Side Effects May Vary

What really bothered me about our argument at the beach house was that as soon as I had my mom’s undivided attention, I ended up saying all the wrong things. Maybe this would be my opportunity to say the right ones. “Mom, I’m sorry too. I’m sorry for what happened at the beach house.” I sucked in a breath. “And for everything before that. I’ve been so shitty to all of you guys for a while now. I’m sorry.” I didn’t think I could live like this with my mom anymore. I couldn’t see us changing; we were both so stubborn. But we had to try because living without each other sounded pretty miserable too.

We sat in the parking lot and talked for a long time. It wasn’t easy at all. It was strained and uneven. But it was a start. A beginning.

When we got back home, my dad was waiting for us on the front porch. “All better?”

“We’re on our way there,” said my mom.

My dad turned to me and hugged me, really hugged me. “I love you, Alice Elizabeth,” he whispered. Over his shoulder, I saw my mom, her lips curved into a faint smile.

The sweetness of it all made my teeth hurt, but it was true.

Harvey. Now.

Finals had wrapped last week. It was officially summer. I didn’t make As or anything, but I’d passed eleventh grade, so I called it an academic success.

Miss P’s yearly recital was in a week, and now that school was out, my mom asked me to come in and play for the classes whenever I had time so the students could practice with a live accompaniment. When I got off work at five, I drove straight to my mom’s studio.

By the time I arrived, the intermediate class was almost through their warm-up. I had a few minutes so I waved to my mom, pointed to the bathroom, and jogged down the hallway.

All the other classrooms were dark except for a small echo of light coming from the last studio. Passing the bathroom door, I walked to the end of the hallway. A piece from The Sleeping Beauty played loud enough for me to hear when I stood close. It was one of my mom’s favorite ballets.

Alice sat on the floor next to the rosin box in a black long-sleeve leotard with a low scooping back and light pink tights. Using white cloth tape, she taped her toes quickly, like the routine of it had come back to her without any trouble. My mom had told me about this. That Alice was dancing again. I tried to feel indifferent about that.

After sliding her feet into her shoes and tying her ribbons—Alice never did use any toe cushions—she stood and tapped the box of her shoe in the rosin box, dust flying up around her.

Without waiting for a break in the music, Alice began to dance, like she was trying to pick up where she left off. Every joint in her body all the way down to her fingers communicated back and forth, her movements falling into a rhythm. But this time when she danced, I didn’t have that same feeling as when we were younger. That feeling that said she was too good for me and that I would never speak her language. I’d always known Alice, but in the last year and a half I’d seen every piece of her under a magnifying glass. Her flaws, her strengths, her vulnerabilities. She spun, spotting herself in the mirror, as she kicked her leg out and gained momentum with each turn. I loved her because I didn’t know how to stop, but she wasn’t on this pedestal anymore.

And then she fell, her legs slipping out from beneath her.

When I finished playing for my mom’s class, I found Alice sitting on the floor of the lobby with her legs stretched out and piles of papers laid out in front of her.

I turned my back to her and tried to walk past her without being noticed.

“Hey.” Her voice was soft, but I knew she was talking to me.

Only a few feet from the door, I turned. “Oh. Hi.” It was one thing to see her, but to have to talk to her and pretend like all that I felt for her had disappeared wasn’t something I was capable of.

She pulled all her papers into one big stack. “I’m waiting for your mom to finish so she can take me home.”

I nodded, taking a step back toward the door.

“Unless you can drop me off?”

It would have been easy to say yes, but I couldn’t go back now. I shook my head. “I’m supposed to go to Dennis’s,” I lied.

“Oh, okay.” Her lips curled into a sad smile. “Have a good night.”

I walked out before she could say another word. I didn’t know if my will could take it.

Harvey. Now.

Except for a few slips and falls, my mom’s yearly recital was a success. I dropped the last box of props into the back of my car and let out a sigh. I’d had to wear a suit that was two years too small, and my ass hurt from spending my entire Sunday afternoon on a piano bench. Alice had been backstage the whole time, helping the younger classes get lined up while I was in the orchestra pit by myself.

Checking my pockets to make sure I had my keys, I reached up and slammed the hatchback door shut.

“This is for you.”