“Tea, gin, wine, or something else?” I looked at my bestie with love and appreciation. When I sniffled, she handed me three tissues. I figured she could sense some serious boo-hooing was impending, and Lins didn’t mess about when it came to crying. She was prepared.

“Wine. And water. Water first,” I hiccupped.

She disappeared into the kitchen, which made up a third of what I called their “great room”—that’s the kitchen-dining-living combo for us mere mortals who rent modest little flats. The whole thing was very “Sydney”, but the kitchen especially. It was large and impressive and grown-up, with polished concrete countertops, glass splashbacks, and self-closing drawers. It was filled with wonderful kitchen things like an actual espresso machine, a hideaway cupboard for the toaster and kettle—yes, really—and a double-door fridge. Maybe that was why I hung out there so much. I had kitchen envy.

I noted that Nick was lying low, leaving Lins and me to talk, and I could hear the sound of the TV coming from the study. See? He’s a good guy underneath.

Lins returned from the kitchen with a tray—another super-grown-up thing to have—laden with all the fixings for a good long catch up: two glasses of iced water, two glasses of white wine, and a bowl of Castelvetrano olives. I went for the olives first. Have I mentioned how much I love olives?

“Okay, so how did you leave things?”

It was a seemingly simple question, but the answer churned my insides. How did we leave things? Badly. Really, really badly. Even though Josh and I had both put on brave faces for our goodbye, I couldn’t help feeling that I’d done irreparable damage to us.

Why did I say that thing about being with two men?

Lins was watching me patiently while I ate three olives and spat the pits into my hand. She reached for them and I tipped them into hers. She went back into the kitchen, threw them out, and returned with a tiny ceramic bowl, which she placed next to the bowl of olives. She really was the consummate hostess.

I drank half a glass of water, then took a sip of wine. It was a South Australian riesling—delicious, of course.

Then I wiped my nose and launched into a retelling of the horrible conversation from the night before—at least it felt like the night before, but with the time difference, I wasn’t quite sure how long it had been. I finished my tale of woe by showing her Josh’s text, the one I’d got when I landed. I took the last swig of my wine as she read it.

She’d been quiet throughout my story—she’s an excellent listener—but after I showed her the text, she asked me, “Did you let him know you arrived safely?”

“Oh, no. Crap.” I put down my empty glass, then took the phone from her and looked at it, frowning.

“What do I say?”

“Maybe start with, ‘I got here safely’.”

“And then what?”