‘Is that you, Oliver?’ my aunt Paula calls out. She’s on the couch in her default position: laptop propped up on a floral pillow and a cup of tea within reaching distance. Paula’s seven months pregnant and although the doctor gave her the all clear to end her months of bed rest, she’s still full of anxiety about something going wrong. She looks up from her computer and smiles at Oliver. ‘How are your holidays going so far?’

‘Paula,’ I interject, ‘I told you they start next week.’ She’s so unfocused these days; it’s like she sees me, but doesn’t hear me. But I give her a smile. I know she’s having a hard time with her pregnancy. And after all, she was beyond patient with me when I first arrived here.

When Mum died last year, I moved from Sydney to small-town West Creek to live with Aunt Paula and Uncle Dave. At the time, I had nowhere else to go. I didn’t know my father yet, or his parents, who live in America, and my maternal grandparents had passed away long before. I felt abandoned, alone, orphaned. Paula and Dave made so many sacrifices to give me a new home and tried their hardest to shower me with love. Not that I appreciated it at the time…

‘Want some more tea?’ I ask Paula.

‘I’m all tea-ed out today,’ she replies.

‘Well that’s a first.’

Oliver digs in his backpack and hands Paula a large bottle of supplements. ‘These just came into the shop; Mum says they’re meant to be the best out there. All raw or organic or something.’

Paula props herself up. ‘How thoughtful. I’ll call Diana to say thank you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate her taking on the baby shower project. I keep telling her I’ll help organise it, but she won’t let me lift a finger! She’s an angel.’ When Oliver and I started going out, Paula and Oliver’s mum, Diana, who runs a health-food store in town, got to know each other and they’ve been close friends ever since. Paula frowns. ‘I wish I could offer you both some freshly baked cookies like the old days.’

‘It’s okay, Paula. Where’s Dave?’ I ask, looking around.

‘Groceries. Left a minute ago.’

‘I’ll make dinner tonight,’ I offer. ‘Should I text him to buy a can of lentils for veggie burgers?’ Paula has gestational diabetes, which means she can have next to no carbs or sugars, so she’ll have to eat her burger without the bun.

‘What do you think, peanut?’ She looks down, rubbing her belly. ‘Lentils? Or too much gas?’ She replies to herself in a super high-pitched voice, like she’s the baby: ‘Yum!’

The word obsessed doesn’t come close to describing Paula with this bub.