I had really enjoyed dinner at Ben's house the other night. His parents seemed like good, salt of the earth people, as they used to say. They had made me feel welcome the moment I walked in the door. But what left its greatest impact on me, the deepest impression, was Ben's history. Losing a brother at such a young age. Ben's mother had told me, while we were cleaning up the dishes in the kitchen, the Ben had been only twelve years old when his brother died. They'd been like two peas in a pod and the loss had crushed them all, and it'd taken years for Ben to recover from his loss.

Seeing the photograph of that beautiful young woman standing next to Ben and the look of pride on his face, had caused my heart to clench with pain. For him. I realized at that moment that I couldn't continue to treat him like nothing more than a toy, to use and discard however I saw fit. Needless to say, the last couple of days had been eye-opening.

It was the middle of the week, nothing terribly exciting going on. Courtney had called earlier, wanting to know if I wanted to go out clubbing with her tonight, but I told her I couldn't, that my parents had requested my presence for dinner.

"Uh-oh," she said.

Uh-oh indeed. By the time I got to my parent's house that evening, I realized I'd been ambushed. I walked in to find company there. In no time at all, I was introduced to a young man, probably a few years older than myself with a North Boston accent. Ryan Delaney, son of wealthy and well-connected parents, my mother whispered in my ear. At that moment, I knew what this dinner was all about. They had arranged a new match for me.

It took most of my effort to keep my expression calm, to not run out of the house shouting and raving at them. I did manage to back my mom into a corner of the kitchen while we poured drinks, where I accused her of sabotaging my life.

"I told you, Mom, I'm with Ben Reynolds!"

"Pish posh," she said, waving her hand. "Don't forget who you're talking to, young lady. You must know by now that we women are not in control of our destiny. We need to, when necessary, sacrifice and show loyalty to family before any of our own selfish feelings or emotions."

"Do you actually hear the words coming out of your mouth?" I hissed, doing my best to keep my voice down. "This isn't the eighteenth century, Mom. Just because you settled doesn't mean I have to!"

She turned and looked at me with such a fierce expression on her face that I took a step back. Now was not the time for an argument, and it's not like I haven't been down this road before, helpless to do anything about it, at least at the moment. I felt confused and angry, but I knew that my protests would fall on deaf ears. Besides, I couldn't cause a scene now, not with Ryan and his oh-so-wealthy parents in the dining room at this very moment.

"We'll talk about this later, Mom," I promised, reaching for the tray with the cocktails and drinks. I walked out of the kitchen with as much dignity as I could muster, my back stiff, a fake smile plastered on my face, my chin lifted, just the way they expected. The way it was always expected.

I tried to avoid Ryan's gaze, the curiosity of his parents as they watched my every move, down to how I seated myself next to their son, who rushed to stand behind my chair and push it in. Okay, so he was polite and had manners. And I'll admit that he was good-looking and was turning on the charm. Perhaps under any other circumstances, I might've been interested. Might. But the truth was, I couldn't help but compare Ryan to Ben. And the more he spoke, the more I realized that he was just filling space with empty talk, platitudes, nothing of much importance. He talked a lot about himself, how he'd spent the last year abroad, traveling Europe, attending galas, operas, and whatever. After a few minutes, I tuned him out, focusing on trying to choke down my lobster bisque.

I kept my composure even though I wanted to pick up the bowl and throw it across the room, screaming at my parents, asking them why they couldn't treat me like a human being, like I was a person? And then it struck me. All at once. They were treating me the exact same way I had been treating Ben. As an object, a possession. Do what I say when I say and don't argue. Play the role. Do your part. What you think and feel isn't as important as the perception and the persona you represent.

At that moment, my stomach felt hard as a rock, knotted to the point of nausea. Sitting around this extravagantly laid dining room table with the pristine white tablecloth in a house that my parents couldn't really afford anymore, I was suddenly astounded by how superficial it all seemed. It was all fake. Phony. Pretend.

I compared this fancy, multi-million-dollar home to the quaint cottage where Ben's parents had chosen to live, to be closer to their son. I was overwhelmed with a sense of… I don't even know what to call it. Not homesickness, not nostalgia, but a desire to belong. A desire to be loved… truly loved. The yearning to be the person I was meant to be, not the person that my parents wanted me to be. Yes, I admitted that I wanted to be back at Ben's parents house, eating barbecue with my fingers, laughing around the table, listening to their obviously loving conversations, envying their relationship, the comfortableness of that relationship. Spending time in Ben's parent's modest home had been real. They might not have the square footage or the acreage of property in one of the most expensive parts of New York City or New Haven, but they were real. They were warm. They were a family with no hidden secrets, no agendas.

As I stared down at my lobster bisque, listening to the inane chatter going around me, smiling politely or nodding at appropriate moments, I felt a strong yearning for truth. For authenticity. For acceptance of who I was and an acknowledgment of my own desires and dreams. I had been wasting my life on stupid things.

Why couldn't my parents make me feel as welcome in their home as Ben's parents had made me feel in theirs? And oh, the way he looked at me when we were eating pork ribs and laughing over corn getting stuck in our teeth. Had I imagined warmth and affection in that gaze? Had I imagined the sense of camaraderie I felt with him at that moment? Had I imagined that twinkle in his eye, and the thought that he liked me, perhaps more than he was leading on?

As I glanced around the table, nodded politely at things that Ryan said, noticed the often-warning glances I received from my mother, a disapproving frown from my dad, and the curious gazes of Ryan's parents, I realized one important thing. Even surrounded by all this luxury and money, and the trappings of money, I felt hollow inside. Empty. It had taken a simple barbecue at Ben's house, a couple hours out of my life that made me see myself for what I really was. I swallowed thickly, feeling almost sick to my stomach.

And at that moment, I realized something else. Something within me had changed, from the moment I sat down at Ben's family table to this one. I felt a huge sense of remorse over the way I'd been treating him. But most of all, I realized that my feelings for him had changed as well. I didn't just want Ben to be a means to an end.

I wanted Ben.

And that scared me.