Side Effects May Vary

by Julie Murphy

  She sighed. “Let’s concentrate on getting you back on track. If you do summer school, you might be able to graduate on time. And then there’s college, too. You’re not that far behind. Still lots of viable options available.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. College. I hadn’t thought too much about college except for the fact that I wouldn’t be going. All of a sudden I had this future and everyone seemed to know what to do with it, except for me. I didn’t have to talk to Harvey to know what he expected from us. He would want permanence. I’d even promised him that—when it hadn’t been mine to promise. And now my parents with school.

  When it became clear I had no intention of taking the envelope from my mom, she dropped it on the counter and turned to walk down the hallway toward her room. From outside her door, she called to me, “There’s no hiding from life, Alice Elizabeth. It always finds you.”

  Then why hasn’t it found you? Why do you still get to live a lie?

  I took the envelope to my room. According to the papers from the principal’s office, I would pick up mid-junior year. I had been homeschooled the last few months of sophomore year, and over the summer I’d rot in summer school while I made up the first half of junior year. It all sounded so easy, like nothing had ever happened. Between chemo and summer school, my vacation was already shaping up to be top-notch bullshit. But then again, the cancer could always come back. In a deep corner of myself that scared even me, I thought that maybe if the cancer did come back it might not be so bad. I knew how to die. It was the living that scared me.

  But right now I was faced with two hurdles. Tonight, the Alice’s-Seventeenth-Birthday/Not-Dying-Anymore Party, and in the morning I would have to face school. And with school came Luke and Celeste and Mindi. Suddenly, life was at my doorstep, waiting to be answered, but all I had were questions. It’s a hard thing to explain unless you’d ever gone through something so life altering as toeing the line between life and death.

  I still couldn’t wrap my mind around it, being in remission. I’d been going to doctors’ appointments biweekly, and everyone there treated me like a bubble that might burst at any moment.

  The doorbell rang, and I heard the sounds of Natalie and Harvey letting themselves in, slipping off their boots at the door, and locking the thumb lock behind them. I didn’t really know why I was so stressed about this party thing. It wasn’t even a party. It was only me, Mom, Dad, Natalie, Harvey, and some ice-cream cake. Minutes passed, and I thought maybe they had forgotten me back here in my room. Relief as true as a lie settled in my chest as someone rapped on my bedroom door.

  “Come on, Al,” said my mom. She stuck her head into my room, her wavy blond hair bouncing around her chin. It was starting to grow out. She had cut her long, untamed locks into a bob when I lost my hair. I bet people at work assumed she’d cut it for the sake of solidarity with me and my bald head. But I was pretty sure it had to do with her boyfriend or whatever the hell he was. Her eyes crinkled as she bit her lip, studying me.

  I sighed and looked down at my jeans. I’d had them since I was thirteen. A little short, but they fit in the waist. I had put on about three pounds since going into remission, but most food still made me queasy. After sliding on my slippers, I followed my mom out the door and down the hallway. I couldn’t look at her without seeing him. That man. In our house. Now that I wasn’t waiting for the end, I would have to live with this.

  Nearly a month after Christmas and our house was still decorated. The dust had settled on the ornaments and garland. The out-of-season decor was a longstanding tradition in my house. My parents always waited to take down everything until after my birthday, saying it added to the festivities. I thought they were just lazy, but still, a birthday without Christmas lights would feel flat-out offensive.

  Since being told I was in remission, I’d been poked and prodded more than I had when the cancer in my blood was actually detectable. Between doctors’ appointments and feigning tiredness, I’d been able to just miss Harvey. I avoided him for nearly a month, although he called every day. I wanted to see him, but I didn’t want to talk to him, like any words might break us. I saw him on Christmas. It was weird this year. There had been so many presents, more than any other year, and I wondered if my parents had gone overboard before or after Dr. Meredith’s news.

  Harvey’s face lifted the second he saw me. “I missed you,” he said, and hugged me tight. Over his shoulder, I could see tears streaming down Natalie’s ivory face. Harvey held his arms so closely around me that I felt the weight of his forearms overlapping across my back. It made me feel paper thin, breakable.

  When he finally let go, it was Natalie’s turn. I hadn’t seen her for over a month, and I had assumed I might never see her again. She curled her long, lean arms around my shoulders and placed her chin atop my head. She was a gazelle of a woman, standing at least a few inches taller than my five foot nine inches. “Welcome back,” she whispered into my hair.

  Everyone in my life was ready for this except me.

  “Happy birthday to you . . . ,” my dad began to sing as he approached us from behind. His voice was a little unsure at first but rose in volume when everyone else joined.

  I turned to him. He held out a huge strawberry-ice-cream cake, my childhood birthday party staple. Natalie squeezed my shoulder, telling me to make my wish. Heat warmed my face, and the countless candles made everything and everyone look fuzzy. I closed my eyes and pretended to make a wish, but I didn’t, not really. I had nothing left to wish for, and even if I did, I wouldn’t wish for it; I would do it.

  My eyes must have been closed for too long because my mother cleared her throat. My eyes sprang open. They all stared at me, waiting. It took me three puffs to blow out all the candles but one. Without missing a beat, Harvey swiped his tongue over his thumb and pointer finger, using them to snuff out the last stubborn flame.

  Next, we opened presents. My parents gave me cash, which was what I asked for every year. From Natalie and Harvey, I received a generic Happy Birthday card and a rectangular box wrapped in champagne-colored wrapping paper. I knew what it was before I opened it, but I still went through the motions. Tucked into a small brown box and shrouded in white tissue paper was a pair of brand-new pointe shoes.

  The minute I opened the box, Natalie tried to explain herself. “I know.” She stopped, collecting her thoughts. “I know that you don’t dance anymore, but I read somewhere that your body would recuperate more quickly if you exercised.”

  Natalie was never verbally confrontational. In fact, she might even come across as shy at times, but she let her feelings show in her actions. So while this seemed like a nice gesture, it was also Natalie’s way of saying, It’s time to get back to the studio. I picked up the shoes, the silk smooth against my fingers and the leather soles blemish-free. My throat went dry and my fingertips numb. Anxiety sank deep into my abdomen like a set of hooks. One more expectation I didn’t know how to live up to. At least this one could exist in a box beneath my bed.

  I wanted to be that person for all of them—the person they’d painted into their memory, the memorialized version of Alice—but that girl wasn’t me. And that scared me. As it turned out, my greatest fear in life had become expectations.

  Natalie looked back and forth between my parents. Dad patted her back. And Mom looked at me with anticipation. My forehead knotted in confusion, not sure what she wanted me to say. She raised her brows and tilted her head to Natalie.

  “Oh,” I said. “Thanks.”

  Like an old friend, I wanted to keep ballet within reach, but this was too close. With this defunct body, I wasn’t all that interested in testing my limits. I slid the shoes back in the box, and gave Natalie and Harvey a stiff-lipped smile.

  The summer before freshman year, I’d told my mom that I wanted to quit ballet. She agreed as long as I told Natalie myself. On the surface, I think I wanted to start high school fresh. I was done being the girl who had to go to ballet class every day. We lived in
a small town and, yeah, I was considered good here. But in comparison to whom? I couldn’t be like Natalie, teaching pupil after pupil, hoping something might stick. If ballet was going to be my life, I’d only be happy living it on a stage. I preferred to accept the disappointment now rather than waste more years in a studio and have a casting director or an admissions board tell me I wasn’t good enough.

  On that day, I ran through the front door of the studio and into the changing room, bobby pins slipping from my bun as I changed out of my denim shorts and tank top and into my black leotard. I slid my black convertible tights on over my leotard and threw my backpack beneath Natalie’s desk.

  “Alice, get back here with that nest of hair,” called Natalie.

  Without a word, she rolled her office chair out for me and I sat down. She placed her hands on my shoulders and squeezed some tension from my sore muscles. Gently, she took out all my bobby pins, and my head screamed with relief. Taking down a ballet bun is sort of like a brain freeze, causing a brief but intense headache. I held out my hand for her to place the discarded bobby pins in. When my hair was completely loose around my shoulders, she massaged my scalp for a minute, and I couldn’t stop the sigh that slipped from my lips. Instead of putting my hair back into a tight bun, Natalie placed a straight part in the middle of my head and gave me two long braids on either side. When she was through braiding, she took a couple of bobby pins from my open palm and wove the braids together at the base of my scalp, pinning them in place.

  That night after class, and after all the other students had gone home, I sat with Natalie on the floor of the largest studio while Harvey waited in the car. I told her I wouldn’t be back for classes in the fall. I sat up straight and enunciated my words, but inside they were a whisper.

  She didn’t say much of anything until we were standing in the dark with our bags in tow, getting ready to set the studio alarm.

  “You can have until Monday to change your mind. I’ll hold your place until then.” The room around us was pitch-black, so like most things people hear in the dark, I pretended not to hear anything at all.

  Ever since I was a kid we’d always had cake before the meal at any of my birthday gatherings. One year I’d begged my mom to have cake first. She’d caved and it had been a tradition ever since. Besides, I’d always hated the idea of saving the best for last.

  After eating cake, Harvey sat right next to me with two plates of pizza—one for each of us. He wolfed down his slices and went for seconds while I still picked at my first helping. Our parents huddled around in a circle, conversing in hushed whispers while every couple minutes my dad glanced over his shoulder at me and Harvey.

  After his trip for seconds, Harvey ducked beneath the low-hanging light dangling above the kitchen table and asked, “Do you want me to pick you up for school tomorrow?”

  “I think my mom wants to take me because it’s my first day back,” I lied, rubbing my hands up and down my arms trying to warm myself. I wasn’t ready to be alone with him yet.

  With a slice of pizza hanging from his mouth, he shrugged out of his zip-up hoodie and draped it around my shoulders. I resisted rolling my shoulders back and letting the jacket slip to the ground. Instead, I pulled the fabric tight around myself. It smelled like Harvey. Like spilled gasoline and produce and boy deodorant.

  Tonight, I was cold. Tomorrow, I would deal with Harvey.

  “Are you nervous?” he asked.

  “Why would I be nervous?”

  He scooted his chair a little closer to me and took my hands from where they sat in my lap. Beneath the table, he held my fingers, warming them, and said, “I won’t let them near you. Not Celeste. Not Luke.”

  “Don’t. Just don’t.” I pulled my hands away and pushed my plate to the side and rested my cheek against the table, turning away from him. All that lay ahead of me tomorrow weighed on my shoulders, and I could barely pick my head up. Beneath the table, he squeezed my knee. I jerked away. Harvey did too, doubling the gap between us. It hadn’t been so long ago that Harvey’s touch had been the only cure I’d wanted.

  Still, he sat silently by my side all night, reaching beneath the table for my fingers every so often. I wavered between hot and cold. Between wanting to lean into him and wanting to shoo him away. Our parents stayed huddled in the kitchen, their voices growing louder and more boisterous as the wine disappeared from their glasses.

  Finally, at a quarter to eleven, Harvey dug the keys out of his mom’s purse and escorted her to the car. On the porch, both my parents and Natalie wore rosy cheeks and drooping smiles as they said good night. Harvey hung back with me in the doorway.

  The January cold tinged his cheeks and nose red as he rubbed his hands together. “We can sit together at lunch tomorrow. And I was thinking we could do something this weekend. Dennis is going to ask out Lacy from work—she graduated last year, so I doubt it’ll happen. But if she says yes, I thought we could go with them. I guess, like, a double date or whatever. Make it less awkward for them.”

  I sucked in a breath and turned my gaze to our parents, still laughing, not quite ready to say good-bye. “It’s cold out. Take this,” I said, pulling off his jacket.

  “Keep it till tomorrow.”

  I shook my head. “I’m fine.”

  His jacket draped over his arm, he took a step forward and kissed the spot where the corner of my lip met my cheeks. “Happy birthday.” He paused. “I love you.”

  His words sucked the air out of my lungs. My heart pounded, echoing to every crevice of my body.

  He ran down the steps to his mom’s car, not waiting for me to say it back. “I’m going to warm it up,” he called to her, the keys dangling from his fingers.

  I slammed the front door behind me, my parents still outside. I ran upstairs and, in my room, I melted into my desk chair. I had Harvey, and I had him for good. Hadn’t that been all I wanted? To make those perfect moments last? But now I felt trapped, like a homeless person who’d been given their dream home only to suffer from intense wanderlust because we always want something until we have it.

  I thought about something I could control—my hair. Or lack thereof.

  Since my treatment was suspended months ago, my brows had grown back and my hair was on the mend too. I’d kept shaving my head, though. I would have rather died bald than with some random wisps of hair. After finding out I was in remission, I’d stopped shaving my head. Although it was sporadic and splotchy, my hair had now started to grow in.

  I dug through my closet until I found a red beret that must have once belonged to my mom. Not that it would do much good. I was the girl who had cancer. That shit’s sort of hard to hide.

  After Harvey and Natalie left and my parents had turned off all the lights, there was a quiet knock on my bedroom door. I slumped down in my bed and pretended to be asleep. I developed that little gem of a habit while I was sick. People love to talk to sleeping sick people. It’s like talking to a dead person, but a breathing dead person, so it’s not so bad.

  From the sound of the footsteps, I knew it was my dad. My bed creaked beneath him as he perched on the edge. He took my cold fingers, enveloping them in his, and I wished I hadn’t pretended I was asleep.

  “Alice Elizabeth, you fooled us all.” For a second I thought he’d caught me, but I realized he wasn’t talking about my sleeping act. “If anyone could beat it, it would be you,” he said, his voice slow with wine. “You’re tough as nails, Al. Tough as fucking nails.” The springs in my mattress squeaked as he stood.

  Both my mom and dad had never tried to censor themselves around me. That included everything from curse words to financial woes. My mom, especially, believed that hiding things made them that much more illicit. She was right, in a way, but my mom always thought everything to the extreme. And maybe feeling illicit was why Mom hadn’t told us about her affair. Maybe she liked having a secret.

  All the honesty I’d become so accustomed to made being sick that much harder, because suddenly I was
a damn egg with a flimsy shell. I stopped getting in trouble—well, not really—I still got into trouble, but I was never punished for anything. I never heard a peep about hospital bills. And my mom stopped arguing with me when usually every morning was a contest to see who could pick a fight first.

  Now everything felt wrong, and nothing was the same. My parents and school. Harvey and us. Natalie and ballet. All these plans and all I had to work with was a big, fat question mark. Even though cancer was the hulking monster in the closet, it wasn’t a relapse I was concerned about. Lying there in the dark with the creaking sounds of my house settling, I saw what only ever haunted me in those moments when my body was asleep and my head was still wide-awake. The unknown. It consumed me.

  Harvey.

  Then

  Alice sat on the foot of my bed. It was the first time I’d seen her since she passed out that day in the cafeteria. Seeing her so alive, right there in front of me, eased every muscle in my body. I’d asked my mom every day since then if she’d found out what happened to Alice, but she only told me that they were still running tests. All I could think of was the paramedics asking me over and over again if we were related. Then today, after school, Alice found me at my locker and asked what time I was through with work. She said her dad was going to drop her off for a little while later that night. My mouth had stopped working, so I’d only nodded.

  I had spent the hours between then and now wondering what had changed and why she was coming over. Since we’d started high school, I’d get these urges to go up and talk to her, but any time I came close she was with Luke. And even when she wasn’t with Luke, I couldn’t think of anything worth breaking the silence for. I kept thinking that if I was going to say something to her, it’d have to be a little more groundbreaking than Hi.

  That night Alice let herself into my room with her hand covering her eyes and said, “You have five seconds to hide your porn.”