Despite trying hard not to, I’m suddenly transported back to my parents’ bedroom and the look on my mother’s face when we heard my dad crash through the front door that day. We’d been lying there, her and me on the bed, talking about the boy who’d just asked me out. He was in ninth grade and I’d had a crush on him for ages, so when he asked me to the cinema that coming Saturday night, Mom and I were excitedly planning my outfit.

‘Why don’t you wear those denim overalls Aunt Meryl bought you for your birthday?’

‘Mom,’ I’d shrieked in faux exasperation. ‘I’m thirteen, not nine.’

‘Oh, but you look soooo cute in them,’ she’d said, laughing as she tickled me.

‘Yeah, if I was in the Mickey Mouse Club.’

‘You used to love that show,’ she’d said.

If the truth be known, I still did, but so too did Jennifer, whose being four years younger than me made it decidedly uncool to watch.

‘Go on, do that Britney routine you used to do,’ she’d said, nudging me.

‘Mom, stop it,’ I’d giggled, protesting and revelling in her attention all at the same time.

I used to love that hour before bed, when Jennifer was asleep and Dad was invariably propping up a bar somewhere in town. We’d watch an episode of Friends under a comforter in the living room or lie on her bed, talking about school – or on that particular night, boys.

‘What about my denim skirt and that red top you bought me last week?’ I’d said.

‘Well, as long as it’s warm enough,’ she said, in typical motherly fashion. ‘And what shoes are you going to wear?’

‘We-ll,’ I’d said, dragging the word out. ‘You know we’re the same size now . . .’

Her eyes had narrowed and she’d looked at me suspiciously. Like most young teenagers, I always thought I was able to outsmart my mother, naively assuming that she didn’t have a clue what was going through my pubescent brain. But now I’m the age she was then, I can see that I clearly didn’t give her enough credit.

‘Yes,’ she’d replied, warily.

‘Well, I thought your sneakers would look super-cute with it.’

‘Which ones?’ she’d asked, knowing full well the pair I’d coveted ever since she’d bought them six months previously. The pair she was wearing right now.

I’d rolled my eyes and smiled.

‘Oh, you mean these ones?’ she’d said, laughing as she lifted her feet in the air.

‘Can I?’ I’d pleaded, crossing my fingers.

She’d wrapped her hands around mine and looked at me, her eyes a swirling pool of unconditional love.

‘If you want them, you can have them,’ she’d said.

‘Really?’ I’d squealed.

‘Really,’ she’d said, smiling.