Part 2The Allergen List

When Jared drove me home, the silence in the car was thick. He tried to speak a few times but stopped himself, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

When he pulled up to my rundown apartment complex, he finally turned to me. "You okay?"

"I'm so sorry," I managed a weak smile. "First time meeting your parents and I caused a scene. I must have scared them."

Jared sighed and gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "Don't be silly. My mom isn't mad, she was just worried. Go upstairs, take a hot shower, and get some sleep. It’ll be better in the morning."

"Okay."

"Riley," he called out as I opened the door. "Don't overthink it. Call me if you need anything."

But how could I not overthink it? My entire life felt like a carefully constructed lie, and someone had just pulled the loose thread that unraveled everything.

Back in my tiny rental, I didn't even turn on the lights. I sat in the dark and ordered takeout.

I ordered everything I was forbidden to touch. A cheeseburger. A strawberry milkshake. A shrimp basket. Mango sticky rice.

When the food arrived, I laid it all out like a chaotic banquet.

I opened the milkshake—the liquid that terrified me for years—and took a sip. Sweet, creamy coldness slid down my throat. I waited for the itch. The choke.

Nothing.

I shoved a piece of shrimp into my mouth. Then a bite of the burger. Then the mango.

I ate like a starving animal, bite after bite, until my stomach hurt from fullness, but my heart felt like a gaping black hole.

I stared at the empty containers and burst into tears. A tsunami of grief washed over me.