I don’t know why I felt so comfortable at my brother’s house. In a lot of ways, the whole setting revolted me. For some reason, that didn’t stop me from being a chatterbox. I kept asking Chuck and Becky question after question, sometimes alone, sometimes together. And these were very personal questions. I think I talked more this weekend than I have in the whole last year. It wore me out.

The biggest conversation topic — besides the nonsense about The Secret — was the open marriage. I kept asking how it worked, and they both sounded like they wanted to be hip. “Yuppie Puritans want to drag their fascist sexual repression into the bedroom.” Chuck sounded genuinely convincing. Becky sounded like she was going along for the ride. She seemed fine with the theory of open sexuality, talking about how jealousy, rage, and one other emotion (bitterness?) should be shunned in all instances, but the actual practice seemed to be a different matter. My brother is a charismatic, intelligent guy – and selfish. I think he had convinced Becky to live against her sweet nature.

On Saturday night, Chuck went out after dinner to be with some of his weirdo secret religious friends. After I finished doing the dishes in the kitchen, I went into the front room to hang out with Becky. The room was lit by candles and moonshine, and the light from the fire made the room glow. She was breast-feeding her youngest child, who was more than two years old. It made me dizzy to see that big fat kid lying on top of his mother. It seemed sexual. Part of me felt like I belonged there, like I had finally come home. A different part of me felt like I was visiting from a different planet.

I left the house, got in my car, and thought about driving home. I just couldn’t bring myself to turning on the ignition. So I slept in the back seat of the car for the second night in a row.