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At breakfast the next morning, I told Claire I wasn’t going over there the following weekend. She didn’t even lift her eyes from her phone.
“Fine,” she said while scrolling through something on the screen. “But Dad can’t clean the gutters himself. He’s going to be annoyed.”
“Then he can hire someone better,” I replied quietly.
She finally looked up, surprised for a moment, but she didn’t say anything else.
That Saturday, I stayed home.
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