“Do what, exactly?” I asked.

“She told me you pretend to be nice in front of guests,” Ava yelled.

“But you always ruin the food I actually want so I look like a picky brat.”

I stopped with my hand on the warm wooden stair rail.

“That’s not true, Ava,” I said.

“I went to the store this morning to buy the exact brand of almond milk you asked for.”

“You hid it in the back of the fridge on purpose so I would complain and you could play the victim,” Ava said.