“She did?” It was the first time Izzy had said anything about Becca that wasn’t effusive praise. It made the conversation more real somehow. “Which part did she hate most?”

“Wasps, flies, picnic food. You name it.” Izzy helped herself to cheese. “She preferred dining in smart restaurants. Champagne. Sparkling glass. Sorry. I know you don’t want to hear about my mom.”

“I don’t mind.”

“You’re doing it again.” Izzy scowled at her. “Doing stuff you don’t want to do just to please me.”

“Not true. I’ve given up trying to please you. But I do think you should talk about your mother whenever you want to.”

“Did you?”

Flora picked at her bread. “No, because it upset my aunt and I hated upsetting her. But I carried a photo and looked at it often. That helped.”

Izzy cut herself a slice of cheese. “I’m sorry I swore at you. And shoved you. I don’t normally—”

“It’s okay. I understand. You were upset. We all do and say things we don’t mean when we’re upset.”

Izzy glanced at her. “So do you have it with you?”

“What?”

“The photo. Do you have it?”

“I—yes. I always carry it.”

“Can I see it?” Izzy looked at Flora’s face and stopped chewing. “Forget it. You don’t have to show me if you don’t want to.”

“I do want to.” Flora grabbed her backpack and pulled out her coat. “I don’t normally show it to people, that’s all.”

“Why not?”

“Because then I end up having conversations I don’t want to have.”

“Makes sense. Sometimes people are so clumsy. My friends at home—” Izzy selected a tomato “—they drive me insane with their trivia.”

“Yes. When you’re hurting it seems unbelievable that the world is still going on without you. You feel like the whole thing should have stopped moving.” While they bonded over the tactlessness of people, Flora dug around until she found her purse and then the photograph of her mother. Looking at it always made her emotional. “This was taken a month before she died, in the flower shop where she worked and where I still work.”

Izzy took it and studied the picture. “She’s pretty. She has kind eyes. And you look just like her.”

“A lot of people who knew her say that.”

“Has my dad seen this?”

“Yes. But only recently. I don’t talk much about my mother.” Those memories were the most intimate thing she could share, and she held them close. But she’d shared them with Jack, and now she’d shared them with his daughter.

Izzy nodded. “If you ever want to, you can talk to me. I won’t ever repeat anything.”

It was more than progress. It felt like a lottery win and Flora felt the sudden rise of emotion.