"You can't cut your dresses by my pattern."

Present Day Buffalo, New York

"Ma?!" Ronnie leaned against the blue Formica counter and shuffled the hodgepodge of dishes in the cabinet. "Where's my mug?" Even though she'd been away for years, there was something about being in the kitchen at home that made her sound like she was nine years old. She looked over her shoulder at her mother.

Della sat at the dinette table, head in hand, staring into her lukewarm cup of coffee like she was searching for something she'd misplaced a long time ago.

Ma is really out of it. Ronnie had been torn up since she got the call about her Daddy — and getting through this long, sad day had sucked her dry. In between her own tears and grief, she wondered how her mother could act so calm. Not that she ever goes to pieces. Ma's just strong, I guess. Ronnie stretched to reach the top shelf and tugged at her little bit of skirt, trying to keep her butt covered. "You know the one, Ma, with the Esso tiger on it?"

Della's expression never changed.

"You mean the Exxon tiger? I haven't seen that cup since ... maybe since before I left for college, Aunt Ronnie." Niki left the bag of garbage she was tying and opened another cabinet to look.

"There are a hundred mugs here!" Celeste backed against the swinging door and came in toting an armload of platters and serving bowls. "Use one of them!" Her tone was sharp as barbed wire. She set the stack on the counter and examined a gold-rimmed plate. "Humph! Friends call themselves helping you, but these are still greasy, Mother." She looked across the room for an acknowledgment, but Della stayed in her own world.

"Do you mind if I drink my tea out of the cup I want to?" Ronnie slid a foil-wrapped pound cake, a stack of paper plates, and a shrink-wrapped fruit basket out of the way and hoisted herself up on the counter. "You know that mug has been my favorite ever since ..." Ronnie's voice caught in her throat. "... Ever since Daddy brought it home."

"Daddy died five days ago and you just showed up yesterday, so don't come telling me about how much some cup means to you!" Celeste rolled up her sleeves, dropped her pearls inside her blouse.

"You haven't seen your sister in a long time, Ma." Niki spoke in a hush as she stepped between her mother and her aunt. "Maybe you don't want to argue ..."

"I do not need you to tell me what I want, Nicole. Maybe you could finish taking out the garbage some time tonight!"

Niki just barely turned her head before she rolled her eyes. "Right, Ma!"

"And you might sit on kitchen counters in New York, but we don't do that here!" Celeste reached in the pantry and snatched the apron.

Ronnie crossed her leg defiantly.

"Fine. Sit there. But I have work to do." Celeste turned the hot water on full force. "Of course, helping out would be of no interest to you."

"Get over yourself," Ronnie barked, then jumped down from the counter. "This has been a hard day, and I'm exhausted...."

"Exhausted?!" Celeste gripped the sink with both hands to keep from throwing the plates at her sister. "You flew in here yesterday like the queen bee, acting like everybody was supposed to stop what they were doing and buzz around you."

"I did not!"

"You have no idea what we've been through this week! All the planning, the arrangements. Funerals don't just happen!" Celeste took aim and launched a laser beam of anger. "And where were you?"

"I got here as soon as I could!" Ronnie's red-rimmed eyes filled with tears.

"Don't start that again!" Celeste snapped.

The bickering finally penetrated Della's haze. She left her long-ago memories of leaving Prosper at the bottom of her coffee cup and looked up at her daughters.

"You don't understand," Ronnie sniffled. "I didn't see him for so long, and now ..."

"Whose fault is that? Nobody stopped you from visiting," Celeste snapped. "You barely call. We could all be dead ..."

"Celeste!" Della fired a warning shot.

"I'm sorry, but it's the truth." Celeste planted her hands on her narrow hips.

"That's a lie," Ronnie sputtered.

"That's enough!" Della's look could have cut glass.

"I ... I couldn't get here any sooner," Ronnie whimpered.

"Why not? Your father died! Is your so-called acting career more important than that?!" Celeste demanded, then sucked her teeth, turned around, and attacked a platter with a soapy sponge. "You might fool other people into thinking you're the dutiful daughter, but I know better!"

"Aw right, both of y'all." Della rubbed her thumb over the chip in her coffee cup. "Everybody's had enough today. The dishes can wait. I'm not plannin' for company tomorrow."

"It won't take me long. You never know who might stop by." Celeste put the wet platter in the dish rack and picked up a bowl.

"I said leave 'em."

"Fine." Celeste wiped her hands on her apron. "I'll go put the folding chairs away."

Della watched her first born storm out of the kitchen. As headstrong as she ever was!

The morning she realized she was pregnant, Della awoke to the tippy-tap of sleet against the windows. It was still dark, and the heat wasn't up good when she rolled out of bed to fix Will's breakfast and his lunch bucket. She lit the oven, popped open a canister of ready-made biscuits. That's when she felt the tickle that started deep inside. At first she felt foolish, wanting to laugh for no good reason. And then she knew.

Will was almost done eating when she told him. He stopped, the syrup dripping from his biscuit, and gave her the biggest, silliest grin she'd ever seen on his face. There was plenty of food in the house, but that night he came in with an armload of groceries because he wanted to make sure his babies ate good.

Della stayed happy the whole nine months, and no matter what people said about carrying high or low, or whether she craved salt or sweet, she knew this was a girl, her daughter. The only thing that would have made her happier was if her own mother could have been there with her, crocheting baby...