Page 103 of Power Moves
Today’s press conference will be held in the quadrangle of one of Sydney’s oldest universities. There will be footage of sandstone, jacaranda trees and students picnicking on neatly groomed lawns. If the footage is good, it will be shared on every online news site and mashed up for millions of TikTok viewers. The nation’s TVs will be turkey-basted with us every hour, on the bulletin.
A press conference with the Prime Minister is the kind of high-visibility media event that could change the game. This could swing the election, and I know I shouldn’t want him to win, but I’m not an idiot. Boss’s results will reflect on me, and that’s why I’m changing tactics: I’m not going to work for Boss anymore, I’m going to makehimwork forme.
I’ve spent my whole career hiding secrets, telling people to look left when they should be looking right, gifting them clues and angles that play into preconceived narratives so they see what I want them to see, rather than the full story. And today, I’m going to use every trick in the book.
?
I call Bryan from the Bluetooth in my car. It feels disrespectful somehow, like I should be in a quiet room with a dulcet Enya soundtrack in the background, but this is my life—it’s constant chaos and movement—so a car conversation it is.
‘Hey Mill!’ Bryan greets me as I merge onto the Eastern Distributor. ‘Only a few days until the election is over and we can hang out again. I really want to have a chat with you.’
Behind me, I hear the distant screech of tyre wheels.
‘Ah,’ I falter, ‘that’s why I called.’ I say the words in a rush, as if the speed will deaden the cringe factor. ‘Bryan, I’m not sure if you want to catch up because you think something might happen between us, but I want to make it clear that it won’t. I think you’re a great guy, you’re so …’ I’m trying to find a word that’s not ‘nice’ or ‘lovely’, but that’s all the vocabulary I can seem to access. My understanding of Bryan was always so superficial. I dated him in a misguided attempt atself-improvement, but he deserves better. ‘You’re such a decent guy,’ I continue, ‘and you will meet someone who’s as great as you, but it’s not me, and …’
At this point I realise Bryan is completely silent and that even if I could speak at the speed of light, I could never outpace my own cringeworthiness. I quickly reroute.
‘… of course, if this is all in my head, please ignore what I just said. Wipe it from your mind. I’d love a platonic sushi-date. Bring on the gyoza! Huzzah!’
Huzzah?!
‘Oh, Mill, I don’t know what to say. This is so …’
‘Awkward?’
‘Yes,’ agrees Bryan. ‘Because I was actually hoping I could get Jessie’s number from you.’
‘What?!’
I hear him laugh nervously. ‘I know it’s kind of strange, and possibly inappropriate to ask but I ran into her a few months ago, and …’ He pauses. ‘Do you think that would be okay?’
‘Jessie?’ I double-check. ‘My sister?’
‘Yes?’
My jaw drops. I am equal parts scandalised and giddy with relief.
‘You know my sister is crazy, right?’
‘Worse than you?’ asks Bryan, and for a jarring moment, I’m stunned, before I recognise the smile in his voice. Bryan is teasing me!
The Joke Misser—the man who could never understand why I found it so fun to send Archie photos of random state government web pages just to confuse him—hasroastedme.A delighted, incredulous laugh bursts from my lips. Bryan and I have both evolved, and I have possibly never felt so chuffed.
I can’t quite visualise how his beige slacks will look next to Jessie’s peacock wardrobe and what they’ll discuss over dinner, but then I remember how my kind-to-a-fault dad met my racquet-smashing mum and how, after a whirlwind romance, they built a magical life. And I think to myself:You know what, it’s so bizarre that it just might work.
I grin. ‘I’ll text you her number as soon as I’m out of the car.’ On the opposite side of the road, a police car zooms past, siren blaring.
‘You’re a star, Mill,’ says Bryan, and I’m about to say, ‘No, I’m just your regular neighbourhood battler,’ as I normally would, but I stop myself. I might not be the world’s best person, or the cleverest kid on the block, but I’m not that bad either.
‘Thanks Bryan.’
‘Pleasure, Mill. And by the way, I’m so glad you called. I was about to text.’
?
As I get out of the car in front of the university’s Great Hall, I slide my phone into my pocket, smiling. I’ve just texted Bryan Jessie’s number and he’s responded with a link to an article about the bungle on the Eastern Distributor involving a Mr Whippy van and a school bus. I must have just missed it on my commute over. A flurry of messages follows.
Traffic blocked both ways!
