Page 116 of The Charlie Method

I feel the pressure wave swelling in my throat, constricting my windpipe, and I gulp hard, forcing myself to tamp it down.

No. I can’t let the wave engulf me right now. The last time I had an anxiety attack in front of my parents, they were so concerned, they tried to call the paramedics. My sister had to confiscate their phones.

“You worry too much.” Mom tucks my hair behind my ears before cupping my cheeks. “My beautiful, perfect girl. You have nothing to worry about.”

There’s that word again.

Perfect.

“You are brilliant,” she continues, her tone lined with confidence, conviction. “You can do anything you set your mind to. If your GPA drops, you’ll get it back up. You don’t have to stress.”

Dad’s voice sounds from the doorway. “Who’s stressing? Not our future engineer?”

I smile at him. “It’s fine. I’m just mentally preparing myself for finals.”

His eyes crinkle at the corners as he returns the smile. “Oh pshaw. You can pass those in your sleep.” He goes to grab a beer from the fridge. “How are your classes this semester, honey? You barely talk about them when you visit.”

“They’re challenging, but I’m managing. Lots of late nights in the lab.”

His expression softens with pride. “You always were our little night owl. Remember that science fair you won in middle school? If we hadn’t dragged you to bed, you would’ve stayed up all night.”

Mom grins at me. “You beat out all those eighth graders to take first prize. Remember?”

“Yeah. I remember.” I had to skip my best friend’s birthday party at a waterpark that weekend to finish my project. The entire sixth grade went except for me.

I suddenly realize this is the perfect opportunity to tell them about Harrison. We’re alone. No Ava or Oliver offering their two cents on the situation.

I take a breath and open my mouth—at the same time as Ava calls us from the family room.

“Guys! This trivia ain’t gonna answer itself!”

Mom laughs. “Come on. Let’s go kick your father’s ass, sweetheart.”

“In your dreams,” Dad tells her.

My parents aren’t allowed to play on the same team during games anymore because they’re both aggressively competitive. They get too angry when one of them misses a question. To this day, we still mock Dad about one of their epic trivia blowouts.“Anna! How could you miss that question? Everyone knows the Treaty of Phoenice ended the First Macedonian War!!!”

Because that’s fucking common knowledge.

My parents walk in ahead of me, and I linger in the doorway watching my family for a moment, logging all the stark similarities between them. Mom’s and Ava’s eyes. Oliver’s and Dad’s hair. Dad’s and Uncle Erik’s nose. These tangible connections between them.

As a scientist, I understand the significance of DNA. Blood. The invisible threads that connect you to another human being. The reminder that individuality, while a gift, is also an illusion of sorts, because beneath its surface is a deep, biological connection that links you to something bigger than yourself. Something tracing back generations.

It’s stupid of me, I know, to care so much about all this. It doesn’t matter whether my family and I share a common genetic code.

They’re myfamily.

They’ve always been nothing but loving and supportive, and I feel like a monster for the thoughts that run through my head sometimes. For the irrational fears that poke holes in the trust IknowI should have in them and for the insecurities that push me to question their love.

But I owe it to myself and to Harrison to get to know him. And maybe I need to do that without involving my family right now. Maybe I need to go into this new relationship with a clear head and heart.

I walk into the family room, my legs trembling, and everyone looks up as I enter, smiles lighting their faces.

“Come sit,” my mother says. “Us girls need our team captain.”

I smile back and take a seat next to my sister. I push aside all the thoughts plaguing my brain. The philosophical musings about DNA and belonging and whether my parents love me.

I don’t need to have my mother’s nose or be ambidextrous like my father for them to love me. I know they do. Ifeelit.

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