choice.
“What are you watching?” She gives me a pointed look. One that says Please say something else.
I throw her the remote in reply. I can’t focus anyway.
She flicks through the stations and settles on a news channel; not the commercial kind, mind you, but the government broadcast ones. You know, extra dry, where the weather comes to you from a politician’s house instead of the zoo.
I turn to study my sister. Her hair is falling perfectly around her face, the right amount of wave for a casual Monday-night dinner, which she is, of course, ready an hour early for. She has on a tiny amount of makeup, and even though her clothes look casual, I know for a fact they’re designer.
She’s so put together; so perfect. She looks like a grown-up.
I think back to the times when she’d talk on her phone in her bedroom, when I’d spy on her having boys over.
Even as a teenager, she’d been on top of things.
“Hmph,” Shae sighs.
“What’s up?” I grab a pillow and hug it to my stomach.
“Just this crisis in Syria …” She shakes her head, as if the weight of the world is upon her. “So tragic.”
I start to compose a list in my head.
Things That Are Worse Than Being Pregnant.
Being involved in a war crisis in Syria.
“Mmm.” I nod.
“Do you know how many people have died because of this?” She turns and focuses those crystal-blue eyes on me, and I swear they can see into my soul. “How many children?”
Children, children, children …
Okay, so the word might not really have echoed in my head, but it sure as hell felt like it did. Was I going to murder a child, too? Would that put me on Syria level in my sister’s eyes?
“Are there many … kids … in Syria?” I ask, trying to search for a clue as to how she’d react to my news.
“Stacey.” Shae rolls her eyes. “Of course there are. Have you ever watched the news?”
I shrug and pick at the corner of the cream-coloured pillow. It’s starting to thread at the seam.
“Course,” I mutter, focused on my task at hand.
“Sometimes I wonder …” She turns her attention back to the television just as an ad break comes on. “So have you thought any more about what you’re going to do next year?”
I bust out that list in my mind again.
2. Having to discuss future career plans with my sister.
I lift my gaze and study Shae once more. She’s turned her face to me, so I can see the pointed look she’s throwing me, and it takes everything inside me not to open up the cushion I’m holding and try and hide inside it with the stuffing. Why is she on the attack tonight?
“Not really.” Just get a job at the supermarket, or maybe as a cleaner. Oh, or have a baby. You know, nothing special.
“Is it hard?” Her brow creases, and for a second I think she’s being sympathetic to my cause. Because yes; sometimes, being the only dumb-arse with four high-achieving siblings is hard. Because not being dux of the school, or being president of anything bar the social committee isn’t considered that worthwhile in my family.
“Honestly … I’m kind of freaked out.” I bite my lip. “What am I going to do?”
“You can go to TAFE.” Shae smiles, and gives me a light punch on the shoulder. “Or if that’s too hard, you could work a checkout. And, hey! You could be a hairdresser. No one trims my fringe like you do.”
The words warm my heart. I have zero interest in being a hairdresser—people’s scalps gross me out—but it’s nice to hear my sister tell me she thinks I can do something.
“Speaking of, would you mind giving me a trim after dinner? I have my one-year work anniversary dinner tomorrow!” Shae all but squeals, and of course I smile and nod. Her motivation is exposed, but what else can I do?
“Girls, will you help me with a few things in the kitchen?” Mum calls from the next room.
“Stace can do it. I’ve got a big week coming up with work,” Shae yells back. I raise my eyebrows at her.
“I’ll pay
“What are you watching?” She gives me a pointed look. One that says Please say something else.
I throw her the remote in reply. I can’t focus anyway.
She flicks through the stations and settles on a news channel; not the commercial kind, mind you, but the government broadcast ones. You know, extra dry, where the weather comes to you from a politician’s house instead of the zoo.
I turn to study my sister. Her hair is falling perfectly around her face, the right amount of wave for a casual Monday-night dinner, which she is, of course, ready an hour early for. She has on a tiny amount of makeup, and even though her clothes look casual, I know for a fact they’re designer.
She’s so put together; so perfect. She looks like a grown-up.
I think back to the times when she’d talk on her phone in her bedroom, when I’d spy on her having boys over.
Even as a teenager, she’d been on top of things.
“Hmph,” Shae sighs.
“What’s up?” I grab a pillow and hug it to my stomach.
“Just this crisis in Syria …” She shakes her head, as if the weight of the world is upon her. “So tragic.”
I start to compose a list in my head.
Things That Are Worse Than Being Pregnant.
Being involved in a war crisis in Syria.
“Mmm.” I nod.
“Do you know how many people have died because of this?” She turns and focuses those crystal-blue eyes on me, and I swear they can see into my soul. “How many children?”
Children, children, children …
Okay, so the word might not really have echoed in my head, but it sure as hell felt like it did. Was I going to murder a child, too? Would that put me on Syria level in my sister’s eyes?
“Are there many … kids … in Syria?” I ask, trying to search for a clue as to how she’d react to my news.
“Stacey.” Shae rolls her eyes. “Of course there are. Have you ever watched the news?”
I shrug and pick at the corner of the cream-coloured pillow. It’s starting to thread at the seam.
“Course,” I mutter, focused on my task at hand.
“Sometimes I wonder …” She turns her attention back to the television just as an ad break comes on. “So have you thought any more about what you’re going to do next year?”
I bust out that list in my mind again.
2. Having to discuss future career plans with my sister.
I lift my gaze and study Shae once more. She’s turned her face to me, so I can see the pointed look she’s throwing me, and it takes everything inside me not to open up the cushion I’m holding and try and hide inside it with the stuffing. Why is she on the attack tonight?
“Not really.” Just get a job at the supermarket, or maybe as a cleaner. Oh, or have a baby. You know, nothing special.
“Is it hard?” Her brow creases, and for a second I think she’s being sympathetic to my cause. Because yes; sometimes, being the only dumb-arse with four high-achieving siblings is hard. Because not being dux of the school, or being president of anything bar the social committee isn’t considered that worthwhile in my family.
“Honestly … I’m kind of freaked out.” I bite my lip. “What am I going to do?”
“You can go to TAFE.” Shae smiles, and gives me a light punch on the shoulder. “Or if that’s too hard, you could work a checkout. And, hey! You could be a hairdresser. No one trims my fringe like you do.”
The words warm my heart. I have zero interest in being a hairdresser—people’s scalps gross me out—but it’s nice to hear my sister tell me she thinks I can do something.
“Speaking of, would you mind giving me a trim after dinner? I have my one-year work anniversary dinner tomorrow!” Shae all but squeals, and of course I smile and nod. Her motivation is exposed, but what else can I do?
“Girls, will you help me with a few things in the kitchen?” Mum calls from the next room.
“Stace can do it. I’ve got a big week coming up with work,” Shae yells back. I raise my eyebrows at her.
“I’ll pay
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