“Yeah,” I say. “But it was with a small press, and they went out of business before the book was printed. My agent tried to find a new publisher but no one else picked it up, and I was so demoralized I turned to short stories. But my MFA collection didn’t sell either. I still dabble here and there, but nothing good enough to submit, and my agent has likely forgotten I exist. And I don’t really have time to pursue it, between my job and freelancing on the side.”
I feel myself wilting. It’s never fun to admit that you’re living your backup plan. But he takes it all in without judgment. With compassion in his eyes.
“You’re obviously brilliant,” he says. “I suspect you’ll figure it out.”
I shrug. “Maybe. I hope so. In any case, this is a nice break from real life.”
He smiles. “It is. I’m usually not keen on holidays. Idle hands are the devil’s workshop, and all that. Mum nearly had to break my arms to get me here. But I’m having a delightful time.”
“All that bingo?”
“Nope. Met a nice girl.”
My heart thumps like the tail of an overexcited puppy who’s been told he’s a very good boy.
“Yeah,” I say. “Me too.”
Icannotsensibly take this conversation forward without swooning, so I change the subject. “What are you doing for tomorrow’s entertainment?”
“Zip-lining,” he says.
“Ah, too bad. I’m deeply afraid of zip-lining.”
“Have you ever tried it?”
“God, no.”
“What are you doing?”
“Embarrassing myself on a surfboard.”
“I’m sure you’ll be great.”
“Um, you saw my attempt to aquacise. And that was in a tiny pool with the elderly.”
“It was good, family-friendly entertainment.”
I snort. “Yeah. I remember. Vividly and deep in my bones.”
“Oh, I meant to tell you,” he says. “I finishedMiddlemarch.”
“Wow. That was fast.”
“Trying to impress that girl I mentioned.”
“It’s working. What did you think?”
“I was relieved to see that love conquered all in the end.”
“Well, except for poor Lydgate,” I say.
“Yeah, tragic figure, that guy. But it was, in all seriousness, one of the best books I’ve ever read. What, in your estimation as a scholar of English literature, should I read next?”
“Well, she’s not British, but have you fucked with Edith Wharton?”
“I have not.”
“Let’s get you onAge of Innocence. Very doomed-marriage-core.”
