Sweet Love - Mia Kayla Page 0,87

berate me for it.” She slipped her designer purse over her shoulder.

“Me? A favor? When have you ever done anything nice for me? Ever!”

Maybe she hadn’t thrown out my paintings. Fine. But God only knew that she’d hated me from the very first time we met.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Well, this is the first time and last time I do you any favors. That’s for sure.” She turned to leave but paused for a bit before facing me fully again. “You walk around like you have it so hard when your life is practically perfect.”

Wait, what? I scrunched my face, struck into silence.

“With your perfect mom and your perfect life and your perfect friends and your perfect talent.”

For a moment, vulnerability shone heavily in her eyes as her tone softened. “I don’t have any of that. My mom left us when I was thirteen for another man and never looked back. Nannies and my grandma raised me, not my own father.” Her jaw clenched, and she tore her gaze away from mine. “Shit, my father even sold my childhood home to give everything up for you and your mom. He would never offer to renovate the pool house for me.” She waved a hand in the air. “I have my own place, so whatever … I don’t even care, but he’d never do for me what he’s doing for you guys.” Her jaw clenched, and she shook her head to erase the vulnerability that had been in her eyes moments ago. “So, don’t go moping like you have a sucky life because you don’t, okay? I hate people like you who have everything, yet you think you got dealt the wrong cards. Do you think I want to be around that all the time? Subconsciously comparing myself to you.”

“Perfect life?” I spread my arms out wide. “My whole life was upended from Wisconsin to move here. My father is dead. At least yours is alive. And I just missed my whole exhibit because I fainted.”

My laugh was cynical, but hers was worse.

“Who the fuck cares, Charlie? Who cares! You left your life in Wisconsin but then adjusted here like it never fazed you—new job, new friends, new boyfriend. My girlfriends only call me if they need something, and I’ve known them forever.” She took a step toward me, getting into my line of sight. “And I’m sorry about your dad, okay? That’s shitty that he’s not here anymore. But let me tell you a secret.” Her voice was strong and firm, which matched her gaze. “Your father was more of a father to you in the short time that he was alive than my father will ever be to me in his lifetime. So, you think about that, okay? You just think about that.”

I blinked, realization slapping me in the face through the fog of anger, sobering me up real quick.

She was right.

Lately, I’d been looking at my glass as half-empty when, in reality, it was half-full. I’d adjusted to my move, making new friends who were true friends, friends to last forever. And, yes, she was absolutely right about my father. The amount of love and support I’d felt from him could last me a lifetime. I was lucky to have such a father, a father who loved me unconditionally, whose support was unwavering, all until the very end.

As I stared at Sandy, I realized her looks, her job, her overall demeanor were a facade, and I’d judged her for it. I had known about her real mother, that she’d left, but I hadn’t gotten the full story. Although Richard seemed like an okay father, I’d never known he was never around for Sandy.

“I came here to check on you ’cause I know firsthand about how Connor feels about here and his parents. Ironically, we’re more similar in that our parents were never around, growing up.” She waved a hand. “But whatever. Check mark my good deed for the year.” The sass was heavy and back in her tone.

As she turned her back toward me, walking out toward the exit, I called out to her, “Sandy …”

Our eyes locked, and I realized, in some ways, we were similar, where we were still both a little lost in our lives, still trying to find our way.

“Thanks.”

After a beat, she tipped her chin, and in Sandy-like fashion, she said, “We’re not best friends after this. Just so you know.”

I nodded. I doubted we’d ever be that. “I