We eat on the sofa this time, plates balanced on our laps, the fire warming our feet. Outside, the snow is still falling, lighter now but steady, coating the world in white.
"Tell me about them," she says suddenly.
I look at her. "About who?"
"Our mothers." She's staring into the fire, her profile soft in the flickering light. "You said yours kept things from when they were friends. Letters and photos."
"She did."
"What did she tell you about Sydney?"
I set my empty plate on the floor and lean back into the cushions. This is dangerous territory. There are things I know about Sydney, about both our mothers, that could blow everything apart. But Jade is asking, and after last night, I owe her some truth.
"She told me they were inseparable," I say carefully. "They met in college, freshman year. Roommates who became best friends within the first week. Mom said Sydney was the funniest person she'd ever met. Sharp and sarcastic, but kind underneath it."
Something softens in Jade's expression. "That sounds like her."
"They did everything together. Studied together, partied together, dated guys who were best friends so they could double date." I smile. "Mom said Sydney was the one who convinced her to go to Hawaii. When my father sent that first check, my mother wasn't sure what to do. Sydney told her to take a chance. That a man willing to do something that bold was worth meeting.”
“Really?"
“Yes. Sydney practically pushed her onto the plane. Told her that kind of grand gesture didn't come around twice."
Jade laughs softly, but there's a bitter edge to it. "That's ironic. Given how much she hates rich men now. Given what she said to me about your father.”
"Things changed after she saw what the money did to their friendship. What it did to my mother."
I reach for my phone on the side table. "I have something to show you."
She watches as I scroll through my camera roll, past dozens of photos I never look at, until I find the one I'm searching for. A picture of a picture, actually. I photographed it years ago from my mother's box of memories.
I hold the phone out to her.
Two young women stand on a beach, arms thrown around each other, heads tilted together, laughing at something off-camera. They're in their twenties, tanned and carefree, their whole lives stretching out ahead of them. One of them is unmistakably my mother. The other is unmistakably Sydney.
Jade takes the phone with trembling hands.
"Oh my god," she whispers.
"I know."
"They look so young. So happy." She traces a finger over her mom’s face on the screen. "I've never seen her like this. So... light."
"They loved each other. That much is clear from everything my mother kept."
"Then what happened?" She looks up at me. "How do you go from this to years of silence?"
I hesitate. This is where my knowledge gets thin.
"I don't know the whole story," I admit. "All I know is that it had something to do with money."
"Money?"
"That's all she would ever say." I shake my head. “But we didn’t talk about it much. She got this sad look whenever I brought it up. Like it still hurts, even after all these years."
"My mom never told me about it.” Jade is quiet for a moment.
We sit in silence for a while, both of us lost in our own thoughts. The fire crackles. The snow falls. And slowly, the tension between us begins to ease again.
