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“Caralora’s moving back to Chicago soon. She sublet her place in Ann Arbor. So you won’t have to wait long.”

“I have time.” Isadora smiles Lucinda’s fey, straight-toothed smile. “So much time.”

“Don’t be too relentless,” I warn her. “You’ll scare her off.”

“Don’t worry, Beck. I am a Wild Thing now, but I was raised to be kind.”

“Don’t forget your family, Miss Wild Thing. We’ll be here whenever you need us.”

Isadora makes a low, purring sound. “We’ll always come back to you.”

The doors open, and five children (obviously brothers and sisters) surge into the gallery. We watch them examining the tiny rooms, overjoyed at the uncanny perfection of each doll-sized interior. Isadora says, “I thought I had an infinite universe in the Museum of Lost Souls. But it was just replication, pixels, 1s and 0s. It didn’t mean anything, until I had a body in this world.” She leans over and kisses my cheek. “Thank you, Beck. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Isadora.”

She stands and walks away, turning to wave goodbye just before she passes through the doors. I feel bereft—glad for her freedom, her wildness, but empty—and that feeling stays with me for a long time.

Lemon Cake and Coffee

Thursday, August 21, 2042, and Friday, August 22, 2042 (Alba is 40, Zach is 41, Oliver is 40)

Alba: In the car, on our way to the Yellow House, Zach seems quiet. I wonder if this is a bad idea. Maybe it’s not time yet? Last night as we got into bed he said, “I don’t know how to feel about this.” I said, “It’s just a date Oliver gave me. You can decide not to come along. You can change your mind once we’re there. It’s okay.” He held me for a long while. I woke up around two, and went to the bathroom. When I returned to bed Zach reached over and clasped my hand. “It’ll be fine,” I told him, but now I’m not so sure. Zach looks as though he’s about to have dental surgery. He parks in front of the house, and we go in the back door. There’s a heady smell of freshly cut grass; someone has cut half the lawn, then abandoned the mower in the middle of the task. I make a mental note to take out the recycling.

I call Oliver’s name and he comes clattering down the stairs. He does a double take when he sees Zach, then smiles. “Oh, hello,” Oliver says, shyly. He’s wearing a white button-down shirt and linen trousers; his sleeves are rolled and we can see the shiny pink scars that jag six inches along each wrist. He sees us noticing and holds out his arms, wrists turned up. “They are healing very nicely,” Oliver says. He flexes his hands, to show off his almost fully functional tendons.

“That’s great,” Zach says.

There’s an awkward pause. “We brought lemon cake and a pound of coffee,” I tell Oliver. I place the warm foil-covered cake on the kitchen table.

“Thank you,” Oliver says. “That smells wonderful. Shall we eat it now, or later?”

“Later?” Zach replies. “I’m not sure I could eat right now.”

“Would anyone like a gin and tonic?” I ask, because I certainly would.

“Yes!” Oliver says.

“Alba, it’s ten a.m.,” Zach says.

“Welcome to the Yellow House, where clock time means nothing,” I say.

“Make mine a double,” Zach replies.

When we all have drinks it feels more like a party and less like a dentist’s waiting room. We stand around the kitchen chatting about nothing. It’s the longest half hour of my life. We each have a refill and when those are gone the conversation runs out. “Come upstairs,” I say, hoping to sound alluring and not nervous as hell. I walk into the living room and up the stairs without looking back, hoping they will follow. After a worrisome pause, I hear two sets of measured footsteps.

When we are standing in the bedroom we all hesitate, not sure who should begin, or how to begin. Oliver breaks the impasse by undoing my shirt buttons. I close my eyes. Slowly, four hands undress me. When I open my eyes, Zach stands pressed against me, naked. I kiss him. Oliver steps behind me and embraces me. Okay, I think. This could work.

What follows is the most polite sex I’ve ever had. Zach and Oliver take turns and share nicely, but they avoid touching each other. This bed is not so big; it takes some determination to not touch. I wonder if I should say anything or just let the experiment fail naturally. It wouldn’t have occurred to me to suggest this had I not been encouraged by all three of our future selves. But I feel like the overlapping part of a Venn diagram: the only thing my two marvelous husbands are willing to have in common is me.

It’s funny how a sexual repertoire develops. I haven’t thought about it much, but I share different habits, moves and caresses with each of my husbands and I see that they are noticing and wondering. Here in the intimacy of the Yellow House we could invent a new, shared vocabulary. Or we could just quietly freak out together.

Oliver says to Zach, “Are you okay?”

Zach says, “I’m not sure.”

“It’s a lot to deal with,” Oliver says. We all sit up.

“This feels like work,” I say. “But we only have to please ourselves. Let’s just play.”