‘Oh yeah. I thought it belonged to the house.’ He gives me a quick smile. He is not good at lying. The green tea belongs to the house. The black tea belongs to the house. My expensive, made-on-a-farm-in-Byron-Bay-with-certified-organic-ingredients Sleepytime tea, with the typed label ‘Brooke’s sleep tea’ on it is special. It is to be portioned out like medication. But, fine. We’ve been in a weird truce, a sort of almost friendship since the hospital. The barriers got knocked down, and I haven’t been able to build them up as high again. I guess we’re at the sharingmy-good-tea stage.

Jesse walks over and sits on the couch next to me.

‘Is your ovary hurting?’ he says, then makes a face. ‘Sorry. That’s weird. That’s a weird question to ask.’

‘It’s a bit sore but okay,’ I say.

‘I’ll watch whatever you’re going to watch with you,’ he says.

‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘Absolutely not.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I am about to rewatch a show I know you wouldn’t be interested in it.’

‘How do you know? I’m interested in lots of things.’ He sips the tea, makes a disgusted face. It is a tea to be endured, not enjoyed. ‘What is in this?’

‘Flowers and herbs.’

‘Huh.’ He sips again, swallows, and looks pained. ‘Is this like that turmeric chip from the party—an acquired taste you learn to love?’

‘No, it stays pretty bad.’ I sit back on the couch and fold my arms, waiting for him to leave.

‘Just tell me what the show is.’ He squishes a pillow behind his back, wriggling to get more comfy.

‘No.’

‘Brooke. I’m not as judgmental as…’ He trails off.

‘As who?’ I say.

‘As nobody.’ He pretends to be very interested in his tea.

‘Were you going to say not as judgmental as me?’ If he thinks this is my first rodeo, my first time being told I’m judgmental, my first time hearing criticism, then he’s a fool. I grew up in a household of women, a household where faults and flaws are discussed freely, sometimes shouted at you mid-argument (Lauren to me) or itemised on a piece of paper slipped under your door (me to Lauren).

‘I mean, you’re not not judgmental.’

‘People think I’m judgmental because I don’t drink,’ I say, which is true. I think sometimes people hate me for not drinking because then I’m just there as a sober witness to everyone’s mistakes, and that really kills the vibe, I know it does.

‘It has nothing to do with you not drinking,’ Jesse says.

‘Then why do you think I’m judgmental?’

‘You’re not. Forget it.’

‘You don’t need to protect me. I know all the reasons people don’t like me, don’t worry.’

‘That’s very self-aware of you.’