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different,” I said. “That’s the problem.”
My mother came to the table carrying the skillet like the weight of breakfast might hold us together. “You don’t have to be cold about it.”
“Mom, I’m not being cold. I’m saying no.”
“To your sister.”
“Especially to my sister.”
Britney shoved back from the table. The chair screamed across the tile. For half a second continue reading …
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