Tara Kelly - Harmonic Feedback

“What if none of them work?” I asked.

“Well, there’s no magical cure out there. We’re simply looking for a combo that benefits you most and causes the fewest side effects. A bigger part of the equation is how much you’re willing to do for yourself, Drea.”

I wondered if she’d ever tried multiple combinations of drugs.

“I’m starving,” Mom announced as the three of us got back into her green Toyota.

“It’s only three thirty, Juliana.” Grandma was still grouchy because they had nothing but People magazine in the waiting room.

Mom rolled down the window and backed the car out. “So? We need to drop off Drea’s prescriptions, and there’s a pharmacy right near a café someone recommended to me last night. Figured we’d go try it out.”

“One of your square-faced dates?” The computer had replaced Mom’s late-night trips to bars.

“Don’t start, Drea. He seems really sweet.”

“Of course he does. They all start off that way.”

“Who?” Grandma asked.

“Mom’s computer boyfriends.”

“Drea.” Mom squinted at me in the mirror.

“Computer boyfriends? Don’t you ever watch the news? A young woman was just found murdered near the border. And do you know who the prime suspect is?” Grandma poked Mom’s arm. The five- and six-o’clock news were her religion.

“I can’t imagine.” Mom shook her head.

“A man she met on her computer. And do you know what else they’re saying? People can get your social security number, your bank account information, and”—Grandma yanked on Mom’s elbow—“your address . They break into your computer and find all this.”

“Yeah, but it usually only happens to dumb people who respond to e-mail scams or download viruses,” I said.

“Viruses?” Grandma opened her mouth and closed it again.

“Anyway, he says they have a lot of vegetarian options, Drea,” Mom said as we pulled into a parking spot downtown.

Grandma gasped. “Juliana! We’re on Railroad Avenue.”

“So what?”

“Are you crazy? We’ll get mugged or killed. This is the worst part of town.”

Downtown Bellingham consisted of a few brick buildings and rotting Victorian contraptions. Most of the inhabitants were college students with rainbow-colored hair and grungy people with acoustic guitars and tin cans.

“This is nothing, Grandma. You should hang out in downtown Oakland sometime.”

“It’s fine.” Mom pointed across the street. “Look, there’s a couple pushing a stroller, and some kids playing in the fountain over there.”

“That’s where they keep the drugs.” Grandma lowered her voice and leaned toward Mom with wide eyes. “In the baby buggies.”

“Okay, how about laying off the news for a while, huh?” Mom snorted out a laugh and got out of the car.

Grandma’s sharp eyes didn’t miss an inch of Café Mars when we arrived after dropping off my new prescriptions. By the time the hostess offered to seat us, Grandma concluded that the place was run by misfits. After all, it lacked sticky booths and fake sugar at every table.

The hostess showed us to a narrow table with stiff metal chairs. Grandma scrunched up her face and held on to the back of the chair, inching her compact body into the seat.

A familiar laugh made me glance up from my menu, and I found myself looking straight into Justin’s eyes. Oh, God, no—of all places. He and Kari sat at a table in front of us, sipping milkshakes.

Kari looked over her shoulder and flashed me a quick smile. “Hi, Drea.”

I sucked in my breath, focusing on the colorful menu in front of me.

“Who’s that?” Mom whispered.

“Just someone from school,” I mumbled.

“Well, say hi back at least.”

“No,” I said through my teeth.

“Blue walls are for baby nurseries, not restaurants,” Grandma announced, scanning the room. “What kind of place is this, Juliana?”

Kari peeked over at Grandma and spun forward again, her back shaking with laughter. Justin stared at me, a half smile playing at his lips. I focused on my menu.

“Let’s not worry about the décor for a change, okay, Mom?”

“And why do they have someone’s trash all over their walls? That’s the last thing I want to see when I’m eating.”

Café Mars had records, photographs, magazine cutouts, antique toys, and even tires plastered to the walls. I’d been in a million places just like it in California—ever since Mom decided to go veggie.

“This can’t possibly be the menu. It looks like a child designed it, for Christ sake.” Grandma flipped it from side to side. “It’s not even written in English.”

Mom closed her eyes, sighing. “Yes, it is.”

“A chix salad? Chix ?” She banged her knobby finger into the menu.

“It’s short for chicken.” Mom smirked. Truthfully, chix meant veggie chicken strips—as in soy. She’d failed to mention that Café Mars had an all-vegetarian menu.

“She’s going to know the difference,” I told Mom.

“The difference of what?” Grandma asked.

“It’s extra-lean meat here,” Mom said, giving me a warning look.

“Oh.” Grandma continued to scan the menu. “What is fakin’ bacon? That a fancy way of saying Bac-Os?”

“Mmhmm.” Mom nodded.

“Those are very high in sodium. Ten dollars for a salad?” Grandma chuckled. “What—they think we won’t notice because they purposely misspell everything?”

“Keep your voice down, Mom.”

A server with hot-pink hair and lip rings approached us with a big smile. “Hey, ladies. You ready to order?”

Grandma eyed her up and down, her mouth agape. “This isn’t our waitress, is it?”

The girl’s smile instantly faded as she narrowed her eyes at Grandma. “Would you like me to find someone else to wait on you?”

“Yes, please,” Grandma muttered, focusing back on the menu.

Mom held her hand up and mouthed “Alzheimer’s.” The girl plastered another big smile on her face and nodded like she understood. “Okay, well, I’ll give you ladies another minute.” She walked over to Justin’s table to let them know their meals would be out shortly.

“She doesn’t have Alzheimer’s,” I said.

Mom kicked my shin hard enough to send an ache up my leg.

“Ow!”

Grandma was too immersed in the menu to pay much attention. “Tofurky? Goodness.”

The server returned a few minutes later. “Know what you want yet?”

Grandma squinted up at her. “You again.”

The girl offered a toothy grin. “Yup. What can I get ya?”

“Just order.” Mom rolled her eyes.

“Does this chix come from the breast?”

The server cocked her head, opening her mouth slightly.

“The breast,” Grandma said louder. “Is it chicken breast meat?”

Kari let a high-pitched laugh escape before burying her head in her arms. Justin shushed her and covered his eyes with his hand. Other people were looking at Grandma now. Some with wide eyes and others on the brink of laughter.

Mom nudged Grandma. “Yes.” She mouthed “sorry” to the pink-haired girl.

“I’ll have the Chix Cobb salad. Nonfat Italian dressing on the side,” Grandma said.

Mom covered her mouth and looked away.

Kari was still picking at her food when they brought out our meals twenty minutes later. Justin slouched in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, while she talked to him with animated hand gestures. He caught me staring at him and smiled. I nibbled on a seasoned fry, letting the spicy mush sink into my throat. It didn’t have the right amount of crispness.

Grandma picked up her fork, prodding at various toppings on her salad. The prongs hovered over the egg halves for a second before she stabbed one and let it dangle off the fork. “These are pellet eggs,” she decided.