That specific sentence struck a nerve. It bothered me. She viewed me not as a son, but as a utility.
I measured my words. “Let me be abundantly clear. I am not deciding whether you have heat. A mechanical component in your basement failed of its own accord. I did not sabotage it. I am instructing you, as an adult, to hire a licensed professional.”
“But you always handle the logistics of these things!”
“I used to handle the logistics of these things.”
“Why are you acting so malicious?”
“Because the children I brought into this world were casually informed that their physical presence was repulsive to your household, and you nodded.”
“That has absolutely nothing to do with my heating system!”
“You are absolutely right,” I conceded smoothly. I let a beat pass. “And since you so eloquently reminded me that this is, in fact, your house… I just realized a glaring administrative error.”
