“How are things?” Without asking, I make her a cup of the chamomile tea she always drank.

“Good, I—I just worry about you. I’ve been meaning to get in touch after last time, but I didn’t really know what to say so as not to provoke too much of a reaction.”

“I’ve met someone,” I blurt out. It feels good but also strange to say it.

“You have?” Rebecca looks as though this is a big surprise to her. As if, after she left me, I must have become the least attractive woman in Sydney. “That’s great.”

“It made me realize some things about why it went wrong between us.” The only reason I’m able to speak to Rebecca in such a calm manner about this is because I practiced this conversation with Camille on Skype yesterday. When all you can do is talk—instead of other activities that occupy the tongue as well as the mind—you tend to spill your guts. Not being able to touch Camille has given me a clear window into her soul, and vice versa. Sometimes we talk without seeing each other. I just lie down, close my eyes, and enjoy the sound of her voice in my ear and the fact that, even though she’s so far away, she can still feel so near.

“I told you before. What I did was wrong, in any respect. There’s no excuse for going behind your back and not having the guts to tell you I’d met someone else. I should have made a choice sooner,” Rebecca says.

“But life is not perfect like that. Things ending with one partner and seamlessly moving on to the next.”

“Life is bloody messy,” she says, and sends me a smile that used to drive me mad. A long time ago. “Tell me about the woman you’ve met.”

I can’t suppress a grin, then tell her all about Camille.

“Paris?” Rebecca raises her eyebrows. “Damn.”

“I know. It’s a bit far.” I look away, past her, straight at a piece of art she acquired, but failed to take with her. When she left, it was as though she didn’t need anything from the home we shared for such a long time. As though she wanted to forget all about it as quickly as possible—and about me in the process. “But I didn’t ask you here to tell you all about my new relationship. That’s not what this is.” Although, I must admit, it does give me a certain degree of satisfaction to tell my ex I’ve found love again. “I guess I want you to know that…” This is hard to say. “I’m finally willing to take responsibility for my part in what went wrong between us. I let us coast along. It was enough for me, or so I believed. I was wrong.”