“I want to,” I say. And it’s true. I know it would be a relief, just to have one person in my new life see me in context. But when I think of telling her, I’m almost immediately engulfed in shame. I don’t want to watch that look of horror widening her eyes.

“For what it’s worth, it was a relief to tell you about what happened to me in New York. I mean, I know your story might be way worse, but I would understand. I promise.”

I nod but say nothing.

“Something with the Olympics?” she tries.

I nod. This part Cali would understand. She trained to do one thing her entire life, built her life around one singular ambition, and in an instant, it was taken away from her. She was cast out. “I used to be a skier,” I manage. “I got injured.”

Cali raises her eyebrows. “Oh. Man, I’m sorry to hear that.” For a moment, we’re both quiet. I feel that if I say one more thing, the whole story will come bursting forth and I’m not ready. “Is that everything?”

I shake my head, thinking that my expression must look desperate because she relents.

“Whenever you’re ready, Liz, I’m here.”

I have a lesson with Gianluca that night, and for the first time since I’ve met him, I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to be swept away by his touch and his scent. I just want to wallow in my sorrows and mourn my lost self. He reminds me too much that I’m not who I was: you would need to lose some weight. The words echo in my mind, and it makes me want to be released from my own skin, though I can’t imagine how I became so invested in the opinion of this man, this fabulist who weaves a net of myths around himself—I think nastily that perhaps the thing he’s really trying to hide is how perfectly ordinary he is.

He senses that something is off right away but I tell him I’m fine, just tired, and we forge ahead with the lesson. But he won’t let it lie.

“Hey,” he says, taking my shoulders in his hands, arresting our movements mid-dance. We’re halfway through our time and I’ve been counting the minutes—there is a bottle of Malbec and a box of alfajores waiting for me at my apartment and I’m anxious to indulge in my misery. “Where are you?”

“Right here,” I say. “I’m just tired.”