That thought pulled a gasp from her throat. She’d never viewed being with her family as a burden or a chore. They were her support system and her cheering section, and she loved them with all her heart.But right now the idea of making small talk around the Christmas tree felt like torture.
She startled. Oh man, she’d lost her Christmas mojo.
Her Jazzy joy was gone.
She hit the end of the park and turned around in the darkness. She tried skipping to boost her spirits.
It didn’t work.
She just felt stupid even though there was no one left around to see her. She walked by the Sweetheart Tree where Roan first kissed her—kissed her right under the knothole withClaire loves Roan 4 Lifecarved into it. She paused, consumed by the ache in her heart growing deeper as memory claimed her.
Snap out of it. Go home.
Jazzy was turning away when she heard a sniffling. Was someone crying? Her tender heart wouldn’t let her ignore it.
Stretching wide, Jazzy leaned across the ancient pecan tree, and peered around to see who was on the other side.
There, on the park bench, sat Andi, who stared at Jazzy red-eyed, a blue tissue wadded in her fist.
“What doyouwant?” Andi barked.
“To see if you’re okay.”
“Right. I bet you just came to gloat.”
Slowly, Jazzy shook her head. She didn’t enjoy seeing her former friend like this, no matter the unpleasantness between them.
“May I sit?” Jazzy asked.
Andi glowered. “Free country. Do what you want.”
Jazzy edged over.
Andi scooted to give her more room.
They sat there for several minutes, not speaking. It was really too cold to sit outside, but Jazzy could feel Andi was on the verge of saying something.
“Remember that time I beat you in the Girl Scout cookie challenge,” Andi said.
“Uh-huh.”
“My mother cheated and bought two hundred boxes of cookies. She even bought a freezer to store them in. We ate Girl Scout cookies for a year. I still hate them.”
“Why did your mother do that?”
“‘No daughter of mine is going to lose a lame-ass cookie contest,’” Andi said, affecting her mother’s voice. She sounded so much like Sandy Browning it was eerie.
“Win at all costs, huh?”
“Yep.” Andi rocked back on the bench.
“Take no prisoners?”
“What would be the point of prisoners? You have to feed and house them.”
“Every day was a battlefield, wasn’t it?” Jazzy asked.
“Damn straight.” Andi’s voice shook and her eyes misted. “Every single day. Still is to be honest. My mother texts or calls several times a day to tell me how worthless I am. Unless I’m winning, I’m nothing.”