Joan’s waiting for me at my desk. If she asks me to send an all-company email regarding her mug, I might lose it.

Instead she smiles.

‘Can I get you a fresh glass of water?’

Kind Joan looks odd, somewhat manic. It does not suit her.

‘Oh, no, but thank you.’

‘I ask –’ she really spits out the ‘k’ – ‘because you are using my mug as your water glass.’

I look down at my water glass.

‘This … glass is your mug?’

‘It is a specially designed mug with two layers of glass for a superior taste and hot-beverage drinking experience. I spent a lot of time researching the perfect mug.’

It’s definitely a glass.

‘I’m so sorry. It looks like a glass to me, but of course, have it back.’ I gesture to the glass, and as I do, I drop my tissue.

Her whole face flushes red.

‘Are you ill? You are ill! Why would you use someone else’s mug, their special mug, when you’re ill?’

I’m in for it now, and the awkwardness of the situation and the bright office lights are making me need to sneeze.

Please don’t sneeze. I shake my head from side to side, trying to knock back the urge. ‘Oh no, I feel fine, but I’ve been talking all weekend, which makes me sound like I have a cold.’

My eyes start to water. Please don’t sneeze.

‘Hmm.’

She stomps away with her ‘mug’, as I sneeze as quietly as is humanly possible into my sleeve. But fair play to Joan; a minute later she stomps back with a fresh glass of water.

She plonks it down and gives me another insincere smile. I can think of nothing that would make me sip from that glass. She definitely spat in it.

A few hours later I’m staring mindlessly at my nails. Some days fly by, and some days crawl at a glacial pace. Today is definitely the latter.

Which really isn’t helping distract me from Dream Peter. Maybe I should try to arrange to see Colin again? Our messaging has dried up since I cancelled on him last week in favour of fair prep.

Mia would love the mug incident. And now I do actually have some positive life updates for her.

Are you available for lunch?

I get there a bit early, and start fiddling with my bag, and my jacket, and my top, suddenly unsure of myself.

But then I see her walking towards me and I’m just happy to see her, and doubly happy that she’s smiling back at me. As soon as she comes within touching distance I hug her. Hard.

‘I’ve missed you.’ And then I don’t stop talking. ‘So much has happened and I’ve wanted to tell you everything but I felt weird and, wait … I’m so sorry.’ I don’t care that I am apologizing first. ‘I’m so sorry about not talking to you and kicking you out of my house. I’m sorry for being moody and not replying to your messages. I love you. You’re my best friend, and I hate it when things are even a little bit off between us. I don’t feel like myself.’