That night, I dream of Nina playing a part in The Hobbit. She’s one of the glamorous elves that were in the movie but not in the book. One who falls for the dwarf—always the wrong man.
When I wake at six I put on my bikini and head straight for the water. I swim from one end of the lake to the other and back, until I have to catch my breath, my elbows propped on the landing, my body doubled-over.
Thalia’s voice swirls through my head. You could have made more effort. She’d introduced me to some of her work colleagues, people I had found absolutely nothing in common with—creative advertising types who spoke quickly and visited the wash room a bit too frequently—resulting in dire silence on my end. When I’d come for her after we got home, ignoring her remarks, she’d pushed me away. You’re
