Part 1The Allergen List

I have a constitution made of glass. Or at least, that’s what I was always told.

The first time I went to my boyfriend Jared’s house for dinner, he handed his mother a printed sheet of paper.

"Riley is allergic to seafood, mangoes, strawberries, eggs, dairy, beef, and lamb... pretty much everything," Jared explained earnestly. "Please make sure none of this is in the food."

The list was so long it was almost comical. But after dinner, Jared’s mom suddenly gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

"Oh no... I just realized. I put a spoonful of oyster sauce in the sautéed broccoli for flavor. Riley, honey, are you feeling okay?"

Under the terrified, caring gaze of both mother and son, I froze. I waited for the throat closure, the hives, the panic. But I slowly shook my head.

"I... I feel fine. But I’m supposed to be deathly allergic to seafood..."

These allergies were the gospel truth according to my parents. Because of them, since I was a child, my plate only ever held plain boiled vegetables, while the steaks, burgers, and fish were piled high on my younger brother’s plate.

My brother, Tyler, used to mock me constantly: "Guess you were just born with bad luck, Sis. No good food for you."

I still couldn't believe it. Back at my apartment, after hours of mental preparation, I decided to test fate.

I drank a glass of milk. Then I ate a mango. Then I ordered a medium-rare steak and devoured the whole thing.

Nothing happened. No reaction. Absolutely nothing.

I curled up on my floor and wept uncontrollably.

* * *

Jared’s mom, Mrs. Davis, is an incredibly thoughtful woman.

She knew about my "condition." The dinner table was spread with eight dishes, all vegan, all carefully prepared. She untied her apron, looking at me with a warm, apologetic smile.

"Riley, I know you can't have seafood, dairy, or red meat—Jared gave me the list of twenty items. So I made everything vegetarian, and I went light on the salt, too. I hope you like it."

That gentle, cautious kindness warmed my chest. I picked at my rice, feeling shy but deeply grateful.

But when I took a bite of the broccoli, I paused. It was savory. Richer and more delicious than any vegetable I’d ever eaten at home.

I couldn't help but blurt out, "Mrs. Davis, this broccoli is amazing! It tastes so much better than what I eat at home. Did you use a special spice?"

That’s when her face went pale. She slapped her thigh. "Oh my god! I forgot! I added a spoonful of oyster sauce to boost the flavor. Oyster sauce... it has oyster extract! That's seafood!"

The air in the room solidified.

Jared’s face drained of color. He threw down his fork and grabbed my arm, practically dragging me toward the bathroom. "Is your throat tight? Can you breathe? We need to get you to the ER, now!"

His mom was right behind us, her voice trembling. "Rinse your mouth out! Hurry!"

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, the sound of running water filling my ears. I stared at my reflection.

"I don't feel anything," I whispered. "But I'm allergic to seafood..."

My reflection stared back. Rosy cheeks. Clear eyes. No swelling. No rash.

I took a deep breath. Then another. My lungs filled easily. My heart beat steadily.

My parents had always told me I had severe, anaphylactic reactions. That a single touch of an allergen could send me into shock or kill me.

"Riley, let's go to urgent care just to be safe," Mrs. Davis said, handing me a glass of water, her hands shaking.

Her genuine fear made the absurdity of my reality crash down on me. I shook my head. For the first time in twenty-seven years, I doubted the "illness" that defined my life.

"Mrs. Davis," my voice was raspy, "I think... I think I'm actually okay."

Jared let go of my arm, but his brow remained furrowed. "But your parents said it’s severe. Even a trace amount..."

His mom interrupted, sensing something heavy in the air. "As long as she's okay. That's all that matters."

The rest of the meal tasted like ash.