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The thought deflates me. And anyway, just like she said, I’m only a first date kind of girl. I always have been, no one ever wants to stick around for long.

Mum continues. “I was reading an article about women approaching thirty freezing their eggs—”

Sophia drops her menu, effectively pausing our mother for a moment.

Mum purses her lips. “I’m just saying it’s worth thinking about. The clock doesn’t stop ticking, even if you pretend it’s not there. And your father and I would be happy to pay for it.”

I take a long sip of my tea and stare out the window, fantasising about being literally anywhere else. Queuing at IKEA on a bank holiday. Stuck in a traffic jam. Back on the date with Angus.

Actually scrap that, maybe not that last one.

“I’m a few years away from that, Mum,” I settle for saying instead. “So really there’s nothing to worry about. And even if I was older, I think that society tries to put a lot of pressure on women about these things. Maybe we could just leave it for now.”

“Your father and I always want to help you, dear.”

Out of the two of them, Dad is easier. Mum likes having things her way, Dad just wants peace. So he usually goes along with her demand of the day. And he’s away a lot, which probably helps.

“Thank you.” I give a tight smile.

It’s a generous offer, but it’s not necessary. I try to take it for what I hope it is; a kind attempt to help, and not a jab about my relationship status. But sometimes it’s hard to work out whether something comes from a place of love or a ticking-clock lecture. A desire to help or a need to try and control my life.

By the time the food arrives, Mum is fixating on the finer points of Sophia’s outfit—her hemline (frayed), her neckline (not flattering), the tone of her nail polish.

“I just think that shade is a bit immature, Sophia,” she says, gesturing at the lilac colour. My sister visibly wilts in her chair, so I quickly deflect the conversation by talking about the fashion brand my marketing firm was just involved with and Sophia subsequently launches into an effusive monologue about how exciting all my stories sound. We manage to keep up meaningless conversation between the two of us throughout the meal, dodging most of the barbs.

Just as we’re leaving I notice the acoustic version of an old ABBA song playing through the speakers. Mum notices it at the exact same time, and gives me a soft smile.

“Your father used to play this every Saturday morning.”

“I remember,” I grin at her. “You used to make us all dance to it when you cooked pancakes.”

“Make you,” she scoffs. “You two loved putting on little performances, I’m sure I’ve still got a few on the video recorder at home, that’s how many I sat through.”

Those were nice memories, and they tide me through as she pays the bill and we gather up our coats.

Sophia and I make it exactly thirty seconds after leaving the café before we both exhale in unison.

“I feel like I need a nap and a drink at the same time,” I say.

“A drap?” Sophia offers. “A nip?”

“A wine IV,” I decide.

We wander down the street, shoulders gradually un-hunching, the tension slowly leaking out of our systems.

“Honestly.” Sophia shakes her head. “I think that might’ve been her strongest brunch yet. Did you hear the bit where she suggested I get my teeth whitened ‘to enhance my romantic prospects’?”

“She told me Angus is ‘an acquired taste, like olives.’” I pause. “Does that mean he’s only tolerable with a martini?”

We both laugh, too loudly, and I feel a little better.

“You ok?” she asks after a moment.

I nod, though it’s half-hearted. “Yeah. Just tired of feeling like we’re disappointing her by not being perfectly settled with a brood of kids. Just because she was married with multiple houses at twenty-two doesn’t mean that we have to be.”

“I think even if we had all those things, she’d still find a way to make us feel like we’re doing it wrong.”

“True. I could turn up with a Nobel Prize and she’d ask why I didn’t win two.”