When she got a shiny red convertible for her 16th birthday, our dad couldn’t stop gushing about how “Clara deserved the best.” I got a hand-me-down sedan that sputtered every time I turned the key. Clara loved reminding me of what I didn’t have. Last Thanksgiving, she walked in wearing heels so tall I thought she might tip over.
“Jack,” she said, her voice smooth but pointed as her eyes drifted to his hands. “Still fixing cars? That must be… exhausting.”
“It keeps me busy,” he replied casually, setting the turkey on the table. Clara tilted her head, a fake smile plastered across her face. “Oh, I bet.
But does it ever pay enough to take Kelly somewhere nice?”
My cheeks burned, but I kept quiet. Jack just chuckled. “Kelly prefers my cooking to anything at a restaurant.”
“Oh,” Clara said with a raised brow.
“That’s… sweet. Tyler took me to Paris for our anniversary. It’s nice to celebrate in style, don’t you think, Kel?”
I hesitated.
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