CJ leaned forward eagerly. “One time, she told Dad he couldn’t flirt properly because his brain was too corporate.”
Winnie sent me a sly look. “Oh?”
I groaned. “Please don’t encourage this.”
“She said he sounded like he was presenting a tax seminar when he flirted with her,” CJ said.
Winnie threw her head back and laughed.
God. That laugh. I’d become addicted to making it happen.
Billie frowned suddenly. “What was Momma’s laugh like?”
We all quieted. And embarrassingly, painfully, I realized I didn’t know how to answer right away. It wasn’t because I’d forgotten.I’d never forget the sound of Jade’s laugh. There were so many versions of it—when she heard something hilarious, when she was nervous and didn’t know how to answer a question, or when she gave me that sexy, playful smile once the kids were in bed.
I suddenly had flashbacks of Jade laughing at me, laughing at the kids, laughing while wine-drunk on the kitchen floor after a disastrous attempt at a home renovation, laughing until she cried during terrible horror movies.
My throat tightened unexpectedly.
“Based on the photos I’ve seen hanging in the upstairs hallway, your mom laughed with her whole face,” Winnie said. “And from the stories all of you tell, she sounds like someone who never laughed politely. It sounds like she fully meant it… laughed with her whole body.”
Bianca’s eyes lit up in an instant. “Yes. Sometimes she snorted.”
Of course, that had Billie making snorting noises like a piglet.
CJ nodded. “And she always laughed before finishing her own jokes because she thought she was hilarious.”
“Shewashilarious,” I argued.
“She laughed loudest at Dad,” Bianca added.
That one caught me off guard. I blinked. “Really? You think so?”
All three children stared at me like I was stupid.
“You once fell into a decorative pond,” CJ reminded me.
“She laughed for twenty minutes straight,” Bianca said.
And suddenly the conversation moved again. Not away from Jade. Through her. We shared stories, embarrassing memories, and even argued about the details.
CJ insisted Jade once smuggled gummy bears into a movie theater inside her purse like a criminal mastermind. Bianca argued that it had been licorice. Billie wanted to know if their mom ever committed “medium crimes.”
I watched them remembering together and realized the grief wasn’t suffocating us anymore.
After lunch, we wandered downtown, trees flowering overhead. Billie skipped in front of us, trying to balance on every curb she encountered.
Our next stop was at the end of the block. The courthouse with white columns, broad marble stairs, and historic architecture no doubt designed to intimidate people.
Bianca stopped at the base immediately. “Mom workedhere?”
“For a while,” I said. “She was a public defender.”
Winnie smiled. “It sounds like your mother cared a lot about people.”
We climbed the courthouse steps together. I could practically see Jade there if I let myself. Coffee in hand. Hair pinned up messily because she’d redone it in the car. Heels she absolutely hated wearing. Expression that said she was already arguing with someone internally as she prepared for a case.
“She used to bring snacks for the interns,” I told the kids as we walked through the courtyard. “Like, actual homemade care packages.”
