Page 55 of The Starfish Sisters

She nods.

“Amma was ninety-four. That’s almost a hundred.”

“Amma? Yeah. I went to her funeral.”

“I remember. It helped your nana to have you there to hold her hand.” I think of the house afterward, the parade of people; then finally, it was only Phoebe and me, left behind in the yawning emptiness of Beryl’s house.

She nods, sucking the frosting from a cookie. “I remember things from when I was two. We had this house with a window seat and mymom said I couldn’t remember that but I do. It had purple flowered cushions.”

“That’s impressive. Most people don’t have memories that early.”

“Do you?”

“Maybe not from being two, but I remember a lot. My mom died when I was eight, and I was so sad that I made myself think about everything I could remember, over and over.”

“Your mom died when you were a little girl?”

“Yeah.” A wisp of memory comes to me, her blonde hair, the way she sang to me, and I feel a pain so old it’s polished to a patina.

“I can’t even stand tothinkabout my mom or Nana dying.” She stares at the horizon, and I wonder if I shouldn’t have said that. Then she asks, “How did she die?”

“Breast cancer. There were not many treatments in those days.”

“Do you still miss her?”

“Not really.” I give her a chocolate Kiss. “Let’s talk about happier things.”

“I don’t really feel that happy. I don’t want to move to London and no one is listening to me.”

This is above my pay grade, but it feels like she’s really confiding in me, and I can’t let her down. “It can really be hard to make a big change like that,” I say.

“I liked our house in Portland. I like being close to Nana, and I have all these friends at school who are going to miss me, and I’ll miss them, and what if nobody likes me in England?”

I take that all in. “Well, first of all, people will definitely like you in London. I’ve been there. I’ve met the people and they are really nice. And you are an extremely likable person.”

“Did you meet any kids, though? And also, you’re a movie star, so everybody is nice to you.”

I laugh. “That is kind of true, although I hate to admit it, and no, I’ve never met any English kids, but I have met you.”

“I think I’m kind of weird.”

“That’s fine,” I say, shrugging. “Normal is kind of boring, don’t you think?”

“Nana is normal.”

“Not even.”

“Yes, she is!” Jasmine cries. “She has a normal house and a normal car and she eats normal food and she does normal things.”

“Does that mean you think she’s boring?”

She smacks me and makes a groaning noise. “No way! She’s really fun. She loves to play games and she teaches me all kinds of things—”

“She is all that. And she’s not normal because she’s like ... one of the best people in the world.” A surprising sting of emotion rises in my throat. “Right?”

Jasmine pulls her knees to her chest and rocks a little. “Yes.”

I toss an arm around her and pull her close to me, wrapping my big sweater around us.