She wanted to talk. Suddenly everyone in my family wants to talk.
Maybe I should talk too. I’ll tell you something that I’ve never told anyone, DJ. Something you should understand before I go on.
I’ve mentioned before how Eva and I both used to dance, right? We were even going to enter the pageant together. It was a whole thing.
Until Eva decided it shouldn’t be anymore. That I wasn’t good enough.
It happened when I was thirteen. I was still dancing then. But I wasn’t loving it. It was always something I’d been able to lose myself in. I could switch my brain off and just enjoy my body for a change. Leave behind the discomfort which haunted every other moment of my life.
As I got older, it became harder and harder to lose myself.
That year, I’d put on a lot of weight. I’d always been chubby, but now I’d really stacked it on.
My dance teacher told me I had to lose weight. Mum put me on a diet. I wore two sports bras to try to strap down my boobs, like that’d make a difference.
I felt the whispers of the other girls behind my back. That was bad enough. But the ones who said shit to my face were worse.
‘You’re a disgusting, fat pig. You don’t belong in public, let alone on stage,’ Matilda Johnson, the meanest of them all, said to me one day. The girls around her laughed and oinked at me.
I almost quit then. But I didn’t – because of Eva.
Because when I told her what had happened, she said those girls were just jealous. She said I was a great dancer. She said she loved dancing with me.
Because when we danced together, we were perfectly in sync. Connected. Sisters.
It didn’t matter that our bodies didn’t match. Our movements did.
Or so I’d thought.
That year, when we came to Cobbers Bay, I mentioned entering the pageant to Eva. We were both finally old enough to be in it together. Like we’d talked about. She’d been waiting for it. I’d been looking forward to it. This was our year.
But she just shrugged. Gave me vague answers. Put me off.
I kept at her about it. ‘The deadline’s soon, we’re going to miss out,’ I said one day when we were at the beach, just the two of us. She was lying there reading and I was sitting next to her, eating hot chips covered in chicken salt. I held the bag under her nose, offering her some, but she didn’t want any chips. She didn’t want me, either. Only I didn’t realise it at first, despite the fact that she kept reading her book, pretending not to hear me while I begged her to enter the pageant.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Let’s go do it now.’
She ignored me.
‘Eva.’
Nothing.
‘Eva!’
Still nothing.
‘EVA!’ I threw a chip at her.
‘Cut it out, Maisie!’
‘Finally, she speaks,’ I said. ‘So, do you want to enter or what?’
She rolled over, lying on her tummy and leaning on her elbows so she could still look at her book.
‘I’ve already entered,’ she said quietly.
‘What?’
‘I’ve already entered,’ she said, louder this time.
‘For both of us?’
‘Just for me.’ Quiet again.
‘Oh. So . . . should I go enter?’
She paused, then said, ‘Do you really think that’s a good idea?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean . . . I don’t think you’d get through.’
‘Why not?’
Even though she had dark sunnies on, I could tell she was giving me a look.
I dropped my head, staring at the hot chips, my appetite vanishing.
‘Are you ashamed of me?’
Nothing.
‘Are you?!’
‘No. I just . . . I want to win, okay? I need to win.’
‘But what about . . .’ I trailed off as she stared down at her book again. ‘You’re such a bitch!’ Tears were stinging my eyes.
She snorted. ‘It’s not my fault you can’t control yourself.’
‘You are ashamed of me!’
‘Do you blame me, Maisie? You’re ashamed of yourself! All you ever do is complain. But you do nothing about it. You don’t want people to call you a disgusting, fat pig? Then stop acting like one. You expect me to dance with you, but you could barely keep up with me before, and look at you now! You don’t belong on stage!’
What could I say to that? Nothing.
I stood up very slowly and walked away without a word.
I only just made it out of Eva’s line of sight before I fell down sobbing.
She’d been my rock. But that day, she shattered me.
I didn’t talk to her for the rest of the summer. She didn’t talk to me either.
I told myself that it suited me fine, but the truth is it only hurt me more. As upset as I was, all it would have taken was one word from Eva – one ‘sorry’ – and we might have been okay. I might have been okay.
All I wanted was something, anything, that showed she gave a damn about me. But I got nothing.
When we returned home, I told Mum I was quitting dancing once and for all.
Meanwhile Eva threw herself into it more than ever. It was hard to tell we weren’t actually talking to each other, because it was so rare for us to even be in the same room. Dancing consumed Eva’s life. It consumed our whole family.
When Eva moved to Melbourne, I felt relieved. Like maybe, finally, I’d be free from her and the gigantic shadow her skinny little body cast over me.
Our mutual silent treatment persisted.
Then Eva came out last year, and all of a sudden she wanted to be sisters again.
‘I need you, Maise,’ she’d said.
But I’d needed her too. So badly. And I still hadn’t forgiven her.
I said, ‘I don’t care that you’re gay. I feel the exact same way about you today that I did yesterday. You’re not my sister, and I don’t ever want to talk to you again.’
It was back to the silent treatment after that. Until, out of the blue, Eva started emailing me and sending me messages. Random stuff, about what she was doing that day, or something she’d seen that made her think of me. I ignored them all.
Which brings us pretty much up to date.
Now you know it all, DJ.
Except what happened today.
*
‘Hey, I was hoping you’d be here,’ Eva said with a smile.
‘Where’s Bess?’
‘She’s at the Airbnb. I needed to do something on my own. It’s . . . I wanted to talk to you, actually.’
I nodded. I knew what was coming. I was ready.
‘I’m sorry,’ we both said at once.
Eva’s eyes widened. Tears sprung up in mine. And I did something I hadn’t done in years. I got up and gave my sister a hug.
She was crying now as well. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’
‘Me too,’ I said. And we laughed through our tears.
After a while, when we’d both settled down and Eva had made us cups of tea, we sat next to each other on the lounge and talked and talked.
‘I was awful to you, Maise,’ she said. ‘I didn’t really think about it at the time. I mean, I knew you were upset, but I was so caught up in my own shit. I was not in a good place. And I took it out on you. I’m sorry.’
I’d been waiting to hear her say ‘sorry’ for years, and now it seemed like she couldn’t stop saying it.
‘Do you remember Rachel?’ Eva asked.
‘Your friend from school?’ Rachel had been one of Eva’s best friends. She used to come over our place a lot, but then Eva got busy with dancing and Rachel stopped coming around. I didn’t think much about it at the time.
Eva nodded. ‘You don’t know this but . . . she was actually the first person I came out to.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah. When I was sixteen.’
‘Oh.’
Eva sip
ped her tea and sighed. ‘I . . . I really liked her. Actually, I kind of loved her. And, well, let’s just say she did not respond how I hoped she would. Quite the opposite.’
Another ‘oh,’ was all I could manage.
‘Between that,’ Eva went on, ‘and how much I was struggling at school – and just, I don’t know, the general awfulness of being sixteen –’ she shot me a knowing look ‘– I was a bit of a mess. And a total cow to you. I’m not trying to excuse it. There is no excuse. But I guess I just wanted to explain.’
I nodded. I was finally beginning to understand.
‘The thing with the pageant,’ she continued. ‘I felt like I needed a win, you know? But it backfired. Because I ended up losing in the worst way . . . I lost my baby sister.’ She reached for my hand and I gave hers a squeeze. ‘I mean, you wouldn’t talk to me even after I came out. I thought it was pretty fucked up.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. She waved her hand as if brushing my words away. She wasn’t done yet.
‘It took me a long time to realise how much I’d hurt you,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t until I met Bess, really, that I fully got it. The essay I told you about, the one she wrote, that made me want to meet her? It was about all the terrible ways people had treated her because she’s fat, but how she loved herself anyway. Her writing was so powerful . . . and I recognised myself in it. Not in the way she felt, but in the way she’d been treated. In how I’d seen people treat you. In how I’d treated you. Even when I was trying to be nice, I know I said things that hurt. I didn’t get it then, but I do now. And I’m sorry, Maisie. Sorry that I made you feel like you weren’t good enough.’
I was tempted to crack a joke about how not everything revolved around her, but I stayed quiet. To tell you the truth, I was too full of emotion to speak a word.
Eva shoved my shoulder playfully. ‘I’ve been wanting to say all this for ages, but I never got a chance. You kept ignoring me.’
At last, I was ready to talk.
I told her how upset I’d been. How much I appreciated everything she said today.
And I told her I was sorry.
All that time I’d been waiting for her to apologise – I hadn’t realised how much I’d needed to say it too.
Because as much as Eva had hurt me, I’d also hurt her. She said she’d been caught up in her own shit, but I was the one so focused on my own problems, I’d never even stopped to consider what might be happening in her life. That it wasn’t so perfect after all. That she was experiencing her own pain – and that I’d inflicted some of it myself.
Today, I saw Eva properly for the first time.
‘You’re my sister,’ I told her. ‘And I love you.’
*
‘You should talk to Beamer,’ Eva said later.
‘What? Why?’
‘I heard what happened. Poor guy.’
‘What? How?’
‘He came to me last week. Said he wanted to learn that Dirty Dancing routine. Had this big grand plan to sweep you off your feet. Which didn’t exactly pan out, it seems.’
‘What?!’
She laughed.
‘Tell me everything,’ I said.
It turns out Eva and Beamer had been meeting in secret every day. He’d asked her to teach him to dance. Not so he could dance with her. So he could dance . . . with me.
My big freak-out on New Year’s Eve had made him decide to move his grand gesture ahead of schedule. To cheer me up and make me smile. To remind me that there were people in the world – the only ones who mattered – who thought I was amazing and beautiful and worthy of dancing and beauty pageants and doing whatever the hell I wanted.
‘Beamer said all this?’
Eva nodded. ‘Who knew he had it in him, hey? He’s grown into a pretty great guy.’
‘And Seb?’
‘Oh, he knew about the whole thing. Went along for moral support. Which I think is where your wires got crossed, hmmm?’
‘Wait, so you know . . .?’
‘I spoke to Beamer the other day. He was pretty cut up. Said you still loved Seb and he’d just been a distraction.’
I stared down at my tea. I’d been doggedly avoiding thinking about everything that had happened with Beamer, but now it all came crashing in. I still couldn’t believe that he – annoying, pain-in-the-butt Beamer – had planned what was probably the sweetest gesture I’d ever heard of in my life.
He’d tried to learn to dance for me.
He’d written a poem for me.
He’d . . . oh my god, he’d written poetry.
It had been Beamer all along.
I thought back to the look on his face when I told him I’d read Sebastian’s poetry – which was actually Beamer’s poetry.
‘So . . . you really liked his poetry, hey?’
‘There’s someone that I like, which I think is pretty obvious.’
‘I dare you to kiss me.’
‘You’re so beautiful.’
It had been Beamer all along.
‘So do you?’ Eva interrupted my thoughts.
‘Do I what?’
‘Still love Seb?’
In that moment, I didn’t know what I felt. Other than totally overwhelmed. All I could do was shrug.
‘Well then, next question,’ Eva said. ‘And a more pressing one, I think: what are you going to do tomorrow?’
That one I had an answer for. I smiled.
‘Tomorrow, I’m going to kick some Teen Queen butts,’ I said. ‘And I’m going to need your help.’
*
I’ve really got to get some sleep, DJ. Beauty sleep for the beauty pageant, you know.
(Question: what’s the difference between beauty sleep and ugly sleep? I feel like most people probably experience the latter.)
(I know, I know, it’s about getting sleep so you are beautiful. Because if you don’t sleep, you’re haggard and ugly. Right?)
(I really need to get some sleep.)
(But I wanted to give you one final update.)
Mum and Dad.
They were gone for ages. And ages and ages. Eva and I had just ordered Thai for dinner when they finally rocked up.
They’d both been crying, I could tell.
They sat us down, looking very serious.
My heart was in my throat.
‘Your father –’ Mum started.
‘I already told Eva everything,’ I interrupted.
‘Good. That’s good,’ Mum said. ‘Your father –’
‘Please don’t get a divorce.’ There was desperation in my voice. ‘He’s sorry. He didn’t mean it. He’ll never do it again. He needs us. We need him.’
Eva reached out and grabbed my hand.
Mum looked at us with wide, emotional eyes. ‘Your father and I . . . are not getting a divorce.’
I breathed out a sigh of relief and squeezed Eva’s hand. ‘So everything’s alright?’
‘Well, no, I wouldn’t go that far,’ Mum said.
My heart constricted again.
‘It’s going to take time,’ Dad broke in. He looked at Mum.
She couldn’t meet his eyes. ‘Yes. A lot of time,’ she said.
‘But you understand, don’t you, Mum?’ Eva asked. I got the feeling she was talking about more than Dad.
Mum paused for a minute, then got up to sit between Eva and me. She put her arms around us. ‘I might not yet . . . but I’ll try to,’ she said. And she squeezed us both tight.
I looked over at Dad. He had tears in his eyes. I got up and hugged him.
Behind me, I heard Mum say, ‘Why don’t you get Bess over for dinner?’
So Eva did.
And you know, it wasn’t perfect. Mum wasn’t talking to Dad. She had just started talking to me and Eva again (talking, not yelling). But we were all in the same room. A frosty room, yes, but with the smallest hint of thaw. It was a start. Which is much better than an ending.
Okay, now I really gotta get some sleep.
Saturday, 6 January<
br />
1 thing I discovered today
1. What’s that saying? You are braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.
Source: I think it’s from Winnie-the-Pooh. Is it Christopher Robin who says it? Whoever it was, they were speaking the truth.
*
What a day! Tell you all about it tomorrow, DJ.
I’m too tired right now.
DELIRIOUS.
I’ll just give you this quick update. Here’s a list of things I like about myself:
1. My eyes.
2. My eyebrows.
3. My ears.
4. My hair.
5. My fingernails.
6. My boobs.
7. My forearms.
8. My smile.
9. That bit of neck just below my ear, next to my jaw.
10. My midriff.
11. My guts.
12. My dancing feet.
13. My heart.
Sunday, 7 January
1 thing I discovered today
1. Life really isn’t like the movies.
Source: This summer. And, you know, LIFE.
*
Sorry if my handwriting is a bit all over the place, DJ. I’m in the car, on the way home. Yes, again! This time I’m in the back seat, and Mum’s driving. Dad’s in the passenger seat next to her. They’re listening to Crowded House and talking every now and then. Not much, and not very warmly. But hey, it’s progress.
We said goodbye to Eva and Bess this morning. Mum promised we’d go down to Melbourne in a month or two to visit them. I think she’s trying to show Eva she’s fine with the whole quitting dancing thing, even though I’m not sure she is. Not yet. But hey, it’s progress.
We said goodbye to Leila and the others; to the Lees and Beamer this morning, too.
But wait, I’m doing this all wrong. I’m telling you about today when there is still SO MUCH to tell you about yesterday. I really left you hanging there, didn’t I, DJ? Sorry about that. It’s just – so much has happened. Where do I begin?
Yesterday! PAGEANT DAY.
We got up at the crack of dawn (that’s the second time in as many weeks for me, I’m practically a morning person!) to do my hair and make-up. Bess and Eva came around to help. We put some music on to set the mood, which Dad wasn’t very happy about, since he was still trying to sleep. He got up and walked out in a bit of a huff, and Mum got that pinched dog’s bum look on her face. But when he returned ten minutes later with coffees for us all, she softened, just a tiny bit.
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