Prior to this evening, Tiffany understood the concept of James’s wife, but not the reality of her. Now she is here, in three dimensions, as real as Tiffany is—probably realer. She has eyebrows, chapped hands, a personality, a master’s degree in public health, a cautious laugh—the laugh of an adult who was constantly hushed as a child. She even has a name. Her name is Meg. Her presence makes Tiffany feel like a prototype of a woman, not the real thing.
