After she’d left, Jasper stood for a minute, staring after her. “She’s, like, the kind of mom I dream about, Leah. No lie.” Her voice was a little rough, stuck in her throat.

“She’s really not so perfect,” I said. “She’s mostly performing for you. I swear.”

Jasper shook her head. “But even if that’s true, it’s nice that she’s performing. Isn’t it? She’s performing to make you happy. She’s performing love.”

“I guess. . . .”

“Anyway,” said Jasper, “she doesn’t have to be perfect to be a good mom. She just has to be here.”

“But that’s the thing! So often she isn’t here,” I said. “She wanders around not saying anything, except to occasionally nag me. I swear, she’s mostly a ghost mom.”

Jasper stopped painting and shook her head. “No, Leah. You keep saying that, but it’s just not true. Maybe she’s sad. But she’s not a ghost mom. I have a ghost mom. You can’t hug a ghost. Ghosts don’t make dinner or open the window because of paint fumes. For real.”

“Maybe there are different kinds of ghost moms,” I said.

“Stop it!” said Jasper, throwing her paintbrush down. “Stop making your life worse than it is. I’m glad for you that you have a nice mom. You should be glad for you too. You don’t have to relate to everything about me. You really don’t.”

When she said that, I suddenly knew exactly what she meant. “Oh!” I said. “Oh, wow, you’re right. . . . I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” said Jasper, reaching down to pick her brush back up. “Not a big deal. Just be grateful.”

“No, I mean, what you just said, about relating. It’s so true. I remember how right after Sam died, people always wanted to tell me about the sad-death-thing that happened to them. But it was usually some dog dying, or a really old grandma. It made me crazy. Because that’s not the same.”

“Yeah, no, it isn’t,” said Jasper. “Not at all. But it doesn’t have to be. It isn’t a contest, pain. And sometimes, you can’t make it go away no matter what you do. You just have to carry it around, you know?”

I nodded. “I do know.

“I know you know,” said Jasper.

I laughed. “You know something else?” I said.

“What?”

“You’re my best friend. Ever.”

She smiled. “I know that, silly, and you’re mine. But how will that go down when Tess gets back?”

“Oh,” I said, realizing how long it had been since I’d really thought about Tess. “Tess.”

“You never talk about her, but I swear you told me she was your best friend, didn’t you?”

“She was,” I said. “For a long time. But she just isn’t anymore.”

“You don’t miss her?”