“What a—”
“Here I am.” Jordan appears back at the table.
“Your salmon arrived.”
“Haven’t you started eating yet?”
“That would’ve been rude.”
She smiles.
“Oh, whoops. I’ve already eaten three prawns,” my daughter comments, her mouth still full. We both laugh.
“Sorry,” she says, wiping her lips.
“No problem, Skylar.”
What the hell is happening? My daughter, laughing, joking, making conversation?Apologising?
“So where did you two go today?”
“Can I say something?” Skylar asks, interrupting her.
“Of course.”
“You’ve got balls, Ms Hill.”
“Oh, well…”
“And I want to say something else.”
“Okay,” she says, almost in shock.
“It’s not easy to understand a woman like you. Usually, people are just scared of you.”
“Skylar…” I say, trying to intervene.
“My mum was a woman like you. She had balls, too.”
Jordan listens intently.
“That’s why no one was ever good enough for her.”
She speaks confidently, calmly; her voice is steady. But if I tried to speak now, it’d be a disaster.
“Thank you, Skylar. I’m sure your mother was a very special woman.”
“She was.”
“And I’m sure you take after her,” she says, stroking her cheek. My daughter lets herself be touched without rolling her eyes, or swearing, or pulling away.
“I hope so,” Skylar says, a sadness in her voice.
“You’re completely your mother,” I find myself saying. “From the way she looked at you to the way she ate,” I say, chuckling at the memory. “Not to mention the way she spoke,” I add, emotion and regret choking at me. I reach out towards my daughter and lightly stroke her hand – for the first time ever, she lets me touch her. “And I’m sure that you smile just like her, too. But I can’t be sure, because she never smiled at me.”
Skylar bursts out laughing.
“See, I knew I was right.”
