She stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, dressed in a yellow silk two piece that looked like bespoke pyjamas. “Where’d you get a name like Isa Epley? You don’t look like an Epley.” I was getting a little cold and said, “Nowhere. I gave it to myself.” I find it uncharming to start a conversation with a personal question. She gave me a long, exacting look and said, “You know, your aura is quite distracting. You look like you’re used to standing in the threshold.” I rung out my hair on the welcome mat, “How’d you know?” She gave a short laugh. “Take off your shoes.”
