CHAPTER 38
I can see now what was going on before. I thought our relationship was based on hatred, but I was wrong.
It was fake hate; it was happy hate. The hatred we’ve achieved now is stratospheric.
The Hubble telescope could probably detect the hate beams radiating from my demon eyes.
The fumes of anger steaming from my ears could probably power small vehicles.
I assume this is how people have nervous breakdowns: they sit at unremarkable bus stops only to see the face of their arch enemy on a passing bus and boom! Their head explodes.
Boss is driving direct from Bowral and because my car is still at the cleaners, I’ve had to hire a Nissan Micra, which I’ll have to leave in Wagga before getting a lift back to Sydney with Boss.
It feels like I’m hurtling down the Hume Highway in an over-engineered rice bubble, and the dulcet tones of the Radio National presenters are doing nothing to help my mood. Could they lighten up for a hot minute?
Outside, the green paddocks along the highway are dotted with sheep calmly chewing their grass. Oh, to be a brainless herbivore. Their days must be so relaxing.
When my phone rattles in its hands-free stand, I almost cry with relief when I see the name on my screen.
‘Jessica Elizabeth Hatton!’ I exclaim, feeling as though I’m a world-weary monk reconnecting with the human race. ‘Where have you been all my life?’
‘I’ve been here the whole time, you ninny! Where are you?’
‘I just drove past the Big Merino.’
‘Oh yay! Did you check out the giant scrotum?’
‘No.’
‘Liar.’
I exhale a shaky laugh. ‘Fine, but in my defence, that ballsack is a feat of engineering. Oh Jess, I’m so glad you called. I was terrified it was going to be the Premier’s office or Bryan or something.’
Jessie laughs. ‘Dude, you need to tell Bryan you’re not keen. He’s a good guy and you’re pretty much leading him on.’
‘But we said we’d be friends,’ I groan. ‘I can’t tell him not to contact me.
That would be mean. And besides, imagine if I’m like, “Oh yeah, soz, I’m not interested,” and he’s like, “Duh, neither am I.” How embarrassing would that be?
To be rejected by Bryan, the man who thinks The Big Bang Theory is actually funny! ’
‘Hey!’ Jessie harrumphs. ‘I like that show.’ Thankfully she drops it. ‘Do you want a lift to Dad’s barbeque tomorrow night?’ she asks.
‘No, I won’t be able to come. I’ll be too busy. Didn’t you see Nancy Miller on 60 Minutes?’
‘Oh, but …’ Jessie hesitates. ‘He really wants you there.’
‘I know,’ I sigh, slightly consoled by the fact that I’m always missing family barbeques so Dad should be used to it by now. ‘Sorry Jess, I don’t think I’ll be able to make it. I have so much to do.’
‘Promise you’ll try.’
I won’t try. There’s no point. Boss will need me to be working, and I don’t want to waste the effort attempting to get there when I know it’s impossible. But I don’t say this. Instead I say, ‘Okay, sure.’
‘Great,’ says Jessie. Then: ‘How’s that journalist going? The tall one you like?’
‘What?!’ I exclaim, shocked. ‘Jessie, no! If you’re talking about Archie Cohen, I do not like him. I hate him!’
‘Okayyyy,’ says Jessie, speaking in the kind of tone you’d use with a toddler who’s explaining they’ll be having ice cream for breakfast.
‘Jessie, I’m serious. He’s ruining my life. He’s my mortal enemy.’
‘Like how I was your mortal enemy growing up and now we’re besties?’
‘That’s different.’
‘True. Firstly, he’s not your blood relation and secondly, he’s pretty hot.’
‘Can you please not describe him that way? I hate that man from the pits of my bowels.’
‘Didn’t look like that at the festival. You spent the night with him, and even before that, you couldn’t stop looking at him when we were dancing.’
‘Only because he was dancing like such a fool!’
‘To make you laugh.’
‘Um, no he wasn’t.’ He definitely wasn’t.
And that whole night was purely accidental.
Two people who happened to be cold and horny at the same time.
Could have happened to anyone. This is so like Jessie, to assume she knows what’s going on despite having such limited information.
And to just casually drop the idea that I like him into the conversation as though it’s common knowledge?
Ugh. ‘Can we please change the subject?’
‘Well,’ says Jessie slowly. ‘In news that’s hot off the press, I just got promoted!’
‘What?!’ I screech.
‘Yes, ma’am. You are talking to the newest Head of Events and Marketing at Colossal Music. Corner office on the way. Pay cheque trending upwards!’
‘Jessie! Way to bury the lead! I didn’t even know you applied for a promotion.’
‘I didn’t,’ she quips. ‘The position became available, they asked if I wanted it and next minute I’m signing the contract.
I’ve never even done marketing before, but now I’m going to be the head honcho.
They said all my skills were transferable so I shouldn’t worry; I’ll have a great team around me to support me, so yeah—I can just wing it. ’
‘What?’ I splutter. ‘They just gave you the job? And they really didn’t care about your lack of marketing experience?’
‘Nope,’ replies Jessie cheerfully. ‘They told me to keep doing what I’m doing, and everything will fall into place.’
‘Are you joking?’
‘What?’
‘I just … Well …’ I don’t know how to explain it.
I know my sister is great, but this is real life.
People need to work hard, do their ten thousand hours, answer phone calls on weekends, build relationships, network, hustle, grind, skip family dinners and friends’ birthdays.
That is how you get ahead. Not by swanning around in spangly dresses and drinking Aperol spritzes on rooftop bars.
Jessie hasn’t updated her CV in seven years!
She doesn’t even have a proper LinkedIn profile picture—it’s a cropped photo from a hen’s night.
The original, uncropped version features at least seven penis straws.
It’s not beyond the realms of possibility that this could be a joke.
‘I was just checking,’ I stammer. ‘Because it could be a joke, you know? You never work overtime, you swim laps in your lunch break …’
I hear myself saying the words and all I can think is: Digging. Hole. Deeper.
‘Mill,’ Jessie’s voice is quiet. ‘You need to apologise. Right. Now.’
‘But it could be a joke!’ I insist. ‘It’s not like you’ve ever said you were chasing a promotion. I mean, you take time in lieu. Last year when your car broke down on the way to the ARIAs, you didn’t even get an Uber. You waited until the NRMA arrived and rocked up late!’
‘You have such a twisted view of what makes a good employee,’ snaps Jessie. ‘And I’ve just called you to share some of the best news I’ve had in ages and you’re being a condescending bitch.’
‘Maybe it’s because you always get everything you want without even trying!’
When Jessie speaks, she doesn’t even sound angry. She sounds exhausted. ‘You don’t even know what you want, Mill.’
‘Yes, I do,’ I reply lamely. I know exactly what I want.
I want everything to go back to how it used to be.
I want to sit on the deck in summer with my siblings, the tennis on in the background and a plate of Dad’s sausage rolls on the table before us.
I want to laugh at how the sausage rolls look like miniature poos and for Mum to flick us with the tea towel and tell us not to use ‘toilet talk’, and for Dad to stick his head out the back door and say, ‘Don’t worry love, they probably do taste like shit.
’ And I want us to giggle and know that we can do this every day because we’ll always have each other, and the sun, and the unfailing warmth that comes from existing in each other’s universe.
But I can’t have that. Instead, I have to drive five hours down the highway to go to a stupid event that’ll be a waste of time.
Oceans of green grass and eucalyptus blur outside my windscreen. Green, green and more green. I’m drowning in green.
I need to be a better sister. I need to say sorry but the words won’t form in my mouth because a wretched part of me is still confused. How did she get promoted?
‘Okay,’ Jessie says slowly. ‘I’m hanging up.’
Before I can protest—tell her she’s the cleverest, brightest, sparkliest person I know, tell her she reminds me of watermelon and summer and sequins and giant sheep testicles and everything funny and beautiful in this world—the line goes dead.