Chapter 21 #2
The ugliness of the idea, and the shame of it, made his cheeks flare with heat. He ducked his head and studied his feet, sure that if he looked his mum and Shane in the face they’d see the awful possibility that had just unfurled itself, like some poisonous plant, in his mind.
He couldn’t stay here with them. Not when his mum wanted to stress bake and Shane wanted to scroll endlessly through his phone, hoping for any hint of good news about the town.
He stood up from the couch so quickly that his mother started and stopped in the middle of whatever it was she’d been saying. “Everything alright, darling?”
“Everything’s fine,” he muttered, avoiding her eyes. “I gotta go, but yeah, everything’s fine.”
“You’re sure? You look off,” Shane was scrutinizing him from across the coffee table, and Justin felt his cheeks burn hotter.
“You heard Missy, I look like shit from all the travel,” he said weakly, attempting a lighthearted shrug and only managing a jerky twitch of his shoulders.
“You should get some rest.” His mother’s voice was gentle, concerned, and it only made Justin feel worse.
After the idea he’d just entertained, and after what she’d just been through, he didn’t deserve that.
“Do you want to go lie down here for a bit? We won’t need the bed until this evening, and you look dead on your feet. ”
“I’m sure Chopper wouldn’t mind sharing,” Shane put in wryly.
“No, I’m going to head over to, um, Ricky and Matty’s,” Justin said hastily. Another lie. He had to get out of here. “Hug Steen for me, and get some good sleep, okay?”
He stepped forward and gave his mother a kiss on the top of her head, and directed a nod at Shane.
“Please, you know she’ll be up baking half the night.” Shane grinned at his wife. “Come back tomorrow and dig us out from under a pile of scones.”
Justin attempted a chuckle that came out as more of a cough, grabbed his overnight bag, and fled out his own front door.
When Ivy woke on Sunday morning, it was barely light outside, and the sky smoky and grey, just as it had been the previous day.
Summer was like this in Sydney sometimes, when fires around the state burned out of control and the wind carried the smoke all the way to the coast to choke the cities.
She rolled over in bed and found the other side of the bed empty.
“Justin?” she called in the direction of the open bedroom door. There was no reply. Frowning, she pulled her phone from the charger and squinted at the screen in the semi-darkness. Barely 6 am and she was wide awake. Thanks, jetlag.
There was a text from Justin, who had apparently had a harder time staying asleep than she had.
Justin, 5:39am: Going out for a walk, see you later.
Ivy almost texted him back requesting answers to some basic journalism questions—where are you walking?
When will you be back?—but instead she gave the text a thumbs-up and swiped it away.
Justin had come home from seeing his family yesterday afternoon and gone straight to sleep, ignoring his own advice about beating jetlag.
As he’d changed out of his clothes and into a pair of shorts and an old ANB T-shirt, she’d asked after his family.
He’d muttered something about a dog and scones, then given her a too-brief kiss on the lips and climbed into bed.
When she’d joined him a few hours later, he’d barely stirred, only shifted against his pillow, his forehead creased in a frown even in his sleep.
And now he was gone. She wondered if he’d headed to his favourite bushwalking track in search of comfort and quiet and distraction, and a part of her wished he’d asked her to join him.
By the time she needed to leave for her parents’ place, Justin still wasn’t back.
Ivy, 1:45pm: I’m going to my mum and dad’s for a barbeque. I’ll be back in a few hours.
See? An informative, not-vague text that contained basic but useful information about where she was going and how long she’d be gone.
She looked down at the text window for a moment, hoping to see bouncing reply dots, but none appeared.
She felt disappointment rise in her chest and pressed it down.
It was too early to invite Justin over to Sunday barbeque.
Too early to ask Justin to deal with her brothers or to watch her parents canoodle over steak and grilled veggies.
Way too early, she repeated to herself as she put her phone in her bag and locked the door behind her.
“We’re eating inside today,” her mother called over her shoulder when Ivy arrived in the kitchen. “The smoke’s awful and George’s asthma is acting up.”
“We shan’t venture outside lest we irritate Georgie’s delicate lungs,” Luke said in a posh English accent. He was sprawled on a chair at the kitchen table, where five places had been set. George sat across from him, scowling. Through the back window, Ivy could see her dad tending to the barbeque.
“Oh shut up,” George said in a slightly raspy voice.
“Are you sure it’s the smoke, young Master George?” Luke continued in his Alfred the Butler voice. “And not the dust from all those library books?”
“Oh my god, you know what a library is?”
“Yeah, it’s where the nerds live,” Luke retorted.
“Boys, stop bickering and make yourselves useful, please,” their mother said as she drizzled dressing into a salad bowl.
“Luke, go outside and help your father. George, come chop these veggies and toss them in olive oil.” She set the bowl aside and turned around, wiping her hands on her apron, then pulled Ivy into a hug.
“Welcome back, darling. How are you feeling?”
“Tired.” Ivy yawned as the boys pushed their chairs back and did as instructed. “But it’s good to be home.”
“I’ll bet. Your father found a paper copy of the New York Times at the newsstand at Circular Quay,” her mum said, releasing her from the hug. “It’s in the lounge room in case you didn’t get a copy over there.”
“I think every member of the company and the artistic staff brought a copy home.” Ivy smiled. “So you can keep it. But thanks.”
“Of course! What a smashing success you’ve made of this. We’re so proud of you.”
George looked over his shoulder and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Any other smashing successes we should know about?”
Ivy rolled her eyes at her brother, willing her face not to reveal anything. Yeah, she could not subject Justin to this nonsense any time soon. But one day, maybe?
Half an hour later, her dad slid the back door open and he and Luke came inside, each bearing a steaming plate in each hand.
After setting his plate down, Ivy’s dad enveloped her in a tight hug and told her all about the print copy of the Times, which had arrived three days after it was published and cost him twice as much as hers had cost her in New York.
She smiled and thanked him, deciding to let her mum break the news to him.
They sat down and her dad served her mum first, as always, and kissed her, as always, and Ivy watched the ritual with her usual fondness, accompanied today by a pang of something new.
A longing fused with a hopefulness. She had always wanted this kind of old, durable romance, she knew.
But today she wanted it with someone specific.
Someone who—she slipped her phone from her pocket surreptitiously—had left her bed at dawn this morning and hadn’t been in touch since.
Next to her, Luke was shoving food in his mouth. George watched him for a moment, his expression a mixture of disgusted and impressed, before turning to Ivy. “So, our conquering heroine. Tell us about New York.”
“Yes, tell us everything,” her mother said eagerly.
“It was great . “The company looked so good, we sold out the run, and I had lots of time to see the city when I wasn’t working.”
“Did you get to see a Broadway show?” her father asked.
“I did.” Ivy grinned. “Kiss Me, Kate . It was even better than I thought it would be. Probably my favourite night of the whole trip.” She thought about Justin, seated next to her in the fading house lights, admitting that he liked her.
As if the tickets to a Broadway show hadn’t already told her that.
She flushed and took a sip of her white wine, avoiding George’s eyes.
“And I saw a viral video of that dancer’s proposal on stage,” her mother added. “That must have been pretty exciting.”
“Yeah, people loved it,” Ivy said. And it had resulted in yet more positive press for the company, first with people on social media declaring it “couple goals” and then a handful of headlines declaring Izzy’s proposal the height of romance.
“Well, the company must love you. Look at what a great job you’ve done for them.”
“Absolutely smashed it,” her father agreed. “I think I used that correctly, didn’t I?” He looked to Luke for confirmation, and Luke nodded, his mouth still so full he could barely close it.
“Wouldn’t expect anything less from our golden girl,” George said, his tone skirting the line between admiration and envy.
“We’re so proud of you, darling,” her mother added. “You picked yourself right up and made a success of this, just like you have of everything else. You’re amazing.”
“Amazing,” echoed Luke, who had finally swallowed.
Ivy opened her mouth to reply, but all she managed was a shrug and a closed-mouth smile.
The company was pleased with her; Peter had declared the tour a total success and told her that the board was thrilled and considering scheduling another tour to New York in two years, instead of waiting the usual ten.
But Ivy hoped she wouldn’t be part of it.
The thought jolted her and for a moment she lost the thread of what her parents were saying.
George was giving Luke a hard time for claiming a second piece of steak, but their bickering faded into the background as she stared down at her plate and the food she’d barely touched.