Word Count: 875

The apartment door opened after Marissa had already turned to make her way out of the building, bringing her to an immediate halt and encouraging her to spin back around.

Another figure stood in the doorway—fair haired and too thin, with a tired faced lined by too much work and not nearly enough leisure time, a set of smudges beneath blue eyes to attest to more than a few long nights over the last week or more. Those eyes stared out at Marissa, looked her over carefully, full of an initial intrigue that quickly cooled. One minute the gaze was curious, speculative; the next, belligerent.

“Well,” the woman said. “Look at you.”

The remark sounded disparaging, contemptuous more than it was taken aback, as the figure took in the sight of Marissa's suit, heels, and bag.

“Gina...”

Marissa had not expected her sister to be happy to see her, though she was still a bit disappointed when she was proven to be correct. The last time either of them had seen one another had been at Henry's funeral, plenty of time for any lingering tension to have eased. Or so Marissa had dared to hope. In the end, it was a naïve wish. Once she'd had her fill of looking Marissa over, Gina leaned against the door-frame with her arms folded across her chest and an expression that bordered on annoyance and disapproval on her face.

The hostility was unwelcome but more or less predictable. Marissa had thought it would have diminished over time, that Gina might have had second-thoughts during their long separation and they could begin to turn back the clock on their relationship.

Apparently Gina had spent the last few years stewing in her hostility instead.

“Rhiannon'd said you'd come back,” Gina observed.

“I'd apologize for not coming by sooner,” Marissa began, “but something tells me you'd have been fine if I didn't show up at all.”

Gina's thin mouth pressed into an even thinner line. “Willful still, are you?”

“And you're no different either. I don't know why I thought you might be.”

“You always thought so highly of yourself,” Gina said. “I don't suppose New York helped you learn any humility.”

“I don't suppose Destiny City's taught you an ounce of empathy.”

Gina's lips twitched lower, curving into a heavy frown.

“I'm sorry I came then,” Marissa said. She adjusted the purse that hung on her shoulder and prepared to leave.

Gina's eyes followed the motion and examined the bag's designer label with an obvious bitterness—not quite envy, but certainly a fair amount of disgust for what the label must surely represent to her.

Years ago, in their late teens and early twenties, Marissa's relationship with her sister had been different. Less contentious, more companionable. But Gina was like Henry. She was set in her ways, comfortable, and she understood little of ambition. When Marissa fell out with her husband, she fell out with her sister, too.

“Not yet,” Gina stopped her, her eyes snapping back up to Marissa's face. “Where's Rhiannon?”

“Living with me.”

“You had no right to take my daughter from me.”

“I didn't take her from you, Gina. She asked for a place to stay,” Marissa said. “What d'you want me to do? Turn her away?”

“She belongs here,” Gina argued.

“She's an adult. You don't get to decide that for her anymore.”

“I don't want her around your son.”

Marissa swallowed down an automatic retort and did not let herself speak until she was able to control the tone of her voice. “Then you'll be relieved to know that Paris doesn't live with me. But you should know that. You should've gotten the wedding invitation. I expect you threw it away.”

“That's right.”

“So that's it, then? You're going to cut us off? Waste away here like Mom?”

“Is that what this looks like to you?” Gina asked. “What, this not good enough for you anymore? You were always so high-and-mighty. Greedy, selfish. Only thinking of yourself. Could never be satisfied with the way things were. Always wanted bigger and better things. Everyone else just got in your way, didn't they?”

Rather than responding, Marissa stood there quietly and took it. Countering Gina's observations and trying to explain herself wasn't going to fix a damned thing. She'd done enough to fuel the fire, and anyway Gina wasn't entirely wrong. Marissa was keenly aware of her own faults, and the many mistakes she'd made on the way to pursuing her goals; nothing Gina had to say on the subject was new to her.

When she got no reaction, Gina stopped to finish her critique with an unsympathetic glare. She unfolded her arms to grab for the door.

“You send Rhiannon home or I'll come get her myself,” she said.

Then she shut the door in Marissa's face. Marissa stood there and listened as the lock was turned into place, and heard the quiet padding of Gina's feet along the floor as her sister walked away.

“That could have gone better,” she muttered in the empty silence of the hallway.

But it could have always been worse.