The Perks of Being a Side Effect

Chapter 3

"How was your walk, Hazel?" My mother asked when I walked through the front door of our house. She was standing a few inches away from the counter. A steaming pot was sitting on the stove top and I saw an already prepared salad on the counter. It seemed as though she had taken a break from her laptop which was sitting on the kitchen table and had started supper. "Fine." I reply simply. On the walk home, I decided not to tell my mother about the letter. For no particular reason other than that I felt like I would be doing Charlie a favour by not distributing his letter around for more than just me to read.

Figuring I still had some time before dinner was on the table I climbed the stairs and went into my bedroom. I took Charlie's letter from my pocket and sighed. I didn't want to lose it because since reading An Imperial Affliction, it has been the only text that made me feel understood. I could nearly imagine myself now, repeating my obsession of An Imperial Affliction with a letter from an anonymous boy. Wow.

I considered calling Isaac and telling him about the letter but I decided against it. Why was I being so secretive? It was just a letter. This boy probably wouldn't even send any more. Chances are that he was feeling like an idiot for writing to a stranger. "Hazel! Dinner is ready!" My dad yelled up the stairs loud enough for me to hear in my room. I opened an empty drawer to my night stand and dropped the letter inside. I then shut it quickly, probably looking guilty over nothing. My father hollered my name again and I shouted back. Yes, yes. I'm coming.

I ran down the stairs and was greeted by the smell of pasta and garlic bread. My mother was hurriedly removing her laptop and scattered papers from the table. "You hungry?" She asked with a small smile. For months I have felt distanced from my mother and father. I felt detached from everyone. But today after making small talk and getting out of the house I felt a bit more like myself. "A bit." I answered. Even my short, one word answers were more words spoken since Augustus died.

It's safe to say that dinner was uneventful and painfully silent. My parents spoke to me so softly and said each word with caution. Had I not recovered enough yet to not look fragile? The few words that were exchanged were not enough to hold up conversation and instead, we broke the silence by accidentally hitting our plates with our metal forks.

"Isaac called today."

"Oh."

"He seems like a nice boy."

"Uh huh."

"Will you call him back?"

"Maybe."

I ate faster than I normally would and the moment I finished my bowl of pasta and wiped any remaining sauce from around my mouth and asked to be excused.

"Oh, not quite yet. I just wanted to chat." Mom said a bit sheepishly. I eyed her suspiciously. What could there possibly be to chat about now?

"You've been so isolated, Hazel. I'm not sure why you're avoiding Isaac but it may do you some good to give him a call."

I already knew where this conversation was going. Mom had been training to become a councillor or therapist of some sort. She is practicing what she would call "the art of communicating with an emotionally battered person". She often had these business-like talks with me, especially after Gus died.

"Mom..." I whined. "I literally just went out today."

"Yes I know, and that's a good first step. You're finally coming out of your shell and are on the path of recovery." She said.

I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes.

"Mom, I appreciate it. But recovery doesn't just happen, okay? Give me some time. Jeez." I said coldly. Mom's eyes closed and her mouth parted briefly as she took a sharp breath. Something she did when she was irritated.

"I think what your mom is trying to say is that you've had months to get better..." Dad said, taking mom's side. I felt like I was being ganged up on. My parents meant well but their judgement differed immensely from mine. Feeling agitated and wishing I could be alone in the confines of my room I slammed my palms onto the table. The empty glasses shook only slightly and my parents looked alarmed by my change of mood.

"Look! When I die, you'll understand that maybe a few months isn't enough time to get over someone. Telling me that Gus is gone and I should get my shit together isn't going to speed up the recovery process." I snapped.

My father's gaze fell to his lap and my mom stopped speaking. Oh great, now I'd done it. I pulled the dying daughter card and had crushed my parents feelings.

I slid my hands off the table and let them fall onto my lap. I took half a second to push anymore harmful outbursts and negative energy deep down where they wouldn't resurface.

"Sorry, but may I please be excused now?" I asked.

When my parents said nothing, I took that as my opportunity to get up and leave. I grabbed my plate which was empty except for the leftover spaghetti sauce I had smeared across it's surface with my fork and my glass. I quickly shuffled into the kitchen and dropped my dirty dishes in the sink. I felt bad for snapping like that, I know I shouldn't have.

Before anymore words could be exchanged between my parents and I, I scrambled up the stairs and into my bedroom. Tears brimmed and my eyes inevitably grew pink and puffy. But what was the point in crying?

The letter I had placed in the drawer earlier offered me a small amount of comfort. I drowned myself in the words of a boy I had never met and allowed his problems to distract me from my own.

Poor kid.