I think about Amber, my cousin. She’s only been in Auckland for a few days but she’s staying at a small hotel in Parnell. I had invited her again and again to come stay with me for free while she was in the city, and though at the time I was relieved she said no—I cherish my personal space—now I’m wishing she was here. She’s a nice girl, just turned twenty-four, so two years older than me, and we’re about to spend a month together cruising the country. Getting to know her better would be a good thing.

I put the kettle on and fish out the last packet of instant coffee, dumping it into a coffee cup that has a picture on it of a zombified Sleeping Beauty. Even if I do end up bonding with Amber, I doubt I’ll be able to explain to her what I’ve been feeling. How do you explain the sadness and anxiety gnawing away at you every day when there is no cause for it? I know most people, my mother especially, would say that it’s leftover from the accident, from when my father died.

But that’s not it. I’ve done my grieving, I’ve gone to the counselors, I’ve worked through those feelings. This is something else. This is that feeling like you should be doing something else with your life and every day that you’re not is another waste of your existence. The only time the feeling had stopped was when I was traveling, but now that I’ve been home for a month, it’s all back in full swing, worse than ever.

It doesn’t help that I still don’t really have a job. No job, no purpose.

“All right, pity party over,” I tell myself as the water boils and I pour it into the mug. I sit down at the wood-hewn island in the middle of the kitchen, stir my coffee rapidly and stare out the window to the pōhutukawa tree outside. The red flowers are just starting to pop, signifying that Christmas is on its way. Amber and I will be spending the holiday at my mum and aunt’s, at the vineyard I grew up on. Christmas has always been hard without Dad but I feel that this year it might be nice to have Amber around. Maybe my grandfather will have us over for a New Year’s hāngi again up north.

I start to perk up a little, though I’m not sure if it’s the coffee or the idea of having something to do, about showing Amber the ins and outs of Kiwi culture. There is still the whole job problem. Nick can’t fit me in as a full-time trainer until February, so I’ve just been taking shifts when one of the trainers is sick or if they’re all booked up.

Of course, Nick has no problem fitting me into his bed. Then again, I have no problem fitting him into mine. Yesterday was amazing—taking our bikes on the ferry to Waiheke and racing around the island, stopping at the occasional beach for a swim and at as many vineyards as we could fit in. We arrived back in the city good and drunk, weaving on the ride back home, to my flat in Mount Eden, and followed up our day with a night of turbulent sex.

As usual, though, Nick didn’t stay the whole night. He was up and out at two a.m., once again claiming that his early morning workout routine would be too much of a hindrance to me. When I arrived back from being overseas and saw him at the airport waiting for me, I really thought things were going to change. I thought he was going to change. That was the whole reason I left, to get away and figure out what I wanted. To find myself, yes, but find a way to get over him.

I thought it had worked. And for one day it did. When I met that Josh guy in Vancouver, it was like everything finally made sense. I realized there were people out there that you could click with, that could ignite you with their kiss, that could wake you up like a splash of cold water. Then the next day he was gone, I was gone, and Nick came back into my life.

When Nick broke up with me six months ago, I knew it had been for the best. He was always splitting his time between Auckland and Sydney, so he was rarely around, and when he was he could hardly focus on me. He liked me in bed a lot, he liked to show me off to his athlete friends, and we had fun being active together. We never opened up to each other or got closer than just our skin on skin. For some reason I liked that. It was safe, and even though he never once in our year of dating told me he loved me, that was okay, too.

But even as noncommittal as we had been with each other, he’d done a number on me. I’d invested way more in the relationship than I should have and when he ended it because the long distance was getting too hard, it dug deep. I’d been protecting my heart but it hadn’t been enough. Even without the I love yous, I fell for him and all the shit and false promises that he came with.

I know that seeing him again is wrong, that it’s bad for me. There’s a feeling of distinct disapproval that rolls off of Nyla every time I mention his name. She’s lucky she’s a nurse and barely has to see him.

But I am seeing him and things are exactly the same as they were before. We connect in the bedroom but not outside of it. We get down and dirty but never open and real. This time I’m going to have to be okay with it. At least he’s going to get me a job. At least he looks good on paper. At least I know I won’t get close this time. I won’t get hurt. Things will continue to just be . . . fine.

I finish the coffee and put the empty mug in the sink. Chairman Meow hops up on the counter and slides himself along my arm, wanting attention or perhaps wanting to comfort me. That ache behind my ribs is still there, that longing for something that probably doesn’t exist.

I take a shower and get dressed in my gym clothes—black capri tights, sports bra, white singlet—thinking that I’ll go to Nick’s and see if I’m needed. I know I’m not. They’d call me if that were the case. But I’m feeling especially anxious today and staying around the house wouldn’t do me much good. There’s some gardening to be done in the back of the house, my favorite lazy day activity, and a few books I wanted to dive into, but I feel like I have to get out and interact with people, put myself out there. I’m an introvert through and through but sometimes it seems detrimental. Besides, maybe by showing my face at the gym I’ll manage to attract the interest of some of the men. I know they never really need my training but a job is a job and I’m not above working what I have.