Later that evening, the Dey family sat around in the dimly lit dining hall for Sunday dinner. The dark walnut wooden table was polished and adorned with gorgeous place settings and fresh cut flowers. Sunday night dinner was a tradition they kept alive each week. The filet mignon was tender and juicy, the lobster tail fresh and flavorful, potatoes au gratin creamy with a dark, crispy crust. But Amy couldn’t enjoy any of it. She sat at the grand dining room table with her mother and brothers, Rosa quietly scuttling around unseen in the kitchen.

She’s eating, Amy knew, poor Rosa eating alone in our kitchen, apart from her family. But Amy turned back to her own family and couldn’t fight the feeling that she was every bit as lonely as Rosa was, and every bit as alone. At the very least, Amy knew that she was no less lonely.

Jonathan washed down a mouthful of lobster with a drink of chardonnay, his tongue pulling strands of the delicious meat from between his teeth. “I was thinking today,” he said to break the uncomfortable silence, “about you, Amy, and your current … winter of discontent, let’s call it.”

Amy didn’t like the snide reference, but she was more interested in hearing what Jonathan had to say than in reprimanding him. As the youngest sibling and the only girl, she never stood a chance of doing that anyway, at least not and getting away with it.

With nobody to stop him, Jonathan went on, “I was thinking it’s time to think about finding a suitable man, a husband.”

Danny said, “You wanna marry her off?”

“It’s not like that,” Jonathan said, turning to Amy. “But you’re looking for purpose, right? And the whole partying lifestyle, that’s not you, it never was. No wonder you’re unhappy. And I honestly think what would make you happy is the right man.” Amy was hard-pressed to disagree, though there was no time to plumb that complicated subject. “You’re such a loving person, I know you’d make a great mother.”

Danny had to nod, turning to Amy. “You were just talking about this, down at the bar. Maybe you got babies on the brain and you don’t even know it.”

“Babies on the brain,” Amy repeated, disgusted and humiliated by the phrase. “Or maybe it’s just that time of the month, right?”

“Hey,” Jonathan snapped, “not at the dinner table.”

Margaret said, “I think we’ve tried to set Amy up with enough men, don’t you?”

“Thank you, Mother.” Amy knew her mother had other reasons not to want her to date and then marry. It would mean Amy leaving the house, it would mean Margaret Dey would lose yet another family member, even if only figuratively, which seemed unbearable for her.

Danny said, “Maybe we should marry you off, Mom.” He chuckled, but he was the only one. Jonathan just rolled his eyes.

Margaret was quick to snap, “You shut your mouth, Daniel! How could you even joke about such a thing?”

Amy said, “Matter of fact, Mom, I think he’s right. It’s been a long time since Daddy died, over a dozen years. You’ve still got a lot of time left, good years, no reason you shouldn’t share them with somebody.”

Margaret shot her only daughter a venomous look that might have stopped a stranger’s heart and drop them dead where they sat.

“Your father was the love of my life, don’t any of you forget that. No man could do what he did for me, not even close. Any other man would be settling, and I don’t settle. And I don’t want any of you to settle.”

But Amy knew the truth. She didn’t want to settle, that was reasonable, but in truth what Margaret Dey most wanted to avoid was loss; losing another love, losing her children to marriage and moving away, being left alone to die a lonely old woman in a cage with golden bars.

“You’re right, Mom,” Danny said. “Love will come, it always does. What I think we should do is set her up in some kind of charity or something, like a foundation.” He said to Amy, “That would give you purpose, and help with that guilt complex you’ve been fostering.” Amy wanted to contradict him, but she already knew him to be right. She didn’t realize that he knew it, but she wasn’t surprised. They’d always gotten along better than her and Jonathan or than him and Jonathan.

“So we throw a few mil into an account somewhere,” Danny added, “set up an office somewhere, maybe somewhere outside the mansion — ”

Margaret said, “No — ”

“Just down the street in Century City, there are lots of security guards — ”

“All those subterranean parking lots?” Margaret shook her head. “Absolutely not.” She turned to Jonathan. “Did you have anything to do with this?”

Jonathan just shook his head, no time to deny before Danny went on, “Then an office here, it doesn’t really matter.”

“Yes, it does,” Amy said. “I like the idea of a charitable foundation, I think that’s brilliant. But an office here? You’re just setting me up to play house, keeping me busy, distracted, and here behind the gates.”

“We could get her a bodyguard,” Jonathan said.

“I’m not going to be trailed by some big goon,” Amy said. “That’s just a longer leash.”

“This is where it’s safe,” Margaret said. “This is where you belong. Once you get over this ridiculous wanderlust, you’ll come to realize that.”

Amy said, “Wanderlust? I’ve already traveled the world … with you.”

“And you’ve seen the best of it,” Margaret said, “believe me. There are corners of this world, of this country, of this damn city, that you don’t want to go anywhere near, young woman. And a lot of them are a lot closer than you think. No, what I was thinking was …a hobby.” Amy sat stumped and stunned, finding it harder and harder to digest what she was seeing unfold in front of her. It was the perfect crystallization of her life since her father’s death. Amy’s mother and brothers were deciding her present, her future, shuffling her around like a pet, like a piece of furniture that might look better or be more serviceable in one room or another, to be slid around until its perfect spot was found.

Margaret asked Amy, “You always liked painting, didn’t you, dear?”

Danny said, “Sculpting, actually,” earning a fond smile from his younger sister.

“Sculpting then,” Margaret said, “whatever! We’ll put up a little studio, arrange models, the clay, whatever you need, darling.”

“I’d rather see her get married,” Jonathan said. “The art thing, that’s a waste of time. Let her have some kids, she can mold clay with them on the playroom floor.”

“You guys,” Danny said, “c’mon, you’re not being fair. In a lot of ways, Amy’s the best among us. Jonathan, let’s face it, you’re a hard-ass. I know you consider yourself in a position of great responsibility and all that, and you’re trying to rise to the occasion, and I’m sure you will when the time comes, but … you’re a dick, and I think you know it. If you don’t, take a good hard think. Me? I’m a flake. But at least I know what I am, and what I’m not.” He turned to Amy. “But Amy, you’re smarter than we are, you’re a soul that’s still good and unsoiled, relatively … ” He turned back to the others. “She’s not some head of cattle to be sold at market, or a pet chimp to be tossed a rubber tire so it won’t kill the neighborhood cats.”

Amy stifled a chuckle, beaming at her older brother, remembering why they’d grown closer over the years; it was more to do with the closeness of age, the shared sorrow of their childhood or the shared joys. Danny always stuck up for Amy in a way that made her feel the way she felt just then.

At home.

Then Danny added, “I say we do the foundation thing.”

“No,” Jonathan said, “that’s a whole big tax problem, I don’t wanna go anywhere near it.”

“It’s not that big a deal,” Danny said, “we call Bernstein, he takes care of it.”

Jonathan snapped back, “So who do we benefit? We help one group, another’s going to get pissed off, send us letters, phone calls. That hurts the stock in our other holdings, we lose partners … no, it’s out of the question.”

Margaret said, “I think Jonathan’s right, no charities. But a ready-made marriage? It’s a bit … Abu Dhabi, isn’t it?”

Amy said, “Excuse me?”

Ignoring her, Jonathan answered his mother. “There’s a website, morethanmillionaires.com. I think we can find somebody who could help her, help us. It’s a win/win.”

“Now that’s Abu Dhabi,” Danny said, “not to mention some real pimpin’!”

“That’s enough,” Amy snapped, standing up and throwing her napkin onto the table. “I can’t take this anymore!” She stormed out of the room, leaving Margaret, Jonathan, and Danny to exchange a series of glances; Danny’s embarrassed, Jonathan’s disappointed, Margaret’s confused.

Margaret finally said, “I think the lobster is quite good. She never did develop a taste for the finer things.”