“But we’re not even looking to buy. We just want to sign a lease. We’re two decent girls. Why does it have to be so hard? Lou saw a place in Pott’s Point the other day and, yes, the photos were lovely, but it’s either living in a place like that and not having any money left for food, or cramming ourselves into my tiny studio apartment and being able to afford the luxury of a regular meal. Sydney has just gone insane. Whatever happened to quality of life?”

“Would you have space at Lou’s parents?”

“Well, er, yes, much more than we could ever afford between the two of us, but the idea of a shared back yard doesn’t really make my heart sing, you know?”

“At least you would have a garden. Think about that.” Jane winked at Mia. “And think about those kids you want. Their grandparents would be so close by, you’d basically have live-in babysitters.”

“That’s exactly what Lou said.” Mia sniggered. “Has she been talking to you? Going behind my back to get you to persuade me?”

“You know Lou wouldn’t even think of doing such a thing. And I’ve known Rita and Reg as long as I’ve known Annie and they are so easy to get along with.” Saying this reminded Jane of what Mia had said earlier about the history they had.

“I’m not even sure they’re fully on board. I know they would do anything for their daughter, but I’m not sure that extends to me. Rita in particular doesn’t seem to have warmed up to me yet, which I understand.”

“You’d hardly be moving in with them. It would be like a semidetached.” Jane didn’t have it in her to pry—unlike Annie, who would have jumped at this opportunity to know more about what had happened between Lou and Mia in the past.

“You’re the voice of reason, as always.” Mia drained the last of her coffee and put her empty cup on the table. “Have things settled down between you and Annie?” Mia was much more forward than Jane with her questions. Perhaps that was a difference between today’s youth and a woman on the cusp of menopause. Audacity. A lack of self-consciousness. Jane’s age difference with Mia wasn’t that much bigger than the number of years between her and Annie, yet the generational difference between them felt much more divisive. Or maybe this time in their lives was when the age difference was most obvious. Jane tried to remember herself and Annie when she was thirty-three, but they’d been together for so long by then, it hardly played a part.

“We’re getting there.” Jane stared into her mug. “Living with a writer isn’t always easy. Sometimes I think Annie is a saint for putting up with me for so long.”