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The Allergic Reaction

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THE SOFTNESS beneath was not like the hard surface I expected to fall on. My mind was reeling despite it feeling empty. Then questions started rolling in.

Where was I?

Did I make it?

I grunted and felt someone move around me. I opened my eyes to see the brown roof, making me realize I must be lying down. The squares on the ceiling were spinning and just when they started slowing down when someone touched my arm.

"You're awake," the person said. That voice. I looked to where it came from.

"Jane?" I asked with, shock and confusion both apparent in my tone, yet I couldn't tell which was more.

"Hey Clara, how're you feeling now?" she asked, her voice soft as ever.

Was I back at Grandma's place? Was it all over? But the roof wasn't wood like Grandma's cabin.

"What happened?" I asked.

"You fainted, dear," she said.

Fainted?

I shifted to move up when I felt a light unfamiliar pain in my lower abdomen and I grunted weakly. She looked down at where my hand had settled upon the source of the pain and a small frown set on her lips.

"Does your scar still hurt?" she asked.

"Scar?"

"Oh well, we shouldn't talk about that, dear. You should rest. You must be hungry. Let me get you some freshly made chickenpea soup. Your favorite," she said, and I was too tired to roll my eyes as left me.

Typical Jane, always doing what she thinks would make me feel happy.

I sat upright and pulled up my shirt to check this scar. And there it was. But once my eyes met it, a searing pain shot through my head.

It was hard to describe as it felt like something was stuffing and filling up my brain was being. The sensation was strange and unlike anything I had felt before, as my hands found their way to hold my head.

The pain was subsiding when someone stepped in. I looked up to see Tony. He looked younger, shorter. The question flashed again.

Where was I?

"I'm guessing you still feel terrible," he started.

"Um, what happened before I fainted?" I asked.

"You have Aunt Vera to blame for that. Can you imagine, the cake she baked had nuts in it?"

I guess I wasn't at Grandma's then.

Wait—

"But I'm allergic to nuts," I stated, still not knowing why I passed out, as Jane said.

"Exactly, and she knew that. She claims to have forgotten," he scoffed. "Typical Aunt Vera. I never liked her. Still don't," he said and sat on my bed beside me.

He wasn't acting rude or indifferent like he was back at Grandma's place.

Without warning, the memories of the past few days—if I could say so, as I was yet to be sure if I was just dreaming—rushed into my head.

I was in high school, again, and had figured out how to get out since that was my past. Before then, I had been at Grandma's place, a few months after graduating, fussing over the lack of service when...

How did I get to the high school? Guess that memory gap is still there.

Then this must be another lesson, right?

"Clara!" Tony called out, and I looked up at him, blinking out of my thoughts.

"Sorry, I didn't get what you said," I said, willing myself to focus on him.

"I was rambling. Yeah, I get it."

"No, you can tell—"

"No. Mom will come up and scold me for bothering you."

I was a bit confused but soon realized that he was already comfortable calling Jane 'mom'.

"You should rest." He rose from the bed and onto his feet. "She made chickenpea soup, so I'm sure she'll be bringing it to you," he said before walking out the door and closing it behind him.

What was the date? Since I wasn't in school, I'm guessing this was a holiday. I looked at my bedside table and saw my phone. I took it and unlocked it.

Wednesday, December 21st.

I unlocked it and check to find the year was 2016.

Just then, I glanced out the window to see snow settled on the beam of the window, peeking up just enough for me to see.

2016? I was in tenth grade. So this was the winter break of tenth grade and judging by the scar, this was after Mariana must have stabbed me.

But I never had an abdomen scar in my real life, and that's because Mariana never stabbed me. Was this all real?

No.

It couldn't be. Maybe the scar's still there because I'm still in this place. Whatever it is.

But I also don't recall Aunt Vera ever forgetting about my nut allergy when she made a cake. Even worse, now that I think about it, Aunt Vera never baked.

She tried learning when I was with her, but it always turned out horrible till she decided it was part of the things she just couldn't do. She ended up investing her time and money in other things and found some passions along the way, gardening especially, and the occasional knitting.

Why then would Aunt Vera bake me a cake and one with nuts in it?

She was the closest family member I had, asides from my mom. Well, given I hadn't seen my mom for seven years, it's safe to say that Aunt Vera was the closest. She knew me in and out, and I knew more about her than anyone in our family cared to know.

Something was wrong.

Well, at least now I have a general idea of what I'm supposed to do here.

Learn a lesson.

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I couldn't sit still watching through the window as the snow picked up. Jane was taking a while to bring the soup, so I headed down. I'd noticed my arms had shadows of red circles, making it known I was recovering from an allergic reaction.

Yet, another question plagued me.

It was common knowledge that I was allergic to nuts, something we believed I'd gotten from Grandma since she also had it. Because of that, we always had epinephrine auto-injectors, and I'd always taken them along with me to school for emergencies. Everyone also knew how to inject it should the need arise and whenever they did, it took about five to ten minutes for me to stabilize.

So how had I passed out and for how long?

I got down to hear arguing. I recognized the voices to be Dad and Aunt Vera's. The argument stopped as soon as I entered the kitchen.

"Clara darling, how are you feeling now?" my aunt asked, guilt lacing her tone. She looked just as I'd seen her last, some days before we set off for the cabin in the woods where my grandmother, her mother, inhabited.

"Like you would care," my dad muttered.

"Bob, don't talk to me like that. You know I care for her like she's my daughter," she said, her tone rising with her hands clenched at her sides. Then she turned back to me and said, "Oh Clara, I don't know how I forgot, it's just I wanted—"

"I think you should go home now, Veronica," my dad said, referring to her by her full name. He only ever did so when he was angry at her. Like me, my aunt preferred people to call her Vera, but she didn't cringe whenever people chose otherwise.

"I know it's your house, but I came here for Clara and I'm not leaving unless she's okay with that," she said and with that, both pairs of brown eyes turned to me. Aunt Vera and Uncle Mike hadn't inherited Grandma's amber eyes like Mom and I did.

I brought my mind back to the scenario in front of me. It was strange what Aunt Vera had done. I didn't want to take my dad's side against her, but maybe now was not a good time for her to stay. I could visit her tomorrow when I was better and everyone was calmer.

I glanced at the clock.

"Um, it's kind of late, so maybe you should go rest. I can imagine how worried you are, but I'm fine now. Whatever the reason is, I understand," I said, and she smiled at me while Dad bristled by the kitchen counter.

"Alright, darling. I'm leaving only because you said so."

She referred to me with her hard eyes set on my dad, who scoffed in return and turned away from her glare.

Ever since she found out my dad never let us visit my mom, she disliked him and would purposely disagree with him just to spite him the way I did. As we got to know each other, we realized our personalities were more alike than we thought.

She leaned down to peck me on my forehead before leaving, making me remember for a fleeting moment how I had grown to some inches taller than her. She passed Jane on her way out of the kitchen and into the living room, who greeted her goodbye, but she gave no reply.

When Dad married Jane, it enraged my aunt, which was why she didn't attend the wedding. She also shared the same sentiment with me on their relationship.

The house Jane had suggested we moved to in Kansas—this one—was near my aunt's house, and it felt like fate began granting me things after taking so much from me.

At first, she'd been coming over to check on Tony and me and whenever she did, she made clear her dislike for Jane and, by extension, my dad. Soon after, I started going over to her place and we bonded over our loathe of Jane.

I started spending all my time—that is when I was on holiday—at her place. Looking back, I don't know how I would have survived in that—this—house with Jane if I didn't have my Aunt Vera.

Jane stepped into the kitchen as I moved to sit by the counter opposite where my dad stood with his anger slowly ebbing away.

"Can you imagine Veronica?" he said to Jane, who only sighed.

Then he stepped around and toward me.

"How are you feeling now?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you still feeling any symptoms—"

"Dad, I'm fine," I said, harsher than I had intended.

"Well, I'm sorry I can't help but worry. This is a serious allergy you have little miss—" I scrunched my nose in irritation, "—and she knows this. She could as well as just poison you and say she forgot," he said.

If there was anything I hated more than being called Clarissa, it was Little Miss. A term Dad had stopped using, during tenth grade, before he switched over to my full name anytime I annoyed him.

I groaned. He was taking this too harshly.

"You're my daughter and no matter how she says she treats you like hers, the truth of the matter is that you're not her daughter. You're my daughter! So you will stay away from her for now."

"Dad! She's my aunt!"

"Exactly. She's not your mother and can't love you as a mother would."

"Jane's not my mother. She's not even related to me!"

"She's your stepmother. I married her and you must accept that fact or—"

"Or else what? You'll kick me out of the house because I can't accept the woman who you cheated on Mom with as my stepmother!"

The memory of Jane's revelation at the dinner in Grandma's cabin flashed through my mind, and it was enough to cause a sharp tug at my chest.

"No, I can't do this with you right now," Dad started, "I'm here worried about your health and you're bringing that up. What I've said is final, you will not be visiting Veronica."

He left before I could oppose again.

How could he do that? How could he demand that I stop visiting a family member? Especially Aunt Vera.

Sure, it's strange how she forgot about my nut allergy, but that's not enough to ostracize, break ties or even stop me from visiting. Who knows, maybe she didn't even bake the cake. Maybe she baked the cake with someone and the person added nuts without her knowledge or consent.

Jane placed a bowl in front of me, the heat rising from it, bringing along the aroma to settle in my nose. I had forgotten about her presence in the slight argument I had with my dad. I muttered a thank you and she replied, "Don't mention it," before going to clean the countertop.

"How long was I out?"

"Some hours. Vera brought the cake yesterday in the Christmas spirit. When you started reacting, we drilled her about the ingredients and she said she may have put some nuts in it. Tony had rushed to get the EpiPen, but not long after your dad injected you, you fainted."

I don't remember any of this ever happening in my real life. Or did I just forget? But it was too huge to forget. Even if it ever happened, I wouldn't be able to forget, just as I couldn't forget the number of times I had an allergic reaction and every reason.

"Has she been around since then?" I asked.

"Yes. She insisted on staying till you woke up and even passed the night on the couch. You know your aunt Vera, willing to do whatever she sets her mind to," she said and in a way, it was a compliment.

This was strange, and I had to find out why I was here so I could leave as soon as possible. Today was Wednesday, and recalling what Mrs. Morris had said, I had seven days. That's till next week Tuesday to find out why I'm here or who knows what might happen.

I didn't want to wait to find out.

I had a terrible feeling that there was a connection between this nut poisoning and Mariana stabbing me. They were both close to me and yet Mariana had clearly said she didn't want me leaving there.

Was this somehow related to that? Was Aunt Vera going to open up and say she didn't want me to leave here also?

Maybe I should listen to Dad this once and not visit her.

But no.

She might—she would have a reason, an explanation. Something. The 'Aunt Vera' I know would never forget my nut allergy, even if she somehow learned how to bake a cake.

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The Sparkling Authoress
Mis. A

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