Dr Taylor returns to the room and Millie launches into her plan. Within minutes, he’s recommended a surgeon. He reminds me to schedule my blood test with the front desk. He schedules a time to have a follow-up call with Millie.

I’m still in shock when Dr Taylor leaves. We are supposed to get out of the room, leave the hospital, return to our lives, but I can’t even seem to get up from my chair.

‘Everything’s fine,’ Millie tells me, ‘I have a plan, we have a plan.’ But I can’t shake the feeling that everything’s about to change.

The only thing that makes me smile the rest of the day is a message from Hugh:

@hughharris94 I bet you’re one of those Americans who pronounces Cairns like it rhymes with barns.

@millieandipaxton Ah yes, because it makes total sense to pronounce it like the film festival.

@hughharris94 Touché.

@millieandipaxton Touché.

@hughharris94 Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

@millieandipaxton Sorry, just distracted today. Got some not bad not good news.

@hughharris94 Terrifying to think about how not-bad-not-good news would have to be to distract an American. Another yodeller chaining himself to a Walmart? Did a bear eat Lady Gaga’s famous poodles?

@hughharris94 Sorry to hear that though, really.

Chapter 3

I don’t see Millie again until after she’s got the call. We live five minutes from each other, and she’s driven over to go on a walk with me and Murphy.

I know what Millie’s gonna tell me, my mom has already called and filled me in. The best surgeon in the Columbus area has an opening. Insurance has approved her for the procedure. Millie has officially scheduled her double mastectomy and reconstruction for 15th December, a day after she was supposed to land in Australia.

‘I don’t get why all of this is happening so fast,’ I say when Millie explains it to me herself. We’ve stalled on the sidewalk. Murphy is tugging at his leash.

‘I don’t feel like I have a choice. My body is a ticking time bomb.’

‘But . . .’ I trail off. I don’t know what to say. I got my results from the lab a few days ago and found out I don’t have the BRCA gene. I’ve spent so many years thinking Millie was the lucky one . . . living like Millie was the lucky one. But looking at her now, about to miss the trip of a lifetime, it doesn’t feel that way anymore. I should be relieved, elated even, but instead I feel heavy with guilt.