The morning fog hasn’t lifted. What you want is to get where you’re going, quickly. She offered to drive before you could get a word in, so you don’t have any control over how quickly you get there, but you can watch her pale fingers tap the top of the steering wheel. You can wish she would drive faster. You can look at her face and think about how her hair is brittle and frizzy, because she has taken up swimming in the past year. When you were both kids, it was beautiful, soft, floating around her face and curling into shiny yellow ringlets below her ears. It made you jealous. Back then, jealousy was easy to summon. Now, it’s too much energy. It’s easy to imagine her swimming, snapping on a swimming cap and goggles, lips set like they are now, no-nonsense, but you don’t even care if she’s any good. She asks you abruptly if you’ve been seeing anyone, and you don’t say anything, because you can’t muster the energy to give the honest answer, which is embarrassing and complicated, and because the question seems out of place, given the circumstances. She is dating, she tells you, someone you know, this guy on the periphery of your social circle for the last few years of high school. He’s nice, she says. He’s studying engineering. He wants to be an engineer. You nod, and say something dry about your job. You hope you won’t have to work there long. It’s entry-level, but you’ve only just graduated. It’s about what you expected. Maybe the conversation will flow better after this morning is all over, but it’s unlikely you’ll seek out each other’s company again for a while. You’re both adults now, and though you got over yourselves years ago, after this morning, there won’t be anything tying you together. The fog, the shared prospect of a long drive. You imagine she is also running over whether she should approach Lidia’s parents or just quietly take a seat at the back. You consider turning on the radio. The noise over the sound of the engine and her light tapping might make this uncomfortable, but shouldn’t this car ride be tense? If you turn on the radio the host will tell you that it’s 7:13 in the West, 9:13 if you’re in the centre, and 9:43 in the East, which you know already, even if you’re not thinking about what time it is in Perth. Lidia’s grandparents lived in Perth. When she would go visit them for the first few weeks of the school break it would put the whole summer on pause, because it was always three or none, neither of you having had much enthusiasm for each other’s company without Lidia there. When she was at home, the three of you would spend afternoons in her back garden chewing splintered icy-pole sticks, so hot that your heartbeat would travel from inside your chest to your neck and the tips of your fingers. The car is cold. You can reach across the dashboard and turn on the heater.