A short, humorless laugh escaped me. “She was a narcissist. Everything had to be about her. My mom was always an inconvenience, and so was I. When I was a kid, I used to beg her to come to my games, and she’d always have some excuse—hair appointment, bridge game, ‘wasn’t feeling up to it.’ She never just said, ‘I’ll be there.’”
“Did you ever stop asking?”
“Yeah. Eventually, I stopped expecting her to show up. Stopped expecting anyone to, really.” I shook my head. “That’s the problem. When you grow up like that, you start thinking absence is normal. You start excusing it in yourself.”
Ralph scribbled something in his notes. “So marrying Charlie—was it about helping her, or proving to yourself you can show up?”
“Both. I wanted to help her. I also wanted to give myself a reason to be accountable, to prove I can be different from him... from her.”
Ralph leaned forward slightly. “Austin, those patterns—they’re real. But they’re not a life sentence. You’re not your father. You’re not your grandmother. The fact that you’re even sitting here, examining this, is proof you’re already breaking the cycle. Sobriety isn’t just about staying clean—it’s about choosing, every day, to be present.”
I sat back, letting that sink in.
He was right. I was making choices they never did. Sobriety. Marrying Charlie. Even showing up here today. I wasn’t perfect, but I was trying.
“That’s time,” Ralph said gently.
“Thanks, Ralph. I feel better sharing this. See you next week.”
Walking out, one thought pushed through all the rest: I needed to find Charlie. I needed her to know I wasn’t running.
31
austin
Her car was in the driveway, and hope flickered in my chest.
Maybe she’s here. Maybe tonight we can finally talk.
I’d picked up some pizza on the way home, thinking it might help, but traffic had delayed me longer than I’d planned, so all I could do was hope she was inside and that I hadn’t missed her again.
When I stepped inside, the house was quiet—too quiet.
“Charlie?” I called, my voice echoing.
No response.
I set the pizza on the counter. Maybe she’d gone out with her friends. I’d have to see her eventually. Ihadto.
I opened the box, grabbed a plate from the cabinet, and sat down at the kitchen counter. Quietly, I ate my slice as I tried to think of all the ways and reasons she’d be ignoring me after her call with her mom and brother. I’d tried texting her this week, and even my messages went unresponded to. Did I somehow mess up on the phone call with her mom?
I knew what it felt like to be rejected by a parent—the sting, the hollow ache that lingered long after the wounds were inflicted. Maybe that’s what this was for Charlie, her way ofdealing with what happened. I wanted to believe that. I needed to. As I sat there, eating alone in the silence, the doubts crept in.
What if it’s more? What if she’s ready to leave?
The idea of her walking away, of us ending, left a void I didn’t want to face. This house, this life—it would all be so empty without her.
I glanced around. Everything in this place was hers. The vintage floors she loved so much, the carefully chosen furniture, even the faint sound of the lake outside—it all screamed Charlie. She was everywhere, and yet, she wasn’t here with me.
I groaned, shoving the half-eaten slice of pizza onto the counter, and rubbed my temples. The silence was unbearable. It didn’t feel right being here, not like this. Not when she had locked me out, literally and figuratively.
“Fuck,” I hissed.
I stood abruptly and shoved the stool back with more force than necessary. If she wasn’t going to talk to me tonight, I couldn’t stay here. I needed air. Maybe tomorrow would be different. Maybe tomorrow she’d let me in.
I had to think about the leaves and not the entire tree because if I started to think of the tree toppling over, then I’d be broken too.
I was going to grab an overnight bag and call Dirks or see if I could crash at my mom’s house because I couldn’t handle another night here. I didn’t... trust myself.
