I like him. I know that. I have kissed him multiple times now. I find him attractive, no, more than attractive, lately it’s been hard to even be in a room with him without wanting to get closer, without daydreaming about something happening, without thinking of us kissing on the couch. But I thought it was the kind of crush that could be overcome. I’m good at compartmentalising. I’m good at boxing away feelings.

But this time, this feeling, doesn’t feel like it can be boxed away.

I look at my phone. Lauren has sent me a photo of her hand, unbandaged. There’s no caption or further info. This is standard for her. She’ll say she’s busy, she doesn’t have time to write words or record a voice message to provide context, and yet, I know right now she’ll be reclining on the couch with a hydrating face mask on, gently pushing a jade roller over her cheeks, scrolling on her phone.

I call her.

I never call Lauren to chat, ever. I’ve called her to find out where she is, to make sure she’s okay, to see if she’s dead, to help find her lost phone. But to talk? To ask for advice? Never. Never, never, never. I haven’t had to. People who live together and have had easy access to each other for their whole lives don’t have a phone relationship and you can’t just suddenly develop one, out of nowhere, after eighteen years of yelling at each other from different rooms and talking in shorthand. But this is a crisis. And maybe Lauren has more wisdom than I give her credit for.

‘What’s wrong? Is Mum okay?’ she says, as soon as she picks up.

‘You live with Mum. Not me. How would I know?’ I say.

‘Mum!’ Lauren shouts. ‘Where are you?’

‘On the toilet,’ Mum shouts back. ‘I’ll be a while.’

‘Mum’s okay,’ Lauren says.

‘That’s not why I called. I called to talk to you.’

‘You never call to talk to me.’

‘I need…advice.’

‘What kind of advice?’

‘Romantic advice.’

‘Oh my god. Yes. I’ve been waiting for this day. Wait, let me get comfortable.’

‘If you make this weird or into a big deal, I’m hanging up,’ I say.

‘No you won’t, because you need my advice.’

She cackles and I almost do hang up, but she’s right. I’m desperate.

‘So,’ I say, not really sure where to start.

‘So after witnessing the two of you dry-humping on the couch, I’m assuming this is about Jesse.’

‘Can you not make it sound disgusting and immature?’

‘Fine. After witnessing the co-mingling of two precious souls—’

‘I will hang up.’

‘Okay, okay. So you hooked up with him and now you have feelings and—what?’

‘What do I do?’

‘How does he feel about it?’