He’s trying to eye out the right amount of spaghetti. A difficult task.

How big a fist of spaghetti is a meal’s worth for him and Swimmer? He can never slide the right amount out or crack the wadded pasta in half without stray pieces breaking all over the floor. If he makes too much, it’s no big deal. He can make pasta salad or he’ll have leftovers. But too little means things become slightly more complicated. There’s not enough to portion out right. And he likes to keep things neat.

Earlier they’d fought, Swimmer was obviously right but MB wouldn’t give it up. He’s making spaghetti to say he’s sorry. He imagines them somehow inheriting her uncle’s lighthouse, wonders if it might be better to let that remain a fantasy. Imagine being mad all the time in an upright tube like that.

He yells to Swimmer, who’s a room away with the door closed, to let her know that the spaghetti is done. She comes in and scoops all the spaghetti into her bowl and takes Jacques with her back into her room and closes the door.…