Side Effects May Vary

Typically on road trips, people pass the time sleeping or reading, but this had always been a big no-no on our trips. For us, the only car rule was that if the driver couldn’t do it, neither could you. We all took turns listening to our preferred tunes, starting with the driver (typically Martin, but never my mom). Martin’s choices were usually lots of obscure eighties and nineties rock and the Fiddler on the Roof sound track. When the music silenced between tracks, he glanced at Alice and me through his rearview mirror.

Bernie followed his gaze and hit the Power button on the stereo. She turned around as best as she could with her seat belt fastened and said, “Out with it.”

Alice watched scenery pass us by outside her window, and I tried to stare a hole through the center console, but Bernie had one of those magnetic gazes that drew your eyes to her even when you were doing your best not to look.

“Harvey,” said Bernie, dragging out the last syllable. She was such a lawyer.

I swallowed. “Yeah?”

My mom must have found this amusing because she crossed her arms and turned her body to face Alice and me.

“What’s wrong?” asked Bernie.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I said. Some assholes threw a mock memorial for your daughter, and the only faculty member who witnessed it would rather pretend he didn’t. “School’s been stressful lately, right, Al?” I did my best to sound friendly, but her name sounded bitter and strained in my mouth. I was mad at her for not talking to me. And maybe that was shitty, but I’d just gotten a week of detention for her. I didn’t need her to say thank you or anything, but maybe a hello would be nice.

Alice tilted her chin. I think it was supposed to be a nod.

Bernie dug into us. “You two listen to me very carefully.” She over-enunciated each word. “The three of us,” she said, making a triangle with her finger, pointing from Martin, to herself, to my mom, “work extremely hard with very long hours. This may be your spring break, but this is our vacation. Understand me when I say: petty bullshit will not ruin our vacation.” My mom bit her lip, trying not to steal Bernie’s thunder by laughing. “Are we clear?”

“As mud,” mumbled Alice.

“Yes,” I replied, my voice rough.

Then she turned the stereo up all the way. The Who’s “Baba O’Riley” pumped through the speakers. Martin caught Alice’s eye in the rearview mirror and gave her a meaningful look, their eyes having some sort of conversation that I couldn’t decipher. Alice sat back in her seat, her shoulders relaxing enough so that they rubbed against mine. Something had shifted in the car, and I think I had Martin to thank for that.

By the time Martin gave his encore of “If I Were a Rich Man” (because he never just sang it once), I was orchestrating the song with my bare fingers and Alice was shimmying her shoulders to the beat, but barely, and she always stopped when anyone looked at her.

Things had taken such a significant turn that when we got to the beach house, Alice didn’t even complain about having to share a room with me. Granted we each had our own beds, but still I was surprised when she shrugged her shoulders without protest.

We were told the house had four bedrooms, but that turned out to mean four beds. My mom offered to sleep on the bunk bed with me, but Bernie said that she should enjoy her vacation as much as anyone, and sleeping in the same room with her son was not very vacation-worthy. I volunteered to sleep on the couch, but was told by Martin that it was silly to sleep on the couch when there was an open bed. The compromise was this: Alice and I would share the room with two bunk beds, but we’d have to keep the door open at all times. But Alice never did like to follow rules.

Alice. Now.

My dad gave me that look. That fucking look that said, You owe us this. And, okay, I did owe them this, but I also felt like the world was crumbling beneath my feet. Still, I tried to smooth my attitude around the edges just enough so that everyone could have a nice week. After the last year or so, my parents, Natalie, and Harvey deserved a week of peace. But peace, as it turned out, wasn’t really my thing.