“What should we have for dinner, do you think?” she asked. Knowing my sister as I did, I took her question to mean, “what are you cooking for us?”

“Well, we’re having a red. Shall I make pasta?” She grinned in response. “You were hoping I’d say that, weren’t you?” She grinned even wider, the cheeky thing. I rolled my eyes. “Have you got everything for the sauce?”

“I think so.” She went through the cupboards and assembled an assortment of tomato-based goods on the countertop, along with a large green bottle of olive oil.

“Pasta?” An unopened packet of pasta appeared on the counter and she stood up, her cupboard foraging complete.

“What else?” she asked. She couldn’t cook, but she was a half-decent kitchen hand.

“Fresh herbs? Veggies—an onion.”

She went to the fridge and came out with a zucchini, an onion, and a bunch of slightly wilted basil.

“How about these?” she said, dumping her finds next to the cans.

“Great. Big pot?”

“Cupboard below you.” I opened the cupboard and pulled out the biggest pot they had. I knew where they kept the cutting board and the sharp knives, so I got to work while Cat went around the other side of the counter and climbed onto a stool, then watched me in silence while she sipped her wine. It’s one of the things I love most about my friendship with Cat—no need to fill every moment with chatter.

Once the onions were cooking, I took my first sip of wine. “Mmm, this is good.”

“Argentinian malbec.”

“Delish.” I took another sip while I stirred the onions.

“I have a couple more bottles. It was on sale at Tesco.”

“Let’s see how we go with this one first. I don’t want to fly with a hangover.”

“Noted,” said my sister, as she took a generous mouthful of wine, then topped up her glass. I ignored her and got down to chopping and opening cans. In no time at all, the sauce was simmering slowly on the stove and I started cleaning up.

“So, this plan of yours,” she said, suddenly very interested in the stem of her glass. “It means you are going to Hawaii with Josh in December?”

I drank some more wine and absently stirred the sauce. I wasn’t sure I was ready to confront the reality Cat had just raised. When I’d said I was going to see what happens, I’d been half-cut on Italian bubbles.

“Is that what I said?” I asked, not really wanting the answer.

“Well, no, not in so many words, but isn’t that what you meant? You’re going to ‘see what happens’.” She put the last part in air quotes. I hate air quotes, especially when they’re being used against me. “So, you’ll see Josh in Hawaii, and James—well, I guess you’ll see him whenever he flies down to Sydney or flies you back here, right?”

I chewed on a thumbnail. Am I a nail-biter now? Cat frowned at me and I stopped nibbling.