Repeat After Me

Chapter 69

I dialled Asten's number, a sinking feeling a ring tone.

'Ivy,' he said.

'Where are you?' I asked, softly.

'At the hospital. With Alicia.'

The pause was swallowing me.

'What happened?'

'She stood behind the car. The Uber driver didn't see her as he was backing out the driveway of her apartment block. We didn't know she was there. I was coming to see you, but then ...'

There would always be something.

'Is she okay?'

'It's just her foot. He ran over her foot. We're waiting for the x-rays.'

I was waiting for you.

'She's okay. She'll be fine. I don't know how long this will all take,' he said. 'I can't leave.'

I can't leave has two meanings.

'Ivy?'

'Yeah.'

'You okay?'

'Yeah.'

'You sure?'

It was then that I realised I wasn't sure. Waiting for Asten was like waiting for a vaccine. It may never happen. It was research development with premature human trials. It wasn't a cure, it was a band-aid. The long-term damage had been done. I'd lost faith. I wanted someone who knew how to walk away. I wanted someone strong and independent. I wanted someone who knew what they wanted. I wanted someone who knew how to fill out a JobSeeker form and help themselves.

'I can't do this,' I said. I knew instinctively, this was the moment my grandmother had told me about – the moment I needed to know when to leave. I needed to be strong enough to walk away. Don't give and give and give and get nothing in return. Don't try and figure things out. Walk away.

'What do you mean?' he asked.

'I can't do this.'

'But I was trying to get to you ...'

'I'm sorry. I'm tired of all of this. I've lost faith. You're a great guy, but ...' I searched for a reason, but I couldn't find anything, so I said it again, 'You're a great guy.'

I hung up the phone. I stared at the Spanish moss plant hanging in a glass globe by my window, thriving on air alone, impossibly, magestically. We can all thrive on our own when we know what we want.

I knew what I wanted.

I stood up and grabbed my army jacket and searched in the pockets. I pulled out a business card. Jason Stirling, The Age, Culture Contributor. I opened my laptop, started a new gmail message and typed in his email address.

'Hi Jason, this is Ivy, aka Repeat After Me, from Overlooked Lane. Sorry if I was short with you yesterday. It took me by surprise. I've had time to think about it and I'd like to talk to you about that piece in the newspaper ...'