My phone lights up on the passenger seat just as I’m mentally rearranging paragraphs. Mum’s name flashes up and I smile despite myself. This will be about one thing and one thing only.
I answer through the car system. “Hello.”
“Oh thank goodness,” she says at once. “You picked up.”
“You remembered,” I say.
“I remembered,” she agrees, sounding both relieved and unrepentant. “Happy belated birthday, my love. Forty-five. Honestly. When did that happen?”
“Last week,” I say. “While you were swanning around the Mediterranean.”
“I was distracted,” she says. “There were sunsets and live music and several very charming men.”
I laugh. “Of course there were.”
“Some of them were at least fifteen years younger than me,” she adds, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I feel this is important context.”
“I’m thrilled for you,” I say. “Just don’t give me any details because… ewww.”
“Don’t be so prude, Darling,” Mum laughs.
I smile. Mum turned sixty-five last year and somewhere between the cake and the candles decided she was done waiting for life to politely happen to her. Dad leaving twenty years ago had knocked the wind out of her for a long time. Now she’s making up for it, preferably with someone fit and sun kissed.
“So,” she says, changing tack, “did you do anything nice for your birthday?”
“Ava and AJ cooked for me,” I say. “Dinner, wine, the works.”
It was relaxed and easy, the sort of evening where nobody makes a fuss and everyone knows when to top up a glass. Exactly my speed.
“Are they colleagues?”
“Yes. Ava’s our proofreader. AJ’s a news reporter. Always sniffing around for the next breaking story.”
“And are they together?”
I recoil so hard I nearly miss a turn. “No. Absolutely not. AJ is like a brother. To both of us.”
“Oh,” she says, disappointed but undeterred. “Pity.”
“Why?”
“Because people are better off in pairs,” she concedes. “Don’t think I don’t worry about you being on your own.”
There it is. Not judgement. Concern. The kind that comes from love and too much time to think.
“I know,” I say gently. “But I’m happy. Truly.”
And I am. I like my life. I like my work. I like my independence. I just don’t always love how quiet the flat gets when I come home late. Hadrian is excellent company, but conversation has never been his strong suit.
“I know you are,” she says, softer now. “I just like to keep an eye out. Old habits.”
“Eternal matchmaker,” I say.
“Eternal mother,” she corrects.
There’s a brief pause, the sort where I can practically hear the cogs turning.
“And how’s your lizard?” she asks.
