Side Effects May Vary

His aunt? It had never even occurred to me to ask Eric about himself. I didn’t even know he lived with his aunt, which made me wonder where his parents were. I’d had plenty of opportunities to ask Eric about himself, but I hadn’t. I thought he was like me, just running.

“We moved here in November, but her job shuffles us around a lot.” He set his arms down on the table, rocking it, and pulled at some dead skin around his thumbnail.

“Oh. So, next week then?” I asked.

“I guess.” He cleared his throat. “I probably won’t see you after tomorrow.”

“I guess not.” We both stared holes through the little table separating us. “So you live with your aunt?” I didn’t know why I even bothered. This wasn’t exactly the opportune time to get to know Eric.

“Yeah, my parents were never really around.”

“I didn’t know,” I said quietly.

“You never asked.” Those three words drifted down between us like three feathers that would inevitably hit the ground, but took their time. Gravity at its finest.

“I’ve never moved,” was the only thing I knew to say.

Without really thinking about it, I reached across the table and held his dry hand in mine. We sat there for a while having our own silent conversation until the bell above the door chimed, jolting us back to the little café. In walked Harvey with his hand on the small of Debora’s back, guiding her to the counter. I watched them, and Eric watched me. They held hands loosely, the way people do when they’ve been together for a long time. All the animosity I felt for Debora rose up through my body like vitriol. I wanted to annihilate her. I wanted to dismantle her perfect little life piece by piece, leaving only Harvey intact.

Eric squeezed my hand, but I barely noticed. “You okay?”

My breath caught and the anger inside of me deflated. “Fine,” I answered, still watching them over Eric’s shoulder. As they left, Harvey’s gaze paused momentarily on Eric and me. I so wished that he’d given me a hint of something—some kind of reaction—but he didn’t. He just left.

I pulled my eyes from the door and smiled at Eric, but it felt sad on my lips. “I can’t believe you’re moving next week.”

“Well, actually,” said Eric, suddenly perking up, “my aunt’s got a couple months left on her lease. She says I can finish out senior year if I really want to. What do you think I should do, Allie Cat?”

The nickname pricked at my nerves, reminding me of myself. This was the part of the conversation where I was supposed to tell him to stay. “Do whatever you want, Eric. You’re a big boy. I’m pretty sure you can make your own decisions.”

His shoulders fell. “Well, I guess you’ll find out what I decide next week,” he said.

I was sad for Eric because he’d never known a home, not like I had. But I wasn’t sad enough to give him one.

Harvey. Then.

Harvey, do you even know what you’re doing?”

“Yes, Alice, I do. I watched a video online.”

“Give me that,” she said, yanking the apple out of my hand.

I handed her the pen along with the knife. She fumbled with the utensils, but didn’t get very far.

Before she had the chance to cut our last good apple to bits, I swiped it from her.

“Hey!” She sat on the bench in a huff. We had already gone through eight apples, all victims of Alice’s frustration.

I held the pen between my teeth and sat down next to her. After placing the apple on the picnic table, I carefully maneuvered the knife through the apple, trying to create a tubular shape. “I can’t believe you put this on your list, Al. It’s so stupid,” I said, through clenched teeth.

“Harvey, I can’t even think of a single person who has graduated high school without smoking marijuana.”

“I can think of plenty. And come to think of it—they’re all really successful. Maybe they’re onto something,” I said. “And the fact that you refer to pot as marijuana shows how much of a non-pot-smoking kind of person you are.” She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could I cut her off. “And, Alice, you have cancer! Aren’t people with cancer not supposed to smoke?”

“Harvey, I’m going to be biting it sooner rather than later. I don’t think my future success is all that valid of a concern here, okay? It’s not like I’ve got lung cancer. And I could probably get medicinal marijuana, you know, so it’s not all that illegal.”

In the last year, Alice’s attitude toward mortality had turned from accepting to cavalier. But now she was to the point of being capricious. Whenever she said anything about dying or expiration dates, I wanted to slap my hand over her mouth, because I was scared that somehow Death would hear her taunting him and smite her for it.

“We’re nearly done with the list,” she continued. “Not doing this now would be half-assed. And I’m not going to this fund-raiser unless I’m stoned.” The pothead terminology sounded so foreign coming from her.

“But won’t everyone know you’re high?”

“Blame it on the pain meds. What are they going to do? Kick me out of my own fund-raising event for trying to dull my pain?”