me.
“You know what’s wrong?”
“Yes.”
“Can you fix it?”
“Yes.”
Brooke folded her arms.
“Then fix it.”
I looked at her.
“No.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“I said no.”
Mom looked shocked.
“But you know how.”
“I do.”
“Then why won’t you?”
I turned toward her.
“Because knowing how to fix something doesn’t mean I’m obligated to fix it every time you demand it.”
Mom’s eyes filled with tears.
“I was cold.”
“So were my children.”
That sentence ended the argument.
I called a licensed HVAC technician.
Not because I
