Side Effects May Vary Read Free Page A

door.
    â€œHarvey,” she said.
    I turned.
    â€œMe too.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollinsPublishers
    Alice.
    Now.
    B efore I could stop myself, I reached for my hair, my fingers smoothing over my naked scalp. Gone, it was all gone. Even now, over a year later, it still came as a shock. I did this several times a day, like clockwork. It was a phantom limb, my hair.
    My oncologist for the last year or so, Dr. Meredith, bustled through his office door. Noise from the hallway bled through for a moment before the door shut behind him, sealing us in. My mom drummed her fingers on her leg, a nervous habit. Dad reached over and took her hand in his, absorbing her tension.
    Dr. Meredith was a large, robust man, and jolly too, with rosy cheeks and this perpetual baby-powder smell. I always thought he would be better suited as a Santa Claus at the Green Oaks Mall rather than a doctor charged with the duty of delivering earth-shattering news. Maybe his appearance was supposed to soften the blow. The bad news is you have cancer. The good news is Santa Claus is your doctor. Peppermint stick for your trouble?
    I almost laughed out loud, remembering that stupid Christmas movie I’d watched with Harvey last night. Well, he watched it and I slept through it. But that wasn’t all that happened. I always knew how he felt about me, and I finally told him that I felt the same. Telling him that felt like my final task—well, almost. There was one item left on my list. From where I stood, it was likely to remain my only unfinished business.
    My dad spoke up first. “What is it, Dr. Meredith?” Then, a little quieter, almost to himself, he said, “I thought we’d heard the worst of it.”
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    Dr. Meredith squeezed behind his desk, sweat gathering at his brow, huffing between labored breaths. My parents occupied the two chairs directly in front of his desk. I sat in the middle of the small loveseat in the corner of the office, stacks of folders and papers sat on either side of me. Dr. Meredith had been my specialist for over a year and neither of these stacks had moved an inch. The couch was stiff and, I suspected, rarely used. It was one of those deceiving couches that looked like it should be much more comfortable than it really was. Typical doctor’s office furniture, something I was all too familiar with.
    Dr. Meredith looked at me directly while I stretched my long legs out in front of me, pointing my toes hard, like I would in my pointe shoes. (Now stuffed away in the back of my closet along with some old recital costumes.) Long out of practice, the backs of my calves stung.
    All the news Dr. Meredith had given us has been delivered to my parents. I had always been in the room, but not really , not to them. It must have been easier for him to say those things to my mom and dad. It removed me from the situation. But whatever it was he had to say this time, it was me he wanted to say it to. He’d called us early this morning and told us we needed to come in as soon as possible. In my experience, phone calls made outside of office hours never led to anything good.
    Flipping through my charts, Dr. Meredith said, “I see your temperature’s a little high.”
    Instinctively, my hand flew to my forehead. Still clammy, but not as bad as last night when Harvey had come over. I’d gotten so used to being ill that now I had trouble telling the difference between being sick and being Sick.
    My dad cleared his throat, loudly.
    Dr. Meredith took a deep breath. “Alice.” His brown eyes found mine, and it was only me and him. He exhaled. “You’re in remission.”
    For a moment, it was quiet and everything felt okay. But then my mother began to sob, her entire body shaking in response. It was a horrible noise that made the room feel too small. Dad coughed, trying to bite back his tears. He pinched the bridge of his nose, like his fingers might absorb his