“I can’t believe it,” she whispers. Tears well in her eyes, but her smile lights up her whole face, despite her gaunt look.
Oh, my Betty Boo.
“How?”
“I’ve accepted a twelve-month contract, a job for one of my clients at Eden.”
“Really? Are you sure about this?”
“Positive. Plus, we get to move into a posh new apartment in Bondi near the beach, and you get your own place with a chef, cleaner, and even a tutor. How cool is that?”
“No way!” Beth narrows her eyes at me. “This sounds almost too good to be true.” Even at sixteen, she clearly understands the concept that there is no such thing as a free lunch.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”
“Well… Okay… Fuck, I can’t believe it!” Her worry fades quickly into excitement.
“We have to pack over the weekend. We’re moving on Monday.”
“You said it’s just for twelve months, right? So, what are we doing with all our furniture and stuff?”
“I was thinking of keeping this place, so we can come back after the contract finishes. Or we could move somewhere else, wherever you want to go. I just want you fully recovered and healed so you can finish high school and start life afresh at uni.”
“Hell yeah!” Her excitement is contagious, and I can’t help but be swept up in it too.
“Here, help me cut up the rest of the veggies.” I slide over the chopping board and hand her the knife. “Soft or hard-shell tacos?”
“Por qué no los dos?” she says, mimicking the cute kid from the Old El Paso commercial.
God, Beth is such a weirdo. And I love her for it.
***
“I don’t see why we have to do this ourselves. Isn’t he super rich?” Beth whines.
“He’s sending movers, but we still need to be packed and ready to go tomorrow morning. Stop being a lazy shit.”
Beth and I spent Saturday hanging out and pampering each other. We made face masks and gave each other manicures and pedicures. It was nice to spend time at home, just the two of us. But I made Beth promise me that if we bummed around yesterday, we’d pack today.
“Do you really want a stranger going through your stuff anyway?” I reason.
“No, I suppose not,” she grumbles.
“Besides, you don’t have much to pack.”
“What are you talking about? I’ve got clothes, shoes, bags, toiletries, makeup, plus all my schoolwork and books—that’s heaps to pack! And you literally just said we had to empty out the pantry and fridge too. This is going to take forever.”
“Maybe we should’ve started yesterday, like I wanted to,” I say, a tad smug.
“Did you forget I have a heart condition? Exertion isn’t good for me.”
I roll my eyes. I’ve got no one to blame for her laziness but myself. She likes to push the boundaries with what she can get away with, using her illness as an excuse. Exercise is good for her, but it’s been a constant battle to get her to do even the lightest cardio.
“You’re not doing any heavy lifting. You’ll be fine,” I reassure her, flipping through one of our photo albums. I’m trying to treat her like every other teenager. But it’s difficult when my instincts are to wrap her in cotton wool and protect her from the world.
She hums her dissatisfaction.
“Hey, check this out.” I stop at a photo of us when Beth was six and I was eighteen. It was shortly after we arrived in Australia, and I took her to get ice cream at Bronte Beach. In the picture both of us have huge grins on our faces, and our ice cream cones are melting down our hands. My arm is around her shoulders, squeezing her tightly into my side. I remember asking a random stranger to take the photo for us.
