Time to shine,” I whispered to myself, as I put on my game face and prepared to talk to my parents. I glanced out the window of this penthouse bedroom, my old bedroom, took a deep breath, and then hopped up and down a couple of times. A million dollars isn’t that much to ask for, I said to myself, tilting my neck to the side to work out some of the tightness.

I breathed out, and strode across the marble floor, barely glancing at the $50,000 paintings I passed as I exited the room. I walked through the luxury apartment where I’d grown up with my parents and sister. I swallowed the lump in my throat as I tried to ignore certain things, those that reminded me of Lily.

I reached the living room and found my father thumbing through The Wall Street Journal, while my mother perused a Hammecher Schlemmer catalog. She once paid nearly $200,000 for one of their hovercrafts, because she’d always loved the Jetsons as a child. But she never used it.

I tried to look relaxed, and cleared my throat. “Mom, Dad,” I said. “You mentioned last night that you wanted to talk today.”

When I’d come home from my trip to Greece last week, my father had said he wanted to speak to me. I knew he wanted to lecture me, some conversation that was going to start in a serious tone with, “Ryan, I know...” And then he was going to tell me he’d been young and foolish at one time but that we all had to settle down. I hadn’t wanted to hear the talk, so I’d avoided my parents. But now, time had run out and I had to listen to the lecture and then pull my father aside to ask for the money.

I tried to look serious, more responsible, as I waited for my father to begin. I knew he wanted me to take my job at the family firm more seriously. Dad owned a shipping business, and I had a mid-level job where I was supposed to prepare marketing reports, but it was really just a place for me to go during the day. My father didn’t want me living on the streets, and would have gladly funded me. However, my mother felt I needed to be more self-sufficient, hence the forced employment. I wasn’t sure what her deal was. She always seemed to have it in for me, always seemed to claim I was being lazy and letting my potential falter by enjoying the privileges they’d worked so hard to give me. Why the hell had they supposedly put in all the “work” in keeping our family rolling in dough if no one was going to enjoy the benefits. They had both come from money. They had both been happy children of New York socialites, so I didn’t get why she gave a damn whether I lived up to potential, or just lived it up.

“Have a seat son,” my father, the illustrious Richard Harper II, said, pointing toward an Eames chair. I remembered seeing the chair in a magazine with a price of $20,000, back when I was little. The low-slung black leather chair with a flared back wasn’t even particularly comfortable. But it was the rage with people who spent money like it was water. People like my parents.

I had a seat, amiably.

My mother, who was on a sleek leather sofa, set her catalog down and looked over at me, her blue eyes, scrutinizing. I looked back to my father. I had no desire to see those eyes. They were the exact same as Lily’s, and it hurt to look at them, sometimes. I’m not sure how my father stomached it. Maybe because he viewed them as Laura’s eyes, and it was just that Lily had them, too.

“I’m not sure there’s a lot of ways to say this, son,” he said, his voice sounding grim, his face tight. He raked a hand through his smoothly coiffed hair, maintained with dye via a stylist who came every week to shampoo, condition and otherwise keep it looking like it belonged to a man of 30, not a man of 55.

“Is this about my vacation?” I asked. I hadn’t gotten approval from the guy who was technically my supervisor, but I’d floated it by dad, and he’d said it was fine. That tight-ass boss could kick rocks.

“You didn’t have approval, and Tim has reported other problems.”

I considered opening my mouth to complain that Tim was a littlekins who just liked to boss other people around. And I would have, if I didn’t need to borrow the million dollars. My father had spent a hundred grand on our last family vacation, flying in cousins that I couldn’t have cared less about. Trying to ignore the fact that Lily was dead by surrounding ourselves with strangers had been stupid and I’d hated every fucking minute of that trip. “I’ll do better with Tom,” I said.

My father shook his head. “Tim,” he snapped. “You’ve been there for a year, and half the time you call him the wrong name.”

I stared up at him, half incredulous. When did he start giving a damn?

“I know things have been hard since your sister died,” he said. “It changed all of us, Ryan. We’ve all had to come to terms with losing someone so wonderful and so young.”

“I don’t want to talk about her right now, OK?”

He blew out, and a few strands of his perfect hair shifted. He looked toward my mother, I guess for support. Also, perfectly coiffed, her red hair was a bright, beaming reminder that she would have the advantage in looking young. Red hair never turns grey. I suspect that’s why my father dies his, so he can pretend he naturally looks as youthful as she does.

“Son,” my mother says. “Your father has always liked to cut you slack, and truthfully, I haven’t cared as much, until— ”

I glared at her, and she didn’t bother finishing her thought about Lily’s death. Though, we all knew it was there. Lily’s death had changed them. They weren’t the same parents who spoiled mercilessly, who bought anything they wanted, who never gave to charity. My mother actually seemed to give a damn about serving on charity boards now. Well, I’d rather have Lily back than a socially conscious mom.

“We’ve indulged you enough, so we’re cutting you off. You’re fired from the company. You’ll get a month’s severance, and we’re not going to pay your rent at the loft anymore. You’re welcome to move back to your old room, here for a bit, but you’ll have to pay rent.”

My eyes widened, and I stared. “What the hell?”

“Son,” she said. “You’re floundering like a lost ship, and we’re trying to help you course correct.”

I shook my head and turned to my father. My mother had never been my ally. Even in her most lavish state, she still seemed to value the idea of hard work. My father, who’d inherited plenty and lived lavishly off investments and growing the business he’d inherited, had always been my go-to guy. I leaned forward in the chair, and looked him in the eyes. “Dad, she’s wrong. This is not a course correction. It’s sinking the ship in the middle of the ocean.”

My dad frowned and offered a sympathetic look. “I know this seems harsh, son,” he said.

“Dad, come on, just another chance,” I pleaded. I could tell he was softening.

But apparently, so could Mom. “This is our final decision, son,” she interjected. “You can make a second chance by finding yourself a job, working hard, living the way your sister did.”

That was it. Wrong thing to say. I turned on her and pointed an accusatory finger as I spoke. “How the hell would you know? You barely spoke to her, to either of us. You were too busy with whatever the hell it is you do, and now that she’s gone, you feel some obligation to try to be her. To try act like you’re speaking for her. Well, don’t. You’re not even a tenth of the person she was.”

With that, I stood up, making sure to knock the Eames chair over as I did, and then stalked to the door. I wouldn’t stay here for this. I walked out the door. I was so angry at them I could barely speak. They cut me off and said it was in Lily’s name. What a monstrous thing to do. Especially now, because I needed this money. I’d been reckless a bit too often in this year-and-a-half since Lily died. I owed the mafia a million dollars, and I needed to figure out what to do.