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‘Mum,’ Chandice whines. ‘Please don’t stare at him when he stops by to pick me up tonight.’

‘I have to admit,’ Dad says, ‘I was taken aback by his looks.’

‘Give us a gander, then,’ I say to Chandice.

She grabs her phone, taps the screen and passes it to me. It’s an Instagram post, and I enlarge the photo. A broody-looking man stares back at me. His skin is a smooth, deep brown. Eyes so dark they’re almost black. Chiselled jaw. Hair lining his upper lip and chin. Black-framed glasses and closely cropped hair.

‘He’s well fit,’ I say.

‘I know,’ Chandice says, all bashful.

Mum places her hand on Dad’s. ‘He’s a bit like your dad.’

Chandice scoffs. ‘He so isn’t and don’t say that, it’s weird.’

Mum screws up her face. ‘Your dad’s fit, you know. Especially when he was younger. He looked exactly like that.’

‘He so didn’t,’ Chandice says. ‘Way to turn me off my new boyfriend, Mum.’

I snort with laughter. ‘I knew you had daddy issues.’

Chandice glares at me. ‘Fuck off. You’re one to talk, pining after the pretty white blonde. Talk about mummy issues.’

‘Pack it in, you two,’ Mum hisses. ‘What have I said about swearing at the dinner table?’

Dad gives a fed-up sigh and shakes his head. ‘Nobody has mummy or daddy issues, okay? Chandice, your lad is very handsome and doesn’t look a thing like me now or when I was young. And Casey, Holly is beautiful and looks nothing like?—’

Mum turns to him, brows shooting up towards her hairline.

‘I didn’t mean you’re not beautiful, love. I’ll start again. Casey, Holly looks nothing like your mum. They’re both beautiful in their own way.’

Mum rolls her eyes. ‘Where are those cocktails? I need a drink.’

Dad’s eyes dart between the three of us. ‘Can we just have a nice lunch now, please?’

‘S’pose so,’ Chandice says.

‘Right,’ I say, taking her phone. ‘Let me look at his grid, then.’

Chandice rests her chin on my shoulder as I scroll, sighing at every photo.

Our cocktails arrive, soon followed by the food, and for the next hour I numb my heartache and appreciate my family.

Chapter 39

Holly, Melbourne

Aweek after my dinner with Tom, I’m at Caleb’s Wine Bar. It’s a busy Saturday night, loud with conversation and jazz music. Nat’s late and I’ve already finished my first glass of wine. Caleb has just opened a new bottle and put two fresh glasses in front of me when Nat hurries in, forehead puckered with stress.

‘Sorry I’m so late,’ she says, giving me a quick hug. ‘Archie’s sick.’

‘Why didn’t you call? We could’ve cancelled.’

She waves a hand and hops onto a bar stool. ‘No. He’s settled now. I needed to get out and I wanted to see you.’

I give her a grateful smile and point to the bottle. ‘My friend Caleb there chose this for us.’

‘Oh, I remember him,’ she says and gives him a wave.