Page 94 of The Charm of You

“I’m not a cactus,” I repeat. “And even if I do have some of the tendencies of a cactus, it’s not a bad thing. They’re strong and resilient, aren’t they? Not bad qualities to possess.”

“Of course not.” I practically hear the smile in her voice.

After a beat, all sense of amusement dissipates into the breeze. It wanders away with the playful energy between us, leaving only the grim truth of the past.

She’s uncovered yet another connection we share—being stuck in the past.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe she and I should let these things go, but it’s hard when the memories and feelings have burrowed themselves so deeply into the fabric of our very beings.

“After my dad passed, my mother…” I raise a hand to scrub my face, then drop it with a flop back to my lap. “Simply put, she fell apart. Completely shattered. Just stopped existing.”

She clutches her chest, and the world seems to close in around us as I launch into the sordid details of my sixteenth birthday. The memories of it kept me up for most of the night, and I’ve thought a lot about it today.

I need to let them out, or I’ll combust.

This is probably the most I’ve ever talked at once, and just when I believe I’ve lost her, she touches my arm encouragingly.

She listens so intently.

I rub my hands together as I continue. “She thought I’d stolen the knife, so she wreaked havoc on me. It was worse than I imagine being crushed under a tractor would be.”

“Austin, you were so young. You were hurting too. You shouldn’t have had to bear the weight of her grief alone, and you definitely shouldn’t have been scolded for a lost knife,” Caroline says, her voice unsteady, as if my pain is her own.

It’s not something I’ve ever experienced—not to this extent, anyway.

Her conviction fuels me to be even more honest with her. I’ve never wanted to tell anyone this much, let alone the full story, but I want her to know it.

For the first time, I want to share this with someone.

With a heavy sigh, I hang my head and admit something I never have out loud before. “I had taken the knife.”

She stiffens, but she doesn’t say anything.

“I took my dad’s knife and put it in the top drawer of my nightstand. I didn’t think she’d notice, and I sure as hell didn’t think she’d tear the house apart to look for it.”

“Why didn’t you tell her? She might’ve gone easier on you. She might’ve?—”

My sad chuckle interrupts her. “Sure, she might’ve stopped yelling at me. She probably would’ve even apologized and quietly cleaned up the mess in the kitchen. But it didn’t seem like that was what she needed at the time.”

“What do you mean?”

I frown. “For months after my dad died, Ma blamed the doctors, the treatments, the plastic water bottles he loved to drink from. She’d rant about how they all killed him faster. I mean, we were told he had six months to live. Why had he died within a few weeks of his diagnosis? She just… lost it.”

“Understandably,” her voice trails off like she doesn’t get it, but she’s trying to.

My tongue still feels twice its normal size as I explain, “My dad had been gone for years by the time my sixteenth birthday rolled around, and my mother had exhausted all the options left to blame. Seemed like she needed a new one.”

“And you gave her one. You.”

“That night, it felt like she needed to blame me. Maybe it was part of her process. I didn’t know what else to do for her.” I lift my heavy shoulders in a shrug with great difficulty.

Silence stretches between us for a few beats as I catch my breath, then say, “She waltzed into the kitchen the next day to make breakfast for the first time in ages. She was lighter, and that’s all I wanted. All I’ve ever wanted was for her to be okay, no matter the cost, and that morning, I promised I’d do whatever I could to take care of her, including staying close. She’d always have me nearby, even if it’s just to run her errands. I’d do anything.”

Caroline clutches her chest again.

“People don’t get it.” I shake my head, frustrated. “They think it’s unhealthy to be so close to my mom, but they have no fucking clue what we’ve been through.”

She holds my face in her small hands. “I’m so sorry, Austin.”

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