15 #3
But it’s okay for them to hate and judge me without knowing me?
My throat tightened. “What exactly do you know?”
My father’s silence gave me the answer.
I stepped closer. “You know he has tattoos.”
“Charm.”
“You know he grew up poor.”
My mother looked away.
“You know he plays hockey.”
“His reputation—”
“What reputation?”
My mother’s mouth tightened. “The fights.”
“He plays hockey.”
“Off the ice too.”
“He’s protective.”
“That isn’t the word people use.”
I laughed bitterly. “What word do they use? Trash?”
My mother flinched. “Don’t be vulgar.”
“Ghetto?”
“Charmagne.”
“Dangerous?”
My father’s expression hardened. “Yes.”
The word landed between us, and my chest hurt.
“You think Ryan is dangerous.”
“I think you have lived a sheltered life.”
“You made sure I lived a sheltered life.”
“Because we protected you.”
“No.” My voice shook. “You controlled me.”
My mother recoiled. “That is unbelievably cruel.”
“I’m not trying to be cruel.”
“You just called us controlling.”
“Because you are.”
My father’s face changed. “Enough.”
“No, Daddy.”
The refusal escaped before fear could stop it. My entire body trembled as I stared at him.
“You don’t get to tell me when I’ve said enough anymore.”
My mother looked horrified.
“I love you,” I continued, my voice cracking. “I love both of you, and I know you love me. Loving me doesn’t mean you get to choose who I’m allowed to love.”
My father’s jaw tightened. “This is not love.”
“You don’t know that.”
“It’s infatuation.”
“It isn’t.”
“You barely know him.”
“I know him better than you believe I do.”
My mother shook her head. “This is exactly what we were afraid of.”
“What?”
“You becoming defensive over someone who clearly isn’t appropriate for you.”
A humorless laugh escaped me. “Appropriate?”
“Charm.”
“No. Say what you mean.”
My mother’s face tightened. “He is beneath you.”
Everything inside me stopped. The ugliness of the statement was enough to make even my father glance toward her.
I stared at my mother. “Wow.”
“Crystal.”
“No,” she said, looking at him. “She needs honesty.”
I swallowed. “Okay.”
My mother turned back to me. “We didn’t raise you, educate you, protect you, and give you every opportunity so you could throw away your future on some tattooed boy with no future and no foundation.”
My eyes filled.
Ryan had been right, and I hated that almost as much as I hated hearing the words.
“You don’t know what foundation means.”
My father frowned. “What?”
“You think foundation means money.”
“It means stability.”
“He is stable.”
“He plays a sport for a living.”
“He has a degree.”
That silenced both of them.
My mother blinked. “What?”
“Ryan has a bachelor’s degree in English literature and writing.”
My father stared at me.
“He tutors me.”
My mother’s disbelief made something angry rise through my fear.
“Klein knows him.”
“Professor Klein?”
“Yes. She called him one of her favorite students.”
Neither of them answered.
I almost laughed. “That doesn’t fit the person you invented, does it?”
“Charm—”
“No. You decided exactly who he was before either of you ever met him.”
My father’s expression hardened. “You are deciding who he is based on who he is with you.”
“Yes.”
“People can present whatever version they want.”
“So can families.”
The words landed hard enough to make my mother’s face go pale. I regretted them immediately, but then I remembered Ryan asking why everyone else was allowed to judge him while he was expected to smile politely through it.
I stood straighter. “I’m bringing him to Thanksgiving.”
My father shook his head. “No.”
“Yes.”
“No, Charm.”
“You don’t get to say no.”
“It is our home.”
“Then tell me now.” My voice shook harder. “If Ryan isn’t welcome in your house, I’m not coming.”
My mother stared at me. “You would miss Thanksgiving over him?”
“I would miss Thanksgiving because of the way you’re treating both of us.”
“That isn’t the same.”
“It is exactly the same.”
My father stepped closer. “You’re emotional.”
The word he always used whenever my choices stopped matching his made something inside me snap.
“I’m allowed to be.”
“You’re not thinking clearly.”
“I have never been clearer.”
My heart raced, my fingers had gone numb, and panic sharpened every sensation inside my body, but the words remained mine.
My mother’s eyes filled. “Your brother would hate seeing you do this.”
The world tilted.
“Don’t.”
“Charm.”
“Don’t use Charles against me.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
My voice broke.
“He died.”
My mother flinched.
“He died, and I loved him, and I miss him every fucking day, but Ryan was right.” My father’s face hardened at Ryan’s name, and I no longer cared.
“I am not required to live Charles’s life for him.
I’m not required to be perfect because he isn’t here, and I will not spend the rest of my life apologizing for surviving him. ”
Tears spilled over my cheeks. My father looked stunned, and my mother started crying.
Seeing her break nearly broke me too.
I picked up my purse. “I love you. I love you both so much.”
Neither spoke.
“You either welcome Ryan, or you won’t see me at Thanksgiving.”
My father’s expression went cold. “You’re issuing ultimatums now?”
“I’m setting a boundary.”
The word felt foreign in my mouth, powerful and terrifying at once.
My mother stared at me. “When did you start talking like this?”
I almost smiled. “Recently.”
I turned toward the door.
“Charmagne.”
My father’s quieter voice stopped me.
“You walk away from this dinner, you are making a choice.”
I looked back at him. “Yes, Daddy. I came to this dinner with my choice already made.”
My hand tightened around the door handle.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
Then I left.
I made it through the private dining room without looking back. I passed the hostess and pushed through the front doors before the composure I had held together all night began to fracture.
By the time I crossed the parking lot and got into my car, my hands were shaking so badly that I fumbled the keys before managing to lock the doors behind me.
The second I was alone, everything I had forced down at dinner came rushing up at once.
My breath caught high inside my chest and refused to settle. I bent over the steering wheel, trying to pull in enough air to calm myself, but every breath came too shallow and fast. My fingers shook so violently that when I reached for my phone, I dropped it onto the passenger seat.
Ryan was the first person I wanted.
That realization collided with the knowledge that he was playing. I couldn’t call him.
The panic tightened as I grabbed the phone and stared at the screen through blurred vision, trying to convince myself I could hold everything together until his game ended.
Then I saw the message he had sent twenty minutes earlier.
Ryan: About to go on. Still mad at you. Still yours. Call me after dinner.
I read it twice.
A shaky laugh slipped through my tears because the message was exactly Ryan. He could be angry with me and still make sure I understood I wasn’t being abandoned over it. He could hold his ground without making me wonder whether one bad conversation had cost me everything.
I pressed the phone against my chest and stopped fighting the tears. For the first time all night, I let myself fall apart because even with Ryan hundreds of miles away and skating through a game while he was angry with me, I knew exactly where I stood with him.