Harper and I are making soup together in companionable silence, chopping and slicing vegetables for a giant pot that we’re planning to eat for the next three days. She turns to me.

‘I have something to tell you.’

‘Okay.’ Her tone is making me nervous. It’s an I-Have-Bad-News tone.

‘I’m setting Jesse up on a date,’ she says.

‘Oh.’ I work very hard to keep my face still and unresponsive, which is hard because I’m chopping onions and my eyes are burning. ‘As part of your matchmaking strategy with Penny?’

‘Yes, we need one more dataset. And we want to give the straights one last chance before we deem them unworkable in our business model.’

‘Oh god. I feel like I’ve let the entire straight community down. And we already have a terrible reputation.’

‘We can apportion some of that blame to Henry.’

‘Let’s give him a significant portion,’ I say.

‘Anyway, I guess, I just wanted you to know, ahead of time. In case.’

‘In case what?’

‘In case the idea of Jesse going on a date upsets you and you need to talk about it or stop it or something.’ She says this very quickly, and then watches my face for a reaction.

I almost say, ‘Why would it upset me?’ but I don’t want to give her the opportunity to answer that. I don’t want to know what she thinks the answer is.

‘I’m fine. Completely and totally fine with it. One hundred per cent fine. There’s no reason not to be. And there’s nothing to talk about. It’s actually a great idea. Good for Jesse, you know.’ The more words I say, the faster I say them, and I’m chopping the vegetables faster too, wiping my streaming onion eyes with the back of my hand and I can hear myself—I know I don’t sound believable. I sound like someone who shouldn’t be handling a knife right now.

‘Okay.’ Harper is staring at me, her knife held poised.

‘Don’t say, “The lady doth protest too much.”’ I turn away from the onions, eyes burning.

‘I have no idea what that means,’ she says.

‘It’s a line from Hamlet.’

‘Ugh, Shakespeare is a pig,’ Harper says.

‘Oh god, is he?’ I was in the Shakespeare society at my school, but we just read his plays, and I don’t know anything about the man.

‘I actually don’t know, I just assume he was,’ she laughs. ‘And if I say that, it distracts from the fact I never read any Shakespeare at school and I made my sister write my essay on Macbeth.’