I didn’t think to forewarn them that Rowan wouldn’t be coming. When I arrived at the restaurant – ‘I think my party might already be here. Parcell?’ – a beautiful woman guided me through the packed dining area to drop me off at my parents’ table. My arse had hardly touched the seat when Mum asked, ‘No Rowan?’

I half-laughed. ‘Hi, Mum.’

‘Hi, Edi, sweetheart.’ Dad stood and leaned over the table to kiss my cheek. ‘Everything okay? You look a little flustered.’

‘Long day,’ I brushed the question off and looked at Mum. ‘No Rowan.’

‘Long day for him, too?’ she asked.

I murmured behind my menu, ‘Something came up.’ I saw them swap a look but neither of them was brave enough to push. ‘What are you both having?’

‘We’re having one of the sharing platters, I think,’ Dad answered. ‘The chicken one.’

My stomach turned over. There’s no one for me to share food with. If Rowan leaves me, there won’t ever be anyone for me to share food with. I jerked as my phone vibrated in the front pocket of my jeans. I wondered whether this was something that developed after years of friendship, or whether it was a unique skill Faith had honed. But, as though sensing my sadness from ten streets away, she messaged: I know they’re a lot. Remember you don’t have to tell them. But you don’t have to protect him either. While I scanned that message, another came through: If you need an emergency then I came on my period today and I’m more than happy to call and cry down the phone. Send any emoji. In the seconds after, she sent through a sequence of smiling faces, flowers and food items. When the string of vibrations had stopped, I stashed my phone away and apologised.

‘Don’t ever apologise for that smile. I remember the days of your father making me smile like that.’ She squeezed his hand on the table. ‘Rowan?’

I cleared my throat. ‘Faith, actually.’

‘Oh.’ She set the menu flat and leaned on the table, arms folded. ‘How’s she doing?’

‘She’s really well, thanks, Mum. Enjoying work and—’

‘Still single?’

I frowned. ‘I have literally no idea. Maybe? She hasn’t mentioned anyone so …’

‘Are you ready to order?’ the same waitress from before asked and I snapped, ‘Yes,’ at such a speed that she looked taken aback. ‘Okay, then. What’ll it be?’ Dad ordered for him and Mum; a sharer with a side of tomato and herb flatbread. Rowan’s favourite flatbread. Never anything with garlic. There was a pull in my stomach. ‘What can I get for you?’