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My mother takes a small bite of her burger. “What happens when you believe you’re ready?”
“I don’t know.”
“You normally have a plan.”
“I’m trying to live without those.”
Her smile is quiet. “How is that going?”
“I discovered I hate control.”
Crystal nearly chokes on her wine.
“That reaction feels judgmental.”
“Darling, you once reorganized my pantry while crying because the labels weren’t facing the same direction.”
“I hate when other people control me. Their opinions, their looks… I hate controlling someone else’s narrative or their opinion of me.” I clarify.
“That sounds more accurate.”
I wipe my fingers on the linen napkin. “I also hate how much I use control when I’m afraid.”
Her amusement fades.
I tell her about the drunken voice recording, the week of doing only what suited me, and everything I learned after the experiment stopped being funny. I explain how hard I worked to perform recovery after treatment, polishing myself into a healthy, respectful version of Charm because I still believed love depended on everyone approving of who I became.
Crystal listens without interrupting.
“I know where it started,” I say. “Every therapist agrees. Charlie died, you and Lance became terrified something would happen to me, and I learned that being perfect kept both of you from hurting.”
My mother’s face tightens. “Charmagne.”
“I’m not saying you intended it. I’m saying that’s what happened.”
She nods slowly.
“You made every choice feel dangerous because you already knew how quickly a family could lose someone. Lance controlled everything he could reach. You made his control sound like love because admitting how bad it had become would’ve forced you to fight him.”
“I know.”
“I became whatever kept the two of you calm. Then I carried that shit into every relationship and called it kindness.”
My mother lowers her burger.
“I won’t let you or him use Charlie to excuse it anymore,” I continue. “I understand his death changed you. I understand losing a child created fear I can’t imagine, but Charlie didn’t make Lance humiliate Ryan. Charlie didn’t make you stand beside him, and Charlie didn’t make either of you teach me that love disappears when I disappoint someone.”
“No,” she says. “He didn’t.”
The agreement steals some of my anger.
“I won’t use him either,” I say. “I hurt Ryan. My brother’s death might explain where the fear began, but Charlie doesn’t get blamed for what I did with it.”
Crystal studies me for several seconds before raising one hand toward the server.
“Could we have the check, please?”
I glance at her unfinished food. “Did I ruin lunch?”
