Side Effects May Vary

Harvey turned back and saw me there, pressed up against Luke. I couldn’t be sure—but his shoulders seemed to fall a little before he turned back in the other direction. There was this part of me that liked seeing that.

Luke groaned. “Yeah, yeah.”

My eyes searched past Luke, but Harvey was already gone. “Let’s go.”

Once we’d cleared the school parking lot, Luke asked, “Cool if we go to your place?”

“Yeah.” Both my parents were at work.

As he drove along my street, Luke turned down the music. “You go in,” he said. “I’ll leave the car around the corner and meet you back here.” He slid the gearshift into park.

I unbuckled my seat belt, but before I opened the car door, he reached for my hand, his grip loose at first, then tightening. He leaned over and studied my face, his brow wrinkled like he wanted to see every detail of me, like he might find some kind of answer he’d been searching for. Luke touched his hand to my cheek and kissed me. I leaned into him, his hands traveling a familiar path through my hair.

“I brought condoms,” he whispered. “Maybe we could go to your room?”

My back stiffened a little. I wasn’t the type of girl who wanted to plan out her first time with candles and rose petals or any of that. But, I don’t know. I didn’t expect it to happen right that moment, on a Tuesday afternoon while my parents were at work. It felt weird to think about having sex in my bedroom, the room that still had the floral border I’d begged my parents for in second grade.

I closed my eyes for a moment, unable to concentrate, like focusing my eyes on anything would make me pass out.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” I said. “Just got dizzy for a second.”

He pulled my hands in, holding them inside of his. “Don’t be nervous.”

I nodded. “I’ll wait for you by the front door.”

On the porch, I patted my pockets. My keys. They were in my backpack, in Luke’s car. He’d already driven off. I walked around the side of the house and through the gate to the backyard. The back door might be unlocked. My mom was weird about leaving spare keys out. She’d rather me go to a neighbor’s house or call Harvey’s mom, Natalie, but my dad was horrible about locking the back door.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move from behind the blinds of my parents’ bedroom.

Maybe it was instinct or whatever, but I hit the ground. Rising into a squat, I peeked over the bushes. I waited for the figure to pass again. There hadn’t been any cars in the driveway. My heart slapped against my chest and my breath quickened.

He wore a button-up shirt and boxers and dress socks. I covered my mouth, so as not to make a sound. What kind of pervert breaks into other people’s homes and gets undressed? I reached for my cell phone, but it was in Luke’s car with my keys.

Then I saw my mom. She pulled the duvet cover at the end of the bed, straightening the edges. She wore the same navy blue pencil skirt I’d seen her in that morning and her bra, which was a total mom bra: beige with a floral pattern and no padding. The man. He looked a little bit younger than her, but I could see his light brown hair fading into white at his ears.

I’d heard in class once that our society has become so accustomed to violence that when we actually do witness real gore and brutality, we’re unable to differentiate between what’s real and what’s not. This was how that moment felt for me. Truth and fiction were one big blur. I’d seen infidelity on television and in movies. I’d seen it so many times. This exact scenario. Daytime affair while the other spouse was at work, a working relationship gone too far. My breaths came fast and hitched, unable to catch their rhythm. I curled my fingers into fists to stop them from trembling.

Who was this man? Maybe he had a family. He and my mom might work together. Or he could be her client. This could be a one-time thing. Or it might not. This might be the beginning. She could be leaving us for him. Anger slipped through my veins.

He held my mom’s hips and kissed her shoulder before zipping up the back of her skirt. The pale stretch marks across her belly shone against her skin. She had a little pooch, but it didn’t look like she was bothered by it even though it always made her groan in fitting rooms.

She looked happy.

I wanted to be angry. But I was sad. Sad that she couldn’t feel that way with us—me and Dad. It was like she was cheating on both of us inside our home. I wish I had better, smarter words, but all I wanted was to throw a rock through the window and scream, Fuck you, Mom.

The fence creaked.

“Hey,” said Luke. “What’s going on?” He was trying to be nice, but I could see that he was anxious. Like a little boy whose baseball game was about to get rained out. He craned his neck. “Is someone in your house? Is that your . . . wait, that’s not your dad, is—”