Under the bright lights of the boutique, surrounded by racks of pastel skirts and floral blouses, Mom slides a hanger free and holds up the tiniest skirt she can find. She presses it against my hips, beaming. “This is just darling, Paulene.”

I look down at the black satin skirt and wince. “It’s a little short, Mom.”

“So,” she continues, holding it against me, reaching for the matching blackless top to go with it. “You never get your legs out, and I think that’s a shame. Gotta keep Oscar keen, sweetheart, or he’ll lose interest.”

I step back, flap away the garments in frustration, and sigh, making her give me a rather motherly look as she hooks them back on the rail.

“I don’t need to be a counselor to know something’s wrong, sweetheart.” Mom puts a hand on my hip and looks me up and down. “Was it something I said, or are you just hormonal at the moment?”

“Hormonal?” I look around, embarrassed that people might be listening, before glaring at her with burning red cheeks. “Mom, don’t talk so loudly, and no, I’m not hormonal, I’m annoyed at what you said.”

“About getting your legs out more?” she asks, tilting her head to one side. “Because I do think that’s true. You dress like a middle age woman a lot of the time. Y’know, it is okay to flaunt your body from time to time. You’ve worked really hard to get it after all.”

I clutch at my long skirt and look away with a pout. “I like feeling comfortable in my clothes, thank you. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“What about Oscar, Paulene?”

“What about him?” I throw her an unimpressed glance.

“Don’t you want to feel sexy for him? Honestly, you should think yourself lucky. I’d give anything for a man to want to see me in sexy clothes again…”

“Y-Yeah…?” I hesitate, thinking about the pact Jacky and I made just a few hours ago. As Mom studies the short satin skirt again, I realise this might be my chance to ask.

“Mom, can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” she smiles at me as she runs her fingers across the skirt.

“Why haven’t you dated anyone since Dad left?”

“I have dated,” she replies with a condescending tone, avoiding eye contact. “Why?”

“Have you?” I step closer to her, keeping my voice low. “I don’t think you have, and that confuses me a little. You look after yourself so well. Men must be queuing up.”

“Is that right?” she snaps her hand from the skirt.

She falls silent, her expression unreadable. After a moment, she looks up and out through the boutique’s front windows at the café opposite. Without a word or even a glance at me, she moves past and starts toward the exit.

“Sweetheart,” she says with a slight crack of emotion. “I-I…I’m going to get a coffee. Do you want something?”

“M-Mom?” I watch her walking away from me.

“I’ll get you a latte,” she states loudly, but not looking in my direction. “Wait here, okay? I’ll be back in a few mintues”