CHAPTER 25
Spotify’s ‘Noughties Mood Boost’ playlist is blaring through the speakers and our skin is starchy with salt.
Outside, the sun shimmers on the serpentine highway that cuts a path through the floodplains, with the hinterland hemming us in from the west. After stopping for a quick swim in Port Macquarie we’re back on the road, now only four hours away from Byron.
Jessie has hidden my work phone somewhere and she’s also dropped a sticky Frosty Fruit wrapper in the passenger footwell.
I’m attempting meditative breathing to make myself not care.
The traffic is cruising, my sister’s eyes are sparkling, Spotify is nailing every song choice, and yet with each breath I feel like I’m trying to suck myself into a whalebone corset that doesn’t fit.
It’s been forever since I’ve had fun for the sake of it.
During uni, I’d mix goon with orange juice and buy festival tickets from random dudes in alleyways, never stopping to consider whether that was a good idea (knowing inherently that goon was always a bad idea).
Now, I’m struggling to remember the last time I even went out out.
Sure, I’ve made it to birthdays and engagement parties and weddings, but these days, my fun is diarised weeks in advance.
To be going to a festival for no discernible reason feels unnatural. Like tempting fate.
Dancing with Jessie at festivals used to be my version of flow state.
We could twirl and twerk and fist-pump, and since we’d already judged the shit out of each other during our teenage years, there was no judgement left to give.
Every time we came up for air, all we’d see was each other.
The same eyes, the same smiles, different hair, different bodies, but twin souls in a psychedelic safety net of joy.
Now, my version of flow state is pumping out last-minute media releases. I must never admit this out loud.
‘Remember that time you ate a fly?’ asks Jessie, flicking her Frosty Fruit stick onto the floor of the footwell.
My flinch is involuntary, and more related to the rubbish than the memory of the fly. The car is booked in to be cleaned as soon as we get back, I remind myself. And the fly shouldn’t have stuck itself to my Bubble O’Bill.
‘Remember that time you ate Mrs Giblet’s dog food?’ I counter. (I know Jessie won’t actually remember, given she was three, but it’s the stuff of family legend.)
Jessie side-eyes me. ‘Remember that time you spewed in Mrs Giblet’s garden?’
My eyebrows shoot up. It was one time, and it was her fault. (She told me the punch wasn’t that strong.) ‘Remember that time you hooked up with her nephew?’
Jessie gasps. ‘Remember that time you hooked up with the bouncer from the Royal?’
‘Remember that time I told Jason Stevens you had a crush on him and you threw a butter knife at me?’
‘Ha!’ Jessie cackles. ‘I did do that.’
My face cracks in satisfied laughter. ‘You were such a psycho.’
‘I was,’ Jessie agrees.
I shake my head as our chuckles subside, the road before us sweeping around swathes of green paddocks.
This is the best thing about siblings. You can be feeling existentially down in the dumps about the state of your life until you remember that time your sister tried to kill you, and suddenly the whole vibe is like, Good times, man. Good times.
‘Ooh!’Jessie squeals, grabbing her phone. ‘Maxy’s FaceTiming!’
She taps the green button and in my peripheral vision I see my brother’s goofy face appear on the screen.
‘Buckle up, sissies,’ he greets us. ‘I have massive news.’
‘You’re engaged?’ I guess.
‘I don’t even have a girlfriend.’
I shrug. ‘All your friends are getting engaged. It was worth a shot.’
‘Hear, hear,’ agrees Jessie. ‘I was going to guess you were adopting a baby.’
‘No, this is way more exciting,’ says Maxy.
‘You’ve won the lottery and you’re taking us on an all-expenses-paid trip to the Disneylands on every continent?’ guesses Jessie.
‘No, but if I ever do win, we will one hundred per cent do that.’
‘Ooh, we could make an Instagram account,’ I suggest. ‘“The Hatt Pack does Disneyland”.’
Jessie nods. ‘Like Debbie Does Dallas but way more wholesome.’
‘And if I meet a nice girl called Debbie, that will be a bonus,’ says Maxy.
‘I might meet a cowboy,’ muses Jessie. ‘Or a cowgirl. Don’t mind so long as they’re nice.’
‘I bags a quarterback,’ I announce, without thinking.
Maxy laughs. ‘You think you’re the NFL type, Mill?’
My cheeks flush. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I mean, I know I’m not baller enough to date a quarterback, but this is make-believe. Like, who on earth under the age of sixty is called Debbie these days?
Surprisingly, Jessie comes to my defence. ‘In other news, Maxy, Mill didn’t have a conniption when I got in the car with sandy feet.’
‘Nooo.’ Maxy is shocked.
‘It’s true,’ I sniff.
‘I remember when your car used to be messier than an O-Week foam party,’ muses Maxy. ‘One time I think I saw a rat in the glovebox.’
I raise my nose in the air. ‘We don’t talk about that period of my life anymore, remember? Anyway, what’s your exciting news?’
‘Hang on,’ says Maxy. ‘Let me zoom out.’ From the corner of my eye I spot a neon Hawaiian shirt.
‘Your festival shirt?’
‘I’m at the airport!’
Jessie starts punching the air. ‘Maxy! Maxy! Maxy!’
‘I managed to swap my shifts and found a last-minute ticket. I should arrive around lunchtime. I can’t wait to see you winkipops.’
My heart feels like it’s being filled with helium. We haven’t all been in the same place at once for such a long time.
‘Have you seen the forecast though?’ asks Maxy. ‘It’s supposed to bucket down.’
‘What?’ I cry. With all the chaos of work, I’d completely forgotten to check my weather apps.
‘It’ll be fine,’ Jessie says, sensing my sudden mood drop.
‘Maybe I misread the dates,’ Maxy adds.
I clench my tongue against the back of my teeth, immediately wishing I’d never opened my big mouth. ‘Guys, it’s fine. I don’t care about a bit of rain.’ (I do. I have long limbs that are prone to extreme chilliness in wet weather, but I don’t want to be responsible for killing the mood.)
‘We can buy gumboots in Coffs,’ suggests Jessie. ‘And my body glitter is waterproof.’
‘And you’re not camping,’ Maxy points out, as if to pull me back from whatever void I’m hovering over.
I nod to myself as I press my mouth into a tight smile.
Jessie and Maxy are right. It’s not a disaster.
It’s all about mindset. I can make this fine.
When disasters are afoot, I plan, I make schedules, I compartmentalise and I get going.
We’ll buy gumboots in Coffs and spare ponchos too.
I’ll plait my hair in two tight braids so the rain doesn’t impact my hair-flipping abilities. It will be fine.
I readjust my grip on the steering wheel and a memory floats up—Jessie, Maxy and me pretending to make snow angels in the wet grass at a festival in Lorne, laughing like maniacs at how stupid we must have looked. That was probably ten years ago.
I can see the storm clouds in the distance, black smears across the horizon, but I smile more easily now. ‘You guys are right,’ I agree, willing it to be true, willing myself to be better. ‘This is going to be awesome.’