Repeat After Me

Chapter 35

When I got home, I went to my parents' room. Dad was lying in bed with the newspaper, his head propped up with three pillows, his knees supported by a lumbar roll. Mum was flicking through a Delicious magazine.

'What do you have to say for yourself?' dad demanded.

'I'm sorry.'

Mum placed the magazine on the bed. 'We're so disappointed in you. Everyone is struggling at the moment. All you care about is yourself. You need to always be able to look outside of yourself, Ivy, and see what is going on around you.'

I sat down beside her.

'We don't like being put on the spot like that,' dad said.

'We need time to think about these things,' mum added.

'Where did you go?' dad asked

'Just into the city.'

'It's late Ivy. You shouldn't be walking around the city on your own.'

'I'm sorry.'

'What did you do?' mum asked.

'Nothing,' I said.

'Who did you meet?' dad asked.

'Absolutely no one.'

Dad shifted one of the pillows from behind his head and removed the lumbar pillow from under his knees, and sat up straighter.

'We don't want any more of your silly business,' he said. 'Running off into the city like that is ridiculous. You shouldn't have gotten so worked up. If you want us to treat you like an adult, you have to behave like one. You raise an idea and then you need to give us time to think about it. We're allowed to ask questions. And we're allowed to have time to think about it. That's the way all negotiations are done. Even in the workplace. It's reasonable.'

Hope started rising within me. Stay quiet, I told myself, just stay quiet.

'Your mother and I have spoken about it and you can find out more information. Ask her where is the studio. What will the hours be. Is she paying you?'

'Yes of course.'

'And what is her real name,' mum stated.

'And we'd like to meet her,' dad added.

'So it's a maybe?' I asked, unable to contain the smile on my face, the excitement in my chest.

'It's a maybe,' mum replied. From experience, a 'maybe' usually turned out to be a 'yes' in our household.

I threw my arms around her and buried my face in her dark, recently washed hair. 'Thank you,' I said into her neck, 'You're the best.'

I got up to leave. 'Goodnight,' I said.

'What's that on your hand?' dad asked. I looked down. My left hand was covered in black ink.

'Just a pen that ran,' I said. 'I've cleaned it up.'