Manhattan Dreaming by Anita Heiss Page A

for me it was impossible to be sad. She helped put almost everything in my little Charade, and what didn’t fit we piled into Libby’s car. ‘Don’t be a stranger around here, Libs.’ Denise hugged Libby.
    â€˜Are you kidding? Now miss goody-two-shoes is going, we can get into some serious partying.’ Libby smiled and winked at Denise so that I could see.
    â€˜All right, it’s not like I expected you to stop hanging out because I wasn’t here, but can you at least pretend you’re going to miss me? Please!’ I tried hard not to cry as Denise hugged me. Libby revved her car loudly.
    â€˜I better go. I’ll text you as soon as I land.’ Libby followed me back to Goulburn and stayed at Mum and Dad’s overnight, coming to the airport to say goodbye the next day.
    â€˜Why would you even bother coming all the way to Sydney to see me off? It’s really not necessary.’
    â€˜To make sure you get on the bloody plane, that’s why.’
    Dad took us all to the Paragon for dinner; it was where we always went on special occasions – birthdays, anniversaries, new jobs, leaving jobs, family reunions – but mostly I went there on Sunday afternoon for cake and coffee. It was our traditional place, just like it was for most Goulburnians.
    Libby and Max had a great time talking about me going away.
    â€˜Yeah, I get to do burnouts in the little blue Charade for the next twelve months. The fellas in the footy club will probably flog me for driving such a woosy car, though.’
    I interrupted. ‘You have a problem with the Charade, do you? And what are you driving right now, oh brother of mine.’
    Dad laughed a big belly laugh trying to get the words out. ‘He’s driving your Mum’s Fiesta when she’s not using it.’ And then he got serious. ‘Or I have to drive him everywhere.’
    â€˜I rest my case.’ I was glad that Dad was holding his tongue about me going away. I knew he still felt the same, but Mum must’ve warned him.
    We filled up on huge meals, which included the chips that came with almost every dish on the menu. I would miss the Paragon: Dad with his standard mixed-grill, Mum with her after-dinner Jamaican coffee, me and my Mars Bar cheesecake. The pendant lighting, brown vinyl chairs and laminated tables weren’t fancy but they were part of my family history, my life in Goulburn, just as much as Rambo was.
    Max left the table without excusing himself and walked out of the restaurant, but before I had a chance to say anything, locals were coming up to us and saying hello, wishing me well – they’d read something in the Goulburn Post about my fellowship to the US. Dad seemed suddenly proud of his daughter heading off to the Big Apple he once loathed.
    Max came back into the restaurant with a huge box. Inside were a whole lot of gifts Mum had picked up at the Big Merino: Billie Goat Soap, ugh boots, a chocolate brown merino mink hat with matching gloves, and a gorgeous pashmina.
    â€˜I love the pashmina, Mum – it’s really stylish and good quality,’
    â€˜And it’s fire resistant,’ Max said. ‘I read about it at the shop.’
    â€˜Good, don’t want to catch on fire,’ I said, smiling at Libby, knowing she’d be thinking of firemen immediately.
    â€˜And it’s natural, biodegradable and sustainable, just like you, my sista.’ Max was a kind brother when he wasn’t being a joker.
    â€˜Ahuh! You are going to miss me.’
    â€˜What else is in the box, Mum?’ Max tried to change the subject.
    I pulled out a stuffed toy Merino sheep that baaaa-ed when pushed in the stomach.
    â€˜That’s from Nick,’ Mum said. ‘He wanted to give you something fun as a reminder of home and of him.’
    I swallowed a lump of regret that I wouldn’t be seeing him for a year.
    â€˜And this one is from me.’ There was no box, or