She crossed her little arms—she’s a very small person—and the scowl intensified.

“Sarah Jane,” she started. Uh oh, she was already using my full given name. I held my breath and my tongue. “I barely got to see you before you went to Greece and now that you’re back, I have the whole week planned out perfectly. You know how much it means to me to have you here, and for you to meet Mich and my other friends—”

She was right, but I saw an opening and jumped in. “Well, you’re teaching tomorrow, so I can see James then, right?”

“What?” My logic seemed to baffle her. I think she’d been ready for more of a fight. “Well, yes, of course. I mean, our plans don’t start until Saturday, so …” She cut herself off with a loud yawn. “Sorry, I’ve got to go to bed. I have to be up in six hours.” She crossed the room and smacked a kiss onto my cheek before disappearing down the hallway to her room.

“Goodnight, Cat,” I called after her in a loud whisper. She flapped her hand in response.

I glanced at the pile of bedding next to the couch. Both of Cat’s flatmates were in residence that night, and I had been relegated to the pull-out I was sitting on. Normally, that would have been fine, but a lengthy sisterly debrief, the drama surrounding my suitors, and far too much red wine had curdled into a nasty flavour of exhaustion. I didn’t think I could muster the energy to make up the pull-out.

With a heavy sigh, I dragged myself off the couch and into the bathroom where I brushed my teeth, splashed some water on my face instead of running through my typical three-step skincare routine, and staggered back to the couch. I plopped a pillow on one end and pulled a doona over me as I stretched out along its length. I promised myself I’d make up a proper bed the next night.

As I drifted off to sleep, I realised with a start that I hadn’t responded to the text James had sent earlier, asking when he could see me. In a feat of imperfect timing, it had arrived right after I’d said goodbye to Josh and was in a taxi on the way to the Athens airport, steeping in post-trip blues and already missing the cute American boy.

I flicked my eyes to the clock on the wall. 12:57am. I’d text James in the morning.

*

I woke to the sound of the kettle revving up, the promise of tea the only thing stopping me from smothering myself with a pillow. Whose idea was it to open that second bottle of rioja? Oh, right, it was mine.

“Sez, are you awake?” half-whispered Cat.

I rolled over onto my back and wiped a stream of drool off my cheek. “Yep,” I replied, wincing at the sound of my own voice.

“I’m making tea.” Ah, the Parsons sisters’ motto.