I imagine us in the back room of his mum’s organic store, lips pressed together, his hand on my neck and mine on his shoulder. I feel the muscles under his T-shirt and the calluses on his hands from building stuff in the woodworking shed at school. They scrape my skin, in a good way. The crook of his neck, soft like a cotton pillowslip straight out of the dryer, is my favourite place to rest my head. We huddle over funny videos, laughing at everything. He’s never afraid to be goofy, doing anything to make me and his sister Sabine laugh. One time, he put her tutu on his head and pretended … Well, most guys couldn’t pull that off with their dignity intact. But most of all, I imagine him telling me it’s all going to be okay.

‘I feel bad Adam’s come all the way,’ I whisper to Melody, ‘but really. There’s nothing to talk about. Please?’

She puts down her knitting and walks over to Adam. I watch as he listens to her, then he looks at me and shakes his head. Melody waves Autumn over and the three of them continue talking at the tent door, their voices low so I can’t hear.

The women in the circle soon begin talking among themselves. I hear murmurs from them that men are not supposed to be here. I feel bad about breaking the rules, making a scene, but what can I do? I don’t want to talk to him and it seems he’s refusing to go.

Within a few minutes, more women have joined Melody and Autumn circling my father. Everyone keeps looking back at me, and my face is growing hot.

‘Thank you so much,’ I hear Melody finally say as she hugs Bonnie.

Bonnie turns to face us. ‘Women. Attention, please. We’re going to convene in a circle in the tent corner. I know we’re breaking the women-only rules here, but there are extenuating circumstances. Our young sister here,’ she looks at me, ‘needs our help. Our gathering protocols allow for that. All are welcome to join.’

Melody catches my eye, shrugs and smiles like there’s nothing she can do.

I’m trapped.

Chatter fills the room as some women put away their needles and a new group forms in the tent corner. Someone turns the music off, and Melody leads my father over. If I wasn’t feeling so uncomfortable, I’d be laughing. The poor guy looks terrified as he takes in the dreamcatchers made from sticks and threaded with multicoloured beads, crystals and eagle feathers, the pile of knitting, the scented candles, and the women with their flowing skirts, tattoos and different shades of hair, like he’ll be eaten alive by girl cooties.