She puts on long, droopy earrings and stares back at me in the mirror. Try these, she says, and hands me a pair of danglies. You have perfect ears, she says. Look, she says. Perfect. Look at your earlobe.
She hits my foot from under the table. First it’s a mistake, then she beams up at me and does it again, on purpose this time. We both laugh. “What’s funny?” they ask. “Nothing,” we say. Her giggles sound more like squeaks. These moments with Jade follow a formula.