‘I’m serious,’ she says, facing me now.‘He’s a good guy.’
‘Well, rest assured.He’ll never see me again.’
She studies my face, as if trying to decide if I mean it.Then she asks, ‘Where’s Dylan?’
‘He needed to clear his head.’
Ella sighs.‘Maybe you should go for a walk too.Clear yours.’
I nudge her shoulder gently.‘You’re going to be a great mum.’
Her face softens.‘I hope so.’
She groans a little as she stands, then holds out a hand.‘Come on.There’s cake that needs eating.’
EIGHTEEN
The gymnasium smells like sweat and sugar wrapped up in the humidity of a late-summer storm.
Children are screaming, the bouncy castle is already leaning at a suspicious angle, and some monster thought it would be a good idea to give several six-year-olds whistles while they jump into a foam pit.
I arrive at the party with a pink bike bigger than the birthday girl and a bow so large you’d be forgiven for thinking I’d robbed a department store window display.Gemma screams in delight at the sight of it, and I beam as I shake out my umbrella.Issy groans as I plonk down beside her on the bleachers.
‘Where,’ she says, tilting her plastic cup of punch at the bike, ‘am I going to put that?’
I shrug.‘Every kid needs a bike.’
‘We didn’t have bikes.’
‘Exactly.Look how we turned out.’
Issy tucks a loose strand of brown hair behind her ear and then lifts her cup in a sarcastic toast.‘One of us is chronically single, the other is running on a handful of dried cereal and zero sleep.Who do you think won that round?’
I grin and pour myself some punch.‘At least you’ve got Gemma and Billie.All I’ve got is flat feet and a suspicious mole on my back.’
That makes her snort into her cup.‘Do you remember that time we tried to build our own go-kart out of Dad’s lawnmower?’
‘Do I remember?I still have the scar on my knee.You said the brakes were fine.’
‘They were,’ she protests.‘The hedge was the brake.’
‘Issy, I was picking thorns out of my legs for three days.’
She laughs.‘Yeah, well, you’re the elder in this scenario.You should’ve known better.Besides, you wanted everyone at school to think you were cool.’
‘I was cool.’
She rolls her eyes, and for a second, I see the Issy I grew up with –
the one who painted eyeliner wings on me before parties because she had the steadier hand, and who once stole Mum’s bottle of Malibu from the freezer and blamed it on the neighbour’s kid.
‘Do you ever think,’ I say quietly, ‘that we should’ve been completely feral?Like statistically speaking, we should be in prison or selling a fake self-improvement courses on Instagram.’A flash of my recent trip to the NT for Ella’s baby shower hits me.Luke’s silence, my fallout with Dylan.I shove it all to the side, because while some might argue that my behaviour is prison worthy, I’m choosing to ignore it all.
‘Give it time,’ she says, sipping her punch.‘My MLM era is coming.’
I smirk into my cup.‘Pyramid schemes?You’d be amazing at it.’
‘Obviously.You’d be my first victim.’
