“I’m not driving that pink-mobile.” “You did earlier,” she points out. “That was different. Libby needed a lesson.” That response is met with matching eye rolls. Instead of replying, Libby just heads inside calling “I’ll get the keys” over her shoulder. “I said no,” I bark through the screen door. “I’ll move the blanket and stuff from the truck.” Sutton hops off the porch and darts for her dad’s truck. “But I said no,” I call again. Ten minutes later, I pull up to the stretch of grass the town calls a park and drop the girls off. “You go park Putt-Putt. We’ll find the perfect spot.”
