‘You okay, babe?’ Lily set a hand on my shoulder. ‘We lost you there.’

‘No, no, I’m fine,’ I lied. ‘It’s just, I – I mean, didn’t I already answer this?’

‘No, babes,’ Betty took over, ‘before it was what you’re interested in, like casual hook-ups, now it’s what you’re interested in, like boys or girls.’

‘Or non-binary,’ Lily added.

‘Yep, or that.’

‘I …’ I didn’t know why it was so hard. Boys, obviously. Obviously?

‘Unless you feel like really pushing the boat out with this whole open relationship thing—’ Lily squeezed my shoulder ‘—in which case click all and move on.’

‘I love that you realise that sleeping with women is such a fucking delight that it can be considered as pushing the boat out.’ Faith looked over my head to Lily, who laughed.

‘I mean, I don’t have first-hand experience. But you seem really happy with it.’

‘I personally have zero complaints.’ Faith squeezed my knee. ‘Boys is fine, too, though.’

‘Okay, boys,’ I said, as I clicked the option. ‘Yep, boys.’ The next screen appeared, just like before, and the conversation moved on to what I was interested in, meaning hobbies. Lily and Betty argued over my head – ‘She likes reading … Is that an interest?’ – and Faith lowered her voice to talk to me.

‘Are you okay, Edi?’

I flashed a tight smile. ‘I think so?’

‘There’ll be women on there, you know.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Women. Even though you hit men, there’ll be women. It’s this weird thing that happens with online dating. You get it a lot when you hit the women for women option. Blokes will have set up a “lesbian account” but with their actual photo, like the sight of some middle-aged hairline leaning in front of a sunset is going to make or break someone’s sexual preference. But I’ve heard that women do it, too, on women seeking men accounts. So, you might match with women.’ I don’t know what my face did, but she felt the need to build on her explanation. ‘I’m just saying when you start looking you might come across women. Like, it can happen.’

I nodded along like I understood, and on the surface I did. But I wondered what Faith was implying. Like a heavy-handed doctor testing reflexes, her comments catapulted me back to my teenage bedroom. The place-memory was alive with the smell of Impulse and breath mints, swallowed and sprayed at leisure after all the crafty cigarettes smoked out of my bedroom window. I could remember the pink walls, the grease of the Blu-Tack stains that just wouldn’t come out, no matter how hard Dad and I had tried with them. Then I remembered the window seat, where I’d been when I kissed—

‘Reading, dinners out, and watching romantic comedies,’ Betty announced.

Faith rolled her eyes. ‘What?’

‘My interests. They’re trying to decide on my interests.’