“You always find a way to take the attention away from your sister,” Patricia said, looking down at her polished nails.

“If you’d stayed on the bed rest the doctor gave you last week instead of scrubbing your kitchen floors, you wouldn’t be in this room right now.”

“Rosalie is three pounds,” I said.

“Her lungs aren’t ready.”

“Well, crying about it won’t fix Melissa’s party,” Patricia said.

She tucked the parking ticket into her leather purse and took a step back toward the elevators.

“I’m going over to her house to help her unpack the cake plates.”