monica thought they both meant it when they agreed that their union did not mean unbreakable emotional or financial connections.

Monica meant it. She always meant her words. But Monica was so attractive that her interlocutors rarely believed her. Everyone assumed that anyone as beautiful as Monica probably wasn’t that smart. Even folks who knew from whence she came.

Monica’s parents had an enduring marriage that would have been admirable if it weren’t comic. But when a university professor marries a chorus girl, people talk. And even after the union goes on for years, whispers continue.

Monica’s father was short, dumpy, myopic, balding, and brilliant. Her mother was statuesque, buxom, blonde, friendly, apparently vacuous. The truth was, her parents were two of the nicest people on the planet and totally dedicated to one another, but they looked like caricatures and never overcame that look. Their marriage surprised their disparate peer groups when it took place, and its endurance astounded everyone who didn’t know them.

Maybe one of the ingredients to her parents’ successful marriage was the exclusiveness of their love. But that condition excluded their children almost as much as it did their circle of acquaintances. Monica and her twin Matthew were always loved and well cared for, but neither was able to fully enter the circumference of parental embrace because in some ways, their mother and father had eyes and laughter only for one another.

Under their familiar circumstances, it would have been no surprise if the twins grew up so close they invented their own language or communicated without words. But Monica and Matthew were tolerantly incompatible. Their births were only 12 minutes apart but their qualities diverged like tectonic plates. Monica the older got the best of both parents. Matthew the runt carried their father’s small frame and bad vision along with their mother’s amiable slow wit.

Monica grew up lonely. She had her books and paper dolls, but she didn’t have close friends. She started out with a gaggle of neighborhood buddies, but she lost them when her parents decided that public school wasn’t allowing her to reach her full potential. In third grade she was shifted to the private school five miles from home, and after a season or two the local girls seemed to forget her. The girls at her new school were put off by her beauty and the boys were at first uninterested and later intimidated. Like many a lovely teen she never dated much; guys always assumed someone else had already asked.