‘As if,’ I reply, doing my best to give her a withering glare. I broke up with Zach three months ago, effectively imploding my entire life, and for the past two weeks, Millie hasn’t stopped hounding me to see if she can set me up with her new co-worker. She claims two months is ‘standard break-up mourning period’. And even though I’ve tried to explain to her that turning down a proposal is a lot different than a normal breakup and that I don’t want another version of the guy I just broke up with — born and raised in Columbus, obsessed with football, hates trying new restaurants, timidly nice — she won’t take no for an answer.

Millie snorts. ‘Whatever you say. Technically, I haven’t seen him in person, just online. But if you’re into pompous jerks, then I guess he is.’

I give her a sideways glance. ‘Well, shouldn’t we respond?’ I reach for her phone, ready to defend my honour as a self-proclaimed grammar snob, but it’s wedged firmly between her thigh and the armrest of the couch.

‘We don’t need to,’ she says. ‘Now do you see why this trip is so important to me? Spotting the butterfly wrasse will be the best comeback there is.’ She folds her arms defiantly and leans back into the couch. ‘Fourteen days until he’s proven wrong.’

When I turn the TV off, Millie stretches out her arms and nudges Murphy’s head off her lap. She winces as she stands, a reminder of the procedure she had done last week. The doctors are sending in her sample to determine if the lump in her breast is benign and the results won’t be back for three more days. The wait seems excruciatingly long to me, but Millie took it in her stride.

‘Andi?’ Millie asks, turning to face me. ‘I want to ask you something . . .’ She wrings her hands and immediately, I’m consumed by nerves. Millie is never hesitant, and I don’t like seeing her this way.

‘What’s up?’ I as k, as nonchalantly as possible.

‘Well . . .’ Millie pauses and starts petting Murphy’s head. ‘Well, you know my trip?’

‘Uh-huh.’ I nod, like Millie’s given me the chance to forget it. We were talking about it no less than ten minutes ago.

‘I was just thinking that if I can’t go . . .’ She trails off and looks at me, her eyes pleading.

‘You’re going to be able to go. Didn’t the doctor say he thinks, based on the location and stuff, that the lump,’ I correct myself, ‘that Sal is benign?’

‘Well, yeah, but I was thinking today that, just in case, if I can’t go, you could maybe go instead of me?’