By the time we land back at the station, the sun’s dipping low, throwing long shadows over dusty paddocks and bright golden wattles.A strong breeze kicks up the smell of smoke and charred meat – someone’s got the barbecue going.
As soon as we step out of the chopper, I’m handed a cold beer, and I momentarily consider never leaving the outback again.Until a fly lands directly on my lip and I remember who I am.
We all peel off to shower and change.I scrub the glow-worm cave and croc dust off my body, tug on a clean dress, and find my way back to the patio where strings of lights cast a golden haze over the long dinner table full of Ella and Darcy’s extended family.
I settle beside Abbey’s empty chair – unsurprising, considering she mumbled something earlier about being ‘too tired to eat’ and ‘not feeling up to it’, which sounded suspiciously like a lie coming from someone whose social battery never dips below forty per cent.
The rest of us dig into chargrilled corn, lamb skewers and beetroot salad.Darcy’s parents are halfway through a bottle of red, while Gloria, in full story-time mode, holds court – a queen with an iPad.
‘She was the cutest little thing,’ Gloria says, gesturing at Ella with her wineglass.‘Tutus and curls, always dancing in the lounge room.Wouldn’t take off the damn ballet shoes, even in the bath.’
Ella groans, cheeks pink.‘Mum.’
Gloria ignores her.‘And now you’re married!I swear, you and Darcy are going to make beautiful babies.’
Ella almost chokes on her roasted potato.‘Really?’
‘Oh, you know I’m just playing around,’ Gloria says in singsong, delight still in her voice.
Ella catches my eye across the table, but I assure her that no one has picked up on the exchange.She’s always wanted to be a mum.Even back in high school, she was the one remembering birthdays and forcing me to drink water between rounds of underage tequila shots.
Me?I prefer the ‘cool aunt’ lane.Presents and chaos and zero commitment.No bedtime tantrums.No morning school runs.Just a cute outfit, the occasional treat or fun activity, then a clean getaway.My parents made it very clear that work came first, even before their own kids.By the time they noticed I’d raised myself, I’d already taught Issy how to plait her own hair and lie convincingly about what we had for dinner.Watching my sister now – two kids, no job, a husband who considers emptying the dishwasher to be emotional labour – I’m still not sold on the family dream.
I push my half-empty plate away and scan the crowd.No Abbey.And no Luke.
Maybe that’s for the best.
Tidy endings are good.And walking back to my cabin alone means no awkward goodbye.No ‘This was fun’ or ‘Have a good life’.Just me, my suitcase and the self-respect that comes from leaving before you’re left.
I stretch and fake a yawn.‘I think I’m going to call it.’
Ella kisses my cheek.‘Thanks for today.’
‘Anytime.’I smile, soft and honest, because I mean it.‘See you in the morning.’
The night air is cool now, crisp with the scent of eucalyptus and the insistent buzz of cicadas.I tiptoe down the path to my cabin, shoes in hand, moonlight silvering the dry grass and brittle shrubs.
I approach the door and pause.A moan echoes from the other side.
Oh no.
I freeze.Another moan.Then a breathless, ‘Yes – right there – oh my god, Dax.’
I give a long, heroic sigh.
Not wanting to head back to the dinner table, I linger on the porch steps and once again tilt my head up to the sky.
The stars are stupidly bright out here.The Emu.The Saucepan.The Southern Cross.I even see a shooting star streaking across the black sky, fast and bright.
I close my eyes, about to make a wish—
‘Please tell me you’re not out here charging your crystals.’
I open one eye.
Luke’s leaning against the porch post, hands in his pockets, hair still wet from his shower.I sigh because the universe loves an encore.
‘You’re dangerously close to sounding like a man who has a “Live, Laugh, Love” plaque in his kitchen.’
