Sometimes I forget Millie is my older sister. She’s so exuberant and carefree, and she takes up so much of the spotlight that she feels like the baby. But sometimes she spouts out pearls of wisdom that remind me she’s lived more life than I have.

‘I know,’ I acquiesce. My voice comes out in a whisper.

‘Really, Andi,’ Millie presses, ‘when was the last time you were this happy? Not content, happy? Even with Zach I didn’t think that . . .’ She stops talking, leaving the unsaid words in the air. Even with Zach, she didn’t think I was happy. I try to shrug off the implication, I don’t want to go down the rabbit hole of wishing I knew sooner, wishing I could have avoided all the hurt.

‘Let me think about it,’ I say, partly to get Millie off my back. I settle into my chair and turn on the massage function.

I avoid analysing my last relationship . . . thinking about before it instead . . . maybe during our trip to India. I open my mouth to answer but a memory stops me. I was a senior in college taking my final marine biology lab and I knew I was acing it. I was so ecstatic I felt invincible. Millie was employed at the lab doing research and frequently TA-ed our class, but that day she was pulled into other work. I felt so free and so powerful without her there. I finished my lab first and with a perfect score. For the first time I felt like I was where I was meant to be, like I could carve my own space in a narrow field. I was excited for my future.

And then Millie came back. I saw her out of the corner of my eye first, ducking into a neighbouring classroom, her lab coat swishing behind her. Then she popped into our classroom and whispered something to the professor, who burst out laughing, beaming at Millie. She was so at home, so commanding, and I felt all my excitement evaporate. Millie wasn’t someone I could compete with.

‘India,’ I finally say.

Millie nods. ‘I thought you would say that. And this will be even better, trust me.’ She winks.

I’m so intimidated at the thought of pretending to be Millie that I’m not sure if I believe her.

Chapter 4

Murphy knows something’s up because he’s following me around the house like he did when he was a puppy. It started after I brought him his favourite bone from the gourmet store down the street that I usually reserve only for his birthday. Murphy played with it for all of ten minutes before he turned his gaze to me, full puppy-dog eyes, as if he knew the bone was only a way to soften bad news.