attempt to make me feel better. “My age.” Mal still studies my hand like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. “Twenty-two,” he adds. “You must know her well.” “We grew up together.” He clanks his empty glass on the sticky wooden table. “Why he would direct you to me and not to her, I wonder.” “He said she was in a state and didn’t want to see anyone.” “Bollocks. Kathleen’s more social than a penguin.”
