“I gave you my day. Don’t pretend if you had one of your important meetings that you wouldn’t ditch us without a thought.”

“Maybe for a job I get paid for,” Devon said. “Not to read some crappy excerpt of another poem you’ll never publish.”

Pris tried not to wince, but once her sisters got going, not even a naked Jason Momoa could stop them.

They stepped through the carved mahogany doors together, their shoulders deliberately bumping, while Pris trailed behind. “Real nice,” Bailey said. Her sleek golden ponytail bobbed in protest. “Go ahead and judge my life, but at least I’m not pretending to be someone I’m not.”

“And I’m not wasting mine doing nothing worthwhile while I pretend to search for meaning,” Devon retorted.

They’d just arrived and it was starting already. Her temples throbbed with the beginning of one of her migraines. Not today. She refused to let them hijack this day for their familiar arguments. When they’d been younger, Pris had been jealous of her younger sisters’ close relationship. Being five years older than Devon forced her to be the leader, even though Devon had always been bossier. But like everything else, Pris had taken on the role believing that was what was needed. It also erected an invisible barrier between her siblings she’d never been able to overcome. “Guys, can we just focus? The estate handlers come tomorrow, so all we need to do is Mom’s bedroom. They’ll take care of the rest.”

“Feels weird to think nothing will be here,” Dev said with a sigh.

“Did you ever wonder why Mom never sold this place?” Pris asked. “She always complained it was too big for one person.”

Bailey waved her ink-stained fingers in the air. “Us, of course. She told me once there were too many memories to ever give it up. Maybe I’ll move some stuff in and live here.”

Devon snorted. “Don’t think so. You’d turn it into some hostel for your broke friends. We’ll sell it and split the proceeds like Mom wanted.”

Bailey huffed with her usual drama. “Mom always said I could have the house if I wanted. I bet she’d rather have it stay in the family.”

“Did you get that intention in writing?” Dev asked, her gaze sweeping over the spacious foyer to the crystal-dripping chandelier. Pris could practically hear her brain clicking with how much they could get for the place. Her role as tenured professor in the finance department at NYU was impressive, but she had a tendency to see things in stark black and white. Money was serious business, and Devon had made sure they all agreed to sell so everyone would get a fair share.

“Seriously? That’s messed up,” Bailey said.