I wasn't the only person who'd changed recently. When I returned to Colombia at the end of 2019, Zac was busy preparing his apartment for an important guest. His long-distance girlfriend, whom he'd met in Europe through mutual friends, was coming to stay for the first time. In all the years I'd known Zac, I'd never seen him like this over a woman.

"What do you think?" he asked as he gestured towards a newly potted tree on the terrace. "Is it too much? I'm going to put fairy lights on it, so it looks a little magical and romantic. I've just installed a new fountain over there with the soothing sound of running water. She likes to meditate, so I want this to be a relaxing space for her to do that in the morning. And I've got more plants arriving this afternoon, and another outdoor sun-lounge to go over here. And I'm going to move my antique bust of that Aristotle-looking philosopher dude over there, in the corner-"

"Really?" I asked. "In the corner?"

His eyes darted in my direction. "What's wrong with the corner?"

"Well, the corner is right next to the lounge. You're going to be making out with your woman while a dead philosopher stares very intensely at you both."

"What?! He won't be staring. You've got your angles all wrong." Zac wheeled the bust over to the corner on a trolley and hoisted it onto its mantle.

I jumped onto the outdoor lounge. "Observe closely, my friend. Your makeout session will begin like this, with your arm casually draped around her shoulder as you beguile her with this magnificent view. But then the kissing will begin, and that will inevitably lead to some straddling, and someone is going to end up lying on the lounge like this with the other person on top of them. And this whole time you'll have an ancient philosopher staring right at you like a voyeuristic pervert. It's a mood killer, unless you have a fetish for stone statues. And hey — if that's your kink, then no judgment. I'm just looking out for your love life."

"You seem to understand the pragmatics of this in visceral detail." His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "How often have you been slutting it up on my lounge?"

"Me?! On this lounge? With a man?" I gasped. "No, no, Zachary. I'm very innocent and pure. You know me — I always wear white to subtly signal my virtue to potential male suitors."

Zac stared at me, deadpan. "You are literally wearing a red dress right now."

I looked down at my clothing. "Oh! Well, would you look at that! I guess we do live in the twenty-first century, after all. I can guarantee you the various past and present gentlemen of this house have done more 'slutting it up' on this lounge than I ever have. I'm basically the seventh wheel in this little communal living situation." I made a broken heart with my fingers and pouted. "Forever alone."

Zac held his hands up in surrender. "Hey, I'm not judging. You can slut it up as much or as little as you like."

"Thank you, Zachary. I will continue to do just that. Also, in conclusion, you are wrong about the statue. I can guarantee it will creep her out."

"Hmm..." Zac mused. "I'll just position him off to the side, so he is looking straight over there." Zac pointed to the abandoned building he'd tried to purchase the previous year. The day after we had our deep-and-meaningful discussion on the roof of that dilapidated structure, Zac began putting the wheels in motion to research and potentially acquire it. At one point, I walked downstairs in the morning to find ten old, serious Colombian men sitting around the large wooden dining room table. They were all watching Zac as he pointed to a slideshow presentation on the TV.

"So," Zac said, "as you can see, you're all getting fucked" — he made a dramatic hip-thrusting gesture — "by this one shareholder who won't get on board."

The old man at the head of the table paused for a moment, looking stern. A second later, he burst out into a deep laughter that rocked his little body back and forth in its chair.

Before long, Mexican property developers were swooping in, and parties from all over the place wanted a piece of this hot new property deal. The rich, old Colombian man was the key to the whole thing. He refused to do business with anyone except the 'Australiano loco' (i.e. the crazy Australian) because Zac once made him laugh with some dramatic humping gestures.

As Zac had learned over many years, doing business in Colombia was like entering a strange world where left was right, and right was left, and equity was split in completely irrational ways, and piles of cash were casually slid across tables. In the end, the deal was put on ice because the numbers didn't stack up, but Zac was still determined to buy the place in a few years if he could restructure the deal and get the right investors on board.

"I think that's a better position," I agreed, gesturing to the statue. "He's looking wistfully off into the distance now." I curled up on the lounge, and Zac sat next to me as we looked out over the city towards the vast green mountains in the background. "It's all changing, my friend. It's so cute to see you nesting."

"I'm not nesting!" he said. "She's not pregnant."

"Oh, you know what I mean. Yesterday I saw you sweeping downstairs. Sweeping, Zac! I've never seen you sweep before."

"Well, she arrives tomorrow. I really want her to like the place."

"I doubt she will. It's pretty shit, to be honest." I gestured towards the magnificent view. "We've come a long way from our little country towns in Australia, haven't we? And only eighteen months ago, you were telling me you wanted to meet someone serious. And now you have this amazing new woman in your life!"

"I really like her," Zac sighed. "She has so many qualities that I want in a partner — intelligence, kindness, warmth, beauty. She's Brazilian and Italian-"

"And I know how much you love spending summers in Italy," I interjected.

"Exactly! What are the chances of that? And she runs her own business, and can talk about business stuff with me, which I love. She wants a family. And she is nomadic, so she isn't tied down to a job in a particular location. She fits my lifestyle perfectly, we want the same things... like, where did this woman come from?! She has such a unique set of traits that seem to sync up perfectly with my life, and she really likes me. I don't quite understand why she likes me, but I'm just gonna roll with it. I don't think she's figured out that I'm an asshole yet."

"Give it time, my friend," I said, patting him on the back. "Give it time."

Zac placed his hands on both my shoulders and looked at me intensely. "Your only job is to make sure I don't fuck it up. That's all I ask. Don't let me fuck it up."

I grinned and gave him a two-fingered salute. "Aye aye, Cap'n. The world's best wing-woman, at your service. I will suss her out when she gets here, and make sure she is as lovely as you describe."

"Okay. Good. I just have this intense desire to impress her."

"I know. And I love seeing you excited about someone. It makes me happy."

"You're a good wing-woman," he said.

"Well, I've already saved you from a voyeuristic philosopher." I gestured towards the statue. "I'd also advise you to put away the photography equipment in your bedroom."

Zac laughed. Last year he'd brought a date back to his room, forgetting that all his camera and lighting equipment was still set up, facing his bed. He'd been working on a product photoshoot earlier that day and needed the natural light streaming in from his private balcony. Out of context, the whole thing just looked like a porn setup. His date took one glance inside the room and walked out, never to be heard from again.

"And are you picking her up from the airport?" I asked. "Have you got her flowers? Pro tip: chicks dig flowers. Get it? They dig flowers."

Zac stared at me.

"Because flowers are dug out of the ground..." my voice trailed off.

Zac sighed.

I grinned.

"Flowers are cut from a plant, you twit." He massaged his temples in frustration. "And of course I've bought her flowers. I'm a modern gentleman. I also have some rather nice Italian perfume to give her."

"Is that the expensive perfume you bought three years ago in Italy, thinking it would make a great gift for a mythical future girlfriend?"

"Yes," Zac sighed. "A three-year-old unopened bottle of Italian perfume says a thousand words about my thriving love life. But you know me — I need to pre-purchase little romantic trinkets when I see them. Then when I wake up one morning to my girlfriend saying something surprising like 'Happy Valentines Day' or 'Happy Anniversary' or 'How should we celebrate my birthday today?' I can subtly extricate myself from the bed, enter my walk-in closet, open the hidden drawer, and select from an array of emergency gifts. I'm currently stocked up with a Chanel bag, some jewelry, and various other nice things I've acquired on my travels."

"Naw," I gushed. "She's the luckiest woman in the world to have someone so thoughtful and attentive."

Zac beamed with pride. "It's a good contingency plan, isn't it? Lowers the risk of me fucking it up."

"Just be careful with the perfume," I warned. "When she figures out it's three years old, she'll want to know which one of your Tinder matches it was originally purchased for."